A Jester’s Fortune

'Mlavic, you black-hearted sonofabitch!' Lewrie snarled at him, turning to face him and grabbing his arm. 'She's English. British, do ya hear? Maybe the Venetians're too puny to hunt you down for murderin' and rapin' their people, but you can wager yer last penny England won't wring their hands and let you get away scot-free. There'll be a bloody fleet out for you, same as they did for Bligh's mutineers.'

'Is Greek,' Mlavic dismissed, leaving off gnawing on his girl's teats. 'I hear Greek.'

'You can hear English, too, you simpleton, do you get the dung out yer ears!' Lewrie railed, daring to rise off the log. This time, when Mirko tried to drag him down, he turned, glared at him, and jabbed a warning finger at him. 'Who was your husband, Mistress Connor?' he shouted over his shoulder to her. 'Tell this fool plain.'

'Patrick Connor, of Bristol!' she shot back. 'He and his father were in the currant trade, with the English House on Zante. We were married six years ago, when his father Sean retired to England.'

'Husband dead, she still Greek,' Mlavic quibbled, though with the beginnings of a worried look on his face. 'Greeks dirty people.'

'Makes no matter, fool,' Lewrie thundered. 'Wife of a British subject becomes British. You may be lawless, but that's King's Law.'

Mlavic dumped his girl to the ground, tossing her away like he might a fruit-rind as he rose. He snarled a question to Mrs. Connor in Demotic Greek. Lewrie saw her tremble, look away furtively, licking her lips before she answered.

'Catholic,' Kolodzcy groaned, despairing. 'Vas married in husbant's faith. Deat'-sentence.'

Connor, aye, Lewrie winced, Patrick Connor, surely Irish in the beginning. Which does Mlavic hate worse, Greek Orthodox or Catholic?

'Bad as Croat… Catholic, pooh!' Mlavic spat. He strode across to take a closer look at her, while his terrified girl tried to flee. She didn't get far; two of the guards snagged her and carried her kicking and wailing into the darkness beyond the firelight.

Mistress Connor shivered as Mlavic circled her slowly, stood her ground and determined to play-up brave, though her mouth and chin worked in sudden fear or loathing. He leaned close to blow in her ear, making her shy away, stroked back her hair to admire her neck, taunting her with a crooning sing-song in Serbo-Croat.

'What's he sayin'?' Lewrie rasped, getting frantic.

'… rich man's whore,' Kolodzcy mercilessly supplied. 'A Greek whore who leafs de Orthodox Church to wed rich, turn stinkink Catholic. Rich, soft-skinned, faithless traitor whore. Ach, nein! Scheisse!'

Mlavic seized her right wrist to drag her away, back to his seat on the logs, his little black-haired Bosnian victim quite forgotten in the light of this finer choice, sure he was going to take vengeance on a three-in-one. But he drew back the bauto to discover the child!

He roared with surprise and sudden delight, grabbing the young lad by the scruff of the neck and parting mother and son, though she screamed and tore at him, hauling the boy aloft to shake before his pirates like a filthy rag. And laughing fit to bust!

'Hands off, damn you!' Lewrie barked, so loud he stilled that rabble s heathen howls for a moment. 'You put that English boy down… you get your filthy hands off an English lady!'

'You make me? Or what you do, pooh! I have power, you no. I take her.' Mlavic spat. 'Be fucking English… lady, ahahaha!'

Do something! she mutely pleaded.

Like what? Alan wondered.

'They're for sale, ain't they, Mlavic?' he shouted of a sudden, feeling something nigh to inspiration. 'She's for sale? Her, and her boy? That's what you dragged these women down for, wasn't it? Offer 'em up for a good knock-down price? Well, I'll buy 'em. Didn't you offer to let me bid on a woman a little while ago?'

'Da,' Mlavic allowed cagily. 'Other woman. This, I keep.'

'Selfish bastard!' Lewrie cried. 'Kolodzcy, help me here, put it to 'em. Leader gets first choice free, hey? What're the rules of the house after that, though? Mlavic gets first pick, then they're all up for grabs? He's had his first pick. Now he should bid, same as everybody else. Else he's a selfish bastard… a cheap, greedy bastard!'

'Oh, shit!' Spendlove could be heard to mutter, burying his face in his hands. 'God, sir, please don't… he's rowed enough!'

And please let 'em be so drunk by now, they think I make sense! Alan silently pled; seen sailors do 'Oo shall 'ave this'un, then?' I have, every time a ship's out o' Discipline an' the whores come aboard. Sailors… even this lot… surely have a fair streak; can't stand for officers t'put it over on 'em. Nice little show, ya bastards, a spirited auction? String it out long enough, Knolles wakes his sorry arse up and comes t'save us…? 'Dhey fint it… just, sir!' Kolodzcy marveled. 'Vish to see us con-founted. Bud vish to see Mlavic confounted, too. He does nod heff military control ofer dhem. He may not like it, bud he musd go along.'

There was a change in mood round the central fire and its horrid scene of slaughter now, Lewrie sensed. The boos and catcalls sounded less threatening, more like good-natured taunting, which forced Mlavic to smile, nod and placate them with raised hands in allowance.

Two guards off rapin' that poor girl, Lewrie noted; several women auctioned off to small groups, and they're busy, too. Could we? He wondered, a rising hope filling him. Gull 'em peaceable, then take us a hostage'r two… Mlavic?… and get down to the beach? There's your biter bit, by God!

'How much do you have on you?' Lewrie whispered, rifling into his purse, where he found but Ј30 and change. 'Mister Howse? Mister Spendlove? Quick sums, then hand your purses over.'

'Surely, sir, you'd not countenance white slavery, allow these cutthroats the slightest bit of credulity?' Howse huffed, getting his indignant demeanour back. 'Mean tsay, English or no…!'

'Do you not, sir, and Mlavic wins, I'll slit yer throat first chance I get and blame it on them!' Lewrie hissed. Howse tossed over a fullish purse, and slumped down into another miserable sulk. Lewrie did a quick addition; not near enough! Spendlove had a miserly eighteen shillings and some pence. Kolodzcy, however, offered up an embroidered poke simply stiff with 'chink.'

'De equivalend ohf your seventy pounds, sir,' Kolodzcy said.

'Listen, then.,. we get into the spirit of things, they'll drop their guard, we can stand and move about a few feet,' Lewrie schemed in a harsh mutter as they put their heads together. 'If it looks like we've lost, and Knolles still hasn't come, then we take what chance we may, and grab Mlavic and a few others, get some weapons and the woman, and head for the beach. Hear me? It may be our only chance. The men at your backs are thinned, might stay thinned! Others are off havin' themselves a bare-belly romp, or they're three sheets to the wind. If a chance comes… I'll give you sign.'

He looked at their glum, frightened faces, then turned away for the final addition. He'd garnered nearly Ј130 and change. Best start low, he thought… string it out as long as he could.

'Right, then… you miserable excuse for a man,' Lewrie shouted with an avid smile. 'I'll bid three guineas.'

'Five guinea!' Mlavic grinned back, just as evilly, still with a firm grip on both woman and child.

'The management instructs you, sir… kindly unhand the merchandise 'til the last bid's in!' Lewrie cajoled, elbowing Lieutnant Kolodzcy to say that to all observers. The pirates found that hugely amusing.

'Six guineas… you foul lump of shit!'

'Ten!' Mlavic countered, but letting them go and stepping off.

'Eleven… you ditch-dropped whelp of a Turk hedge-whore.'

'Bosun Mister Cony… SAH!' the Marine sentry right-aft by the passageway to the gun-room cried, stamping his