'I hope it is,' I said seriously, 'because I would not be very good at such a thing. I'm afraid I'd be clumsy. You see, I know very little of women. Ours is a lovely land but a lonely one and a hard one, and such a life leaves very little time for thinking of women or learning about them.'
We sat long over breakfast and talked of many things, none of them important, I fear, but each one a means of learning about each other. Yet as we talked, I could not help but remember Joseph Pittingel and Max Bauer. They were both about, both free, and there was no authority in Port Royal to take exception to what they had done. I must be on my guard, for they must kill me to survive themselves, and they would now wish to kill Diana.
John Tilly might arrive within the next few hours, but much as Pittingel worried me, I had no wish to remain penned up in this room. Outside there was much to see in this wild, unruly, rich, and bloody town. And I had a wish to see it for myself.
There was much else to see, including the Walks, a well-known drive along some rocky cliffs that I had promised myself to see. Yet a worry lay upon me, for I knew that Max Bauer was somewhere about, and I knew only one or two of his men by sight.
Diana wished to do some shopping, and the maid Jayne had sent would accompany her. I must needs go to the waterfront to inquire after John Tilly and the Abigail.
The maid, whose name was Bett, had gone out and bought a few things for Diana. As she had served ladies before, she knew well enough what was needed, but Diana wished to choose clothes for herself, beyond her immediate needs.
While they prepared themselves for the shopping, I went down to the lower floor and looked out upon the street. It was crowded as usual, but I saw a tall, slim black man loitering near the door. He looked familiar, and I gestured to him. He had the look of a maroon, and I was sure he had been placed there by Henry.
He came into the room when I gestured to him. 'Can you get two or three stout fellows to be around while Mistress Macklin goes among the shops? Our enemies are still about.'
He smiled. 'Henry speak to us, suh. They may go where they wish. We will be all about.'
'Good! I have much to do along the shore.'
He gave me a sidelong glance. 'It is no good place to be, suh. It is bad-man place.'
'I must go.'
'Ships come, ships go. Who know what happen, suh? Sometimes man go. Never again see. You take short steps, suh.'
Upon these streets all men wore arms, and I would not be without mine. To learn of the Abigail was my first wish, but I will not deny it was in my mind to see Port Royal with my own eyes, for this was ever my way, to see, to know, to learn. To go from place to place and taste the food and wine of the country, to look about, to see.
We who walk the woodland paths know that although all men look, not many see. It is not only to keep the eyes open but to see what is there and to understand. Jamestown I knew but little else. I had seen no towns, although my father and Jeremy talked much of London and Bristol, and Kane O'Hara was forever speaking of Dublin and Cork. This was the first town of my experience that was wider than a village.
When I had donned fresh garments, I looked upon myself in the glass and admitted myself pleased. Not with myself, for I was, as always, a tall, tanned young man with the wide shoulders hard work had earned for me and a shock of curly black hair. My face was wedge shaped, cheekbones high; my eyes were green. The outfit I wore fitted me well, and that was the important thing. I looked the gentleman without any of the flash and color of the pirates I'd seen. Not that I did not look upon their clothes with some envy but would have been embarrassed to wear the like myself.
Thinking of that, I chuckled at the thought of Yance. He would have outdone the flashiest of the pirates, for he was a lover of color in his clothes, although we'd little enough chance for anything of the kind, living as we did. I felt regret for him now. He'd have loved this wild, unruly, pirate town, its dark streets, its motley population, its crowds, tinkle of glasses and clink of coins, a town of blood, gold, gems, and lust, and all of it clad in silk and leather, often enough soiled, sometimes stained with blood, for the pirates I'd seen were rarely overclean.
It was a shouting, swearing, wine-guzzling, rum-swilling town with more powder than brains and every hand ready to grasp a blade. Murder was a small thing. A man might be stabbed and killed on a dance floor, and not a man would stop for his body, nor would the music cease to play. They'd merely dance around him. Every night bodies were found in the streets, and no man inquired whose they were or how they came to be there. It was every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.
The black man who was one of those who would guard Diana was waiting at the door. He looked around at me. 'Have you a knife?' he asked.
'I have a sword,' I said, 'and a pair of pistols when it comes to that.'
'It is no place for either, although you may use them.' From his waistband he drew a knife and scabbard. 'Take this.' I observed two more in that same waistband. 'It is a good blade. At close quarters, in a dark place, it is better than a sword.'
He handed it to me, and I tossed it up and caught it deftly by the hilt, wishing to get the feel of its weight and balance. It was a lovely thing, a two-edged blade and long, with a point like a needle.
'I am grateful,' I said. 'It is a lovely thing.'
He flashed white teeth at me in a quick smile. 'Ah, yes, suh! Lovely, indeed.'
With the knife in my sash I went down the street to the waterfront where the long ships lay.
Sails furled, dripping a little from a quick shower, creaking as they rode the tide, fine, long, lovely ships, like things alive, made for speed and all lined with guns. I remembered the time long since when Yance and I had slipped aboard the pirate ship of Jonathan Delve, that old enemy of my father, and spiked his guns as the ship lay in the river at Jamestown.
The docks and beach, for many ships unloaded on the shore, were stacked with barrels and bales, mostly covered with spare sails or tarpaulins to shield them from the rain. Men moved among them, working, buying, selling, drinking. Here and there I paused to listen to idle talk, and having the gift of tongues, I recognized words in several languages. We at Shooting Creek in my father's time had men from all the world, Sakim, who spoke any language you might wish, and my father, who did a bit in several, and my mother, too, who had sailed with her father on his trading ship, sailed to India, the Malabar Coast, the Red Sea, and the far coast of Cathay. I knew a lot of words, few languages well, but the sense of many.
Yet all was not gold and excitement here. I noted a number of men missing legs or arms or hands, men with patches over an eye, with fingers missing, with faces twisted by scars. These were the casualties of piracy and the sea, those who did not go down to Davy Jones's locker or fiddler's green, who did not walk the plank or dance from a yardarm but who had been so maimed that they went no more to sea, although many an injured man did if he was a known gunner or the like. A good gunner was literally worth his weight in gold.
I stopped by one such, who sat on a bollard looking at the ships. 'A fair evening to you,' I said.
He was a stalwart, sun-browned man of forty-odd years, looking hard as a knot of oak but minus a leg and a hand. His eyes were glassy blue and uncomfortable to look upon, and I trusted him not even though he had but one hand.
'It may be,' he said grimly. 'I've no seen the bottom of a glass yet.'
'You may see the bottom of several,' I said, 'if you've news of the Abigail.'
'Ah? The Abigail, is it? I don't know your lay, nor can I make you out by the cut of your jib, but I'd say a canny man would have nothing for the Abigail. That's a cool lot aboard there.'
'They are,' I said, 'and friends of mine. They are due to come into port, and I'd like to know when, for I am to sail with them.'
'Sail? Aye, there's a good word! Once I swore I'd never off to sea again, but now that I cannot find a berth, I'd give an eye to be aboard a good ship now, with a prize in the offing. But they've no place for me.' He held up the stump of an arm. 'Look, man! Eleven year at sea and never more than a scratch or two, and then one ball from a Long Tom and flying wood, and I am torn to bits.'
'You're lucky you made it,' I replied. 'Many do not.'
'It depends on the view.' He looked out over the water, then spat viciously into it. 'I am a proud man, and one who worked hard and who fought well, damned well. Now all is gone and only to wait for dying.'
'Nonsense!' I said irritably. 'You've one hand and two eyes, and you look to have been a sharp man. Such a man should find something he can do, can make, can be. If you quit at this, it's because you've no guts in you.'
He glared. 'It is easy to talk. You're a whole man.'
