even then it was frowned upon.
He clenched his fists, and with the last rational part of his brain congratulated himself on his self-control.
The guns, oh God, they were going to take the guns! They could never be replaced! All of the planning, all of the expense, for nothing. James, damn your black hide, why did you do that?
“I’m sorry, Marlowe. I know you’ve gone to great expense already.” Nicholson rearranged the silver writing set, moved a stack of papers three inches to the left. “There is one thing I had thought of, one last shift that could solve this whole thing…”
Marlowe leaned back, took a deep breath. He doubted he would like what came next, but how could it be worse than his present circumstance?
Dunmore uncrossed his legs. This was apparently something new to him and he looked concerned.
“ Dunmore is right, you know, this is a bad example…” Nicholson held up his hands to ward off Marlowe’s protest and Marlowe sat back again, silent. “I know King James, know that he’s a good man. Bit of a hothead, but a good man. But still, this sort of thing cannot be countenanced, not by black men or white.
“I think the best thing over all, Marlowe, would be for you to keep the guns and go after these renegades, bring them back here. I can guarantee they’ll get a fair trial, get justice. If they are innocent, then they can go free.”
Marlowe leaned back, let his eyes wander over the muskets and pistols mounted on the wall behind the governor. Heard Dunmore give a grunt at the governor’s suggestion but he said nothing.
Marlowe wanted to sink his head in his hands, wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to put a sword in Dunmore ’s belly, and King James’s too, for getting him into this corner.
Of course they would not go free. Sam had described the whole thing in nightmarish detail. Marlowe understood exactly what James had done, knew why he did it, could taste the rage in his own mouth, knew he would have done the same. But that truth would save no one from the gallows. He would be bringing them back to die, or kill them in trying.
And if he refused? What of that place in society that Elizabeth so coveted?
He had been so sure of himself, setting his slaves free, despite the tidewater’s better judgment. Any number of planters had their slaves working river sloops, but Marlowe had set free black men aboard his. Men who had their pride restored. Men who were no longer cowed, who would no longer suffer any abuse, as long as it came from a white man. Hell, perhaps he was to blame.
There was a great deal of anger directed at Marlowe, he had already heard rumors.
And the guns, and the letter of marque. Gone. It would be fiscal ruin for him.
He would stand accused of protecting killers. Black killers, of his own making. It would strip them both, him and Elizabeth, of all the layers of respectability that they had accumulated, strip them back to their most basic selves. A pirate and a whore.
Damn you, James, damn you for this.
He could not do that to Elizabeth, she was his first loyalty, and damn King James for forcing him to make this choice.
“Very well, I shall go after them.”
“Governor,” said Dunmore, “I hardly think that Mr. Marlowe is to be trusted with-”
Nicholson held up his hand to stop Dunmore, but not before Marlowe was on his feet, two steps toward Dunmore, saying, “Do you call me a liar, sir? Do you dispute my honesty in front of the governor?” No patience for this now. Give me a reason, you bastard, Marlowe thought, pray, give me a reason…
“Marlowe, please, take your seat,” Nicholson said, and Marlowe did so because the governor was a man to be respected. “ Dunmore, hold your tongue. If Marlowe says he will do a thing, then he will do it. I’ll countenance no insults to his character.”
Dunmore grunted again.
“Governor, I shall need some kind of official order from you, something with your seal authorizing me to do this.”
“These people are outlaws, Marlowe, you need no official permission to hunt them down.”
“Sir, I must insist. Official orders, with your seal.”
Nicholson considered this, could find no reason to object. “Very well, if you insist.” He picked up a small silver bell and rang it. It had a silly, tinkling sound. From a side door the governor’s secretary appeared, bowed to Nicholson. The governor told him what was needed and the man nodded, then disappeared again.
“So,” Nicholson said with a weak smile, “damned dearth of rain we’ve had of late, what?”
The horse moved down the familiar road at his own pace, just fast enough to satisfy Marlowe and stave off a nudge of boot heel in the flank. He needed no direction; they had traveled that way nearly every day for two months.
For Marlowe, perched in the saddle, it was not a pleasant trip, not like before. No eager anticipation now, just apprehension. No rapture at what the old, decrepit Nathaniel James had become, but rather fear for what would become of her now.
He stopped at the point where the road curved around to the dock and afforded him the first complete view of his ship, sat there regarding her while the horse found some new grass on the edge of the close-packed dirt road.
It was a sight to bring joy to a shipowner’s heart. The full complement of seventy-five men was aboard; not so many as Marlowe would have liked, but enough, and as many as he could ever hope to find in that place where seamen were in damned short supply. They were swarming over the ship, hauling away on the stay tackle and easing the stores down through the main hatch, laid out on the yards bending sail, reeving off running gear, caulking and paying the last of the seams on the quarterdeck.
They were nearly all of them prime seamen, all eager for a little privateering.
“Well, damnation, let’s do it, then…” Marlowe muttered, gave the reins a jerk, got the horse under way.
His approach did not go unnoticed, as he reckoned it would not. All hands aboard the Elizabeth Galley would be aware of what their bosun had done, of their captain’s meeting with the governor, of the potential consequences.
Indeed, it was the talk of all Virginia. Marlowe doubted there was anyone in the tidewater above the age of five who had not heard of what had taken place and already discussed it at length. High talk would have been flying through the rigging all morning. They would want answers, and because of the paucity of seamen they knew they could demand them.
One by one, as Marlowe approached, the men set aside their tools or eased off the lines they were hauling or slid down backstays to the deck, until by the time he reined to a stop at the gangway they were gathered like a mob waiting on the verdict of a trial.
“Captain Marlowe!” It was Griffin, the bosun’s mate, an unpleasant fellow, face like one of those small, ugly dogs. Marlowe reckoned he had appointed himself bosun after the news of King James’s departure.
“Captain, we was all wondering, did you fare well with the governor? We on for our voyage, then?” Griffin, assuming the bosun’s role as crew spokesman. Marlowe did not care for it, not a bit.
First, the stick.
“See here, Griffin, all of you!” He had their attention now. “My dealings with the governor are my concern alone, do you hear? This is not a damned pirate ship. I’ll countenance no questions, no votes, no inquiries into my business, is that clear? If any have a problem with that, leave now! Leave now!”
To Marlowe’s vast relief no one moved.
He reached into the haversack slung over his shoulder, pulled out the governor’s orders, the ones he had insisted upon. Glanced around for Bickerstaff. His friend was on the quarterdeck, overhauling the ship’s pistols. An expert with firearms and edged weapons, not from soldiering but from his days as a tutor instructing young gentlemen in their use.
He was a good fifty feet away, listening, cleaning firelocks. He would not be able to see much from that distance in any event.
Now the carrot.
Marlowe unrolled the governor’s orders and held them up. An impressive document, with great scrollwork and the huge glob of a waxed seal. Nicholson could be counted on to do nothing by half.
“As you can see, the governor has issued us a letter of marque and reprisal, just as promised.” He rolled the parchment back up. “I wish to be under way at the first of the ebb on the morrow, so turn to. We’ve much to
