it all straight before we have a real situation. And well done, Mr. Fleming.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Fleming, embarrassed. He coughed, mumbled something about seeing to the new topsail, and disappeared down into the waist.
“Good man, Fleming,” Marlowe observed.
“Indeed,” said Bickerstaff. They were standing just forward of the mizzenmast now, out of earshot of the helmsmen aft and quite ignored by the men below them in the waist, who were busy with the new topsail. “Now Thomas, forgive me, but I must ask. You have not yet said anything to the men about hunting down King James and the others aboard that wretched slave ship. Are you intending to tell them?”
“Of course I am,” Marlowe said, pleased with his genuine sincerity. “Of course I am,” he said again. “But it is a delicate thing, you see. They won’t be happy with it; quite a lot of risk and no reward, save for my reputation.”
“These are not pirates, Thomas. You do not need their approval.”
“No, but they ain’t man-of-war’s men either. Privateers are tricky business. Push them too hard one way and they take French leave of you, and there you are, stranded in some port with no crew. Push too hard the other way and they chuck you overboard and turn pirate. In truth, I am in charge only as long as they all agree I am in charge. I suppose they are like the pirates in that, except that it’s a bit more of a fuss for them to depose me.”
“But it is still your intention to hunt James and the others down?”
“We are hunting them now. It is just that you and I are the only ones who know it.”
“Hunting them how? How can you guess where they are?”
“James and Cato and Joshua were the only ones who know any bit of seamanship, and Cato and Joshua know only the sloop, really. James’s experience with square rig is limited to the Plymouth Prize, and though he is a capable fellow there is only so much he can do with his untrained people and his own limited knowledge. Right now I should think they are running for it, downwind. They would not try and shape
a course to windward, not now.”
“But they might later?”
“Perhaps. Once James has trained them a bit.”
“They will go to Africa.” It was a statement.
Marlowe was silent for a moment. “Yes. I had thought of that. That is why we must catch them now. These men”-he gestured toward the waist-“will not care to go to Africa to hunt them down. And do not think it has not occurred to them that they need only knock me and you and Fleming on the head and suddenly they are equal partners in the finest pirate ship afloat. They lack only sufficient motivation. And if it has not occurred to them, you can bet that little bastard Griffin will point it out.”
The two men were silent, watching the hands forward bundling up the new topsail in readiness for sending it aloft.
“Beware, beware, the Bight of Benin…” Marlowe muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, just some old sailor’s nonsense. One of these warnings set to a bit of verse. ‘Beware, beware, the Bight of Benin. One man comes out for each forty go in.’ The Slave Coast is a deuced unpleasant place. Deadly to white men.”
“One might think that Divine retribution.”
“Perhaps. Whatever it is, let us pray to all that is holy that we do not have to plunge into that dark place.”
Chapter 8
Twenty minutes after Dunmore and his men had disappeared behind the house they were back. Angry, scowling, driving their horses hard, taking their frustrations out on the animals.
Once again Dunmore reined up in front of Elizabeth, blocking her way with his horse, as if he were cornering a runaway slave.
“Where are they?” he demanded, his voice like a spade in gravel.
“Who?”
“Don’t come it the innocent with me! Your niggers! Where are your niggers?”
“Were they not all standing in a line, waiting for you to clap them in chains?”
Dunmore scowled at her. His eyes moved up to the house. “You have them in there? Hidden in there?”
Elizabeth stepped forward until she was just a few feet from Dun-more. The smell of the horse was strong in her nose, its breathing loud. “Do not think for one moment you will go uninvited into my house. You may come sneaking around here when Mr. Marlowe is gone, but he will not be gone forever, do you understand? He has been more than tolerant of your insults thus far, pray do not seek to find the limits of his patience.”
Dunmore had not yet arrived in the tidewater when Marlowe shot Matthew Wilkenson in a duel over Elizabeth ’s honor. He had not been there when Marlowe fought and killed the pirate LeRois. But he would have heard the stories, would understand the potential danger in pushing the man too far.
His horse spun around under him and he had to swivel his head to keep his eyes locked on Elizabeth ’s.
“You’ll not hide them forever, your bloody murdering niggers. You and your precious Mr. Marlowe will not put the entire colony in jeopardy with the notions you are putting in the Negroes’ heads, is that clear? I will be back! I will be back with dogs, with guns, with more men! I will be back!”
He spun around again, called to his band, and they rode off before Elizabeth was able to get in another word.
She watched them as they rode away. The overseers might agree with Dunmore, but ultimately they were just following orders. The other planters she knew socially. They did not support Marlowe in his decision to free his people, she understood that. But they had lived with it for three years now, had never before uttered more than the mildest of protests.
It was Dunmore. He was the one getting them worked up, had been for some time, quietly agitating. And now this thing with James and the slave ship. The spark in the powder magazine.
Why did Dunmore care so much?
“Bloody unpleasant man.”
Elizabeth turned. Billy Bird was standing on the porch, watching him ride away. “He does seem damned interested in your business.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes, yes.” Billy came down the stairs, hopping from one down to the next. “Watched the whole thing from the window, right up there.” He pointed with his thumb.
“That would be my bedchamber.” Elizabeth tried to make her voice icy.
“Ah, so it would. Recognized the ambience, got damned randy just stepping through the door. In any event, yes, a thoroughly unpleasant fellow. What is his name?”
“ Dunmore. Frederick Dunmore.”
“Hmm. I recognize him, know him from somewhere. Had a notion of that when I saw him leading that ugly business last night, but I am certain of it now.”
“What…ugly business?”
“Well, they pulled some poor Negro fellow out of the jail there in Williamsburg. A whole crowd of them, but that Dunmore was the one egging them on. Can’t miss him, in all his white kit. Looks like a bloody ghost. Pulled this poor bastard from the jail, beat him good and hanged him, right there on Duke of Gloucester Street. Sheriff tried to stop them, I’ll give the man credit, but he never could. Big mob, torches, the whole thing. Quite a show. If I’d known Williamsburg was so exciting a place I would have come sooner.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, fought down the growing dread. “Do you know who it was, at all, that they hanged?” She knew the answer even before she asked the question.
“Someone said his name was William. Involved in some kind of murder aboard a slave ship.”
Elizabeth nodded, eyes shut tight. William, you poor, poor boy. Why didn’t you flee with the others?
“Does this have anything to do with your people?” Bird asked. “Your beloved Mr. Marlowe?”
Elizabeth opened her eyes, breathed deep. “It does indeed. Damn that man.”
“Damn who? Marlowe?” There was a hopeful note in Bird’s voice.
