The Guardship

Elizabeth leaned back, knitted her eyebrows, took a long look at Lucy, still clinging to her. Hadn’t Lucy taken over that duty not a week before Joseph’s death?

A question was forming in her mind, her lips shaping around it, when the women were startled by the sound of rushing feet and a man’s voice, issuing orders, judging by his tone. It sounded like Thomas, but she could not hear the words.

She felt herself tense. Lucy felt it as well and peeled herself from Elizabeth’s shoulder. The faint light of the lantern

gleamed on the tears that covered her face. “What’s happening

now?” she asked, her voice quavering with uncertainty.

“I don’t know.”

Then the ship, which had been heeling in one direction, came upright on an even keel. The two women looked at each other, but their concentration was directed toward listening to what was taking place on deck. There seemed to be a fair amount of commotion, the kind that Elizabeth had come to associate with sail maneuvers.

And then a moment later the ship began to heel the other way. They felt their whole world tilt back and then stop, and then it was quiet again.

“I believe we have…tacked, if I recall the sailor’s vernacular,” Elizabeth said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I suppose. At least it means we are still sailing. Lucy…?” Elizabeth continued, but the question was quashed by the sound of feet on the ladder above. Both women tensed. It was the first movement they had heard belowdecks in what seemed an age at least.

“It ain’t them pirates, is it?” Lucy whispered.

“Shhh,” Elizabeth said, though her thoughts were moving along the same lines. She was certain that the Plymouth Prize had not been taken. At least she had been certain a minute before, but now doubt began to creep in. It did not seem as if a fight had taken place, but then, she did not really know what a fight would sound like.

She reached slowly for the pistol on the deck at her feet, wrapped her hand around the butt, and raised it to chest level. She did not know what she would do with it. Marlowe’s advice concerning the disposition of the two bullets was clear and sensible, but she did not know if she had the nerve for that. What was worse, she knew that Lucy did not, so for Elizabeth it would be a matter of shooting Lucy first and then herself.

The steps came down another ladder. They could see the loom of a lantern coming closer. Elizabeth drew back the lock

of the pistol. The mechanical click was loud in the confines of the

cable tier.

The footsteps stopped.

“Mrs. Tinling?” came an uncertain voice. “Mrs. Tinling, it’s Lieutenant Middleton, ma’am? You there?”

Elizabeth met Lucy’s eyes, and the women smiled. “Yes, Lieutenant, we’re here, in the cable tier.” She eased the lock back into the half-cock position.

The lantern grew brighter and Lieutenant Middleton appeared. “Ma’am, Captain Marlowe reckons it’s safe for you to come out now.”

“What of the…Have we defeated the pirates? Surely there has not been a battle?”

“No, ma’am. The pirates run aground, and they ain’t moving for some time, what with the falling tide and all.”

“I see. That is a good thing, is it not?”

It was, in fact. At least it was as far as Lieutenant Middleton was concerned, and he described the morning’s events to the women as he led them up and aft to the great cabin, with much talk of drogues and hawsers and draft, tacking and bow chasers and ebbing tides. Elizabeth was able to follow perhaps a third of the monologue. But what she grasped was enough to make her understand that the Plymouth Prize had been lured into a trap and had just managed to escape. Apparently it had been a near thing.

Middleton opened the door to the great cabin and Elizabeth entered, nodding her thanks. She was in high spirits, having discovered how narrowly she had just avoided a most unpleasant fate, and she expected that the others would be similarly enthusiastic.

They were not. Elizabeth sensed the mood, tense and volatile, even as she stepped through the great cabin door. The smile faded from her face.

Marlowe was seated behind the table that he used as a desk. Bickerstaff and Rakestraw sat across from him and to either side. King James was in the far corner.

“I give you joy, gentlemen, on your victory,” she said. Despite the dearth of joy in the room.

“Thank you. You are well?” Marlowe asked. He was not smiling, did not seem overly concerned about her health-or anyone else’s, for that matter.

“Yes, thank you, we are well,” Elizabeth replied. “Are you not pleased to have beaten this pirate?”

“We have escaped, ma’am,” Bickerstaff supplied, “we have not beaten him.”

“And we were goddamned lucky to do that,” Marlowe said, and his tone implied that this was the point in contention. “I think we should not press that luck overhard.”

“Let me say again, Captain,” said Bickerstaff evenly, “that he is stuck on a sandbank. It would be no great difficulty to come about and destroy him where he lies.”

“Oh, you presume to tell me what can and cannot be done when it comes to a sea fight? Well, then, since we are repeating ourselves, let me say again that he has near one hundred men and two ships. That is twice the men we have and twice the ships, and only one ship is aground.

“And even if both were stuck, there are always his boats. His men could board us from boats, come over the rails from so many points we could never repel them. What is more, those men there are desperate and experienced killers, sir, not the pathetic rabble we call our crew.”

“That pathetic rabble was sufficient for you when it came time to remove Elizabeth from jail. They were sufficient to defeat the brigands on Smith Island and to help you carry off what you fancied was your considerable portion of the booty. Yes, I am perfectly aware of that. They will follow you anywhere. My suggestion is that you lead them where you yourself are duty-bound to go.”

Marlowe stood suddenly and pounded the desk with his fist, then shook a finger at Bickerstaff. “Do not, do not, presume to tell me my orders. I do not believe the governor had it in mind to have the guardship taken by pirates, have her guns turned against the colony.”

They were silent for a moment, glaring at each other.

“Mr. Rakestraw,” Marlowe said at last, his eyes never leaving Bickerstaff, “what say you?”

“I will do whatever you order, Captain. I won’t question what you say.”

“James?”

“Like Mr. Rakestraw says.”

“I find this loyalty very refreshing,” Marlowe said. “I wish it were more universal.”

“And I think,” said Bickerstaff, “that I am aware of certain influences coloring your decision that perhaps the others are not. I think perhaps your history leads you to overestimate the abilities of your adversary.”

“What are you saying?” Marlowe growled the words. Elizabeth took a step back, had never seen Marlowe like that, furious, smoldering, feral. “Are you saying I am a coward, sir? Is that it? Should you need me to prove that I am afraid of no one, least of all you, I would be delighted to oblige.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Thomas…,” Elizabeth said. This was too much. Bickerstaff was the truest friend any man had ever had.

“Silence!” Marlowe roared, glared at her. His expression was frightening. He swept the room with his eyes. “We shall proceed to Jamestown and lie at anchor with a spring rigged to the cable. We can then perhaps prevent any vessel from coming upriver, protect ourselves from this bastard once the tide floats him free.”

Marlowe looked around at the men once more. His eyes settled on Elizabeth. “I would hope that I can still count on some loyalty, that all sense of honor and obligation has not been forgotten.”

The words hung in the air. Elizabeth broke the silence. “Oh, for God’s sake, Thomas-forgive me…Captain Marlowe-this is not the time to turn on those who love you.”

“Well, it is refreshing indeed to know that I am loved. But love is not loyalty, is it, ma’am?”

Elizabeth just shook her head. God, but men could be such idiots, such absolute idiots. She had seen it in all its