Pirate Blood

“Absolutely”, Rogers lied. He had to strive to stay easy. Henry Morgan had hit the point. He had left on board the Delicia to go hunting a pirate, but he had found him just a few miles from the port. “I’m trying to get the positive side of the situation. I avoided useless days of sailing. But you haven’t answered my question yet. Why did you send for me?”

Morgan approached. He put both his hands on his shoulders and grasped them with a slight pressure. Rogers considered the possibility of being strangled. As if he had read into his thoughts, the other man let him go and moved a few steps away from him. He took one of the maps from the table and started studying it.

“I think you’re a careful man”, he said sharply. “So you’re deceiving us, captain. The answer is just under your eyes.”

Rogers raised his brows. He didn’t seem to understand. Then a memory flashed suddenly in his mind, cold and merciless like lightning. He turned his eyes to the object Morgan was keeping in his hands.

“It’s just a map, your Excellency”, he commented.

“You’re right”, the other one agreed and handed the roll to the pirate. “I suggest you to observe it better, by the way. It’s the only thing Wynne had with him when he was rescued. He didn’t care about it. He should have. Why should a dying man worry about protecting a map?”

He unfolded it in front of himself. He could feel the mouldy cracking of the paper under his fingertips.

Straight and curving lines were crossing each other, making definite and linear signs. They became then more and more indefinite, chaotic. Besides, there was no course to follow, as if Wynne had got lost.

“He was heading to this island”, Rogers claimed, plunging into the drawing. “But I can’t understand which sea he was sailing.” He turned his eyes to the lower corner of the map. Then he raised his brows. A series of words had been written on that side. He read them and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Anger came later.

“Do you think I’m a fool?”, he burst out. “Was it all just a joke?”

Henry Morgan held his glance with a harshness which didn’t let any emotion come out.

“No joke”, he replied.

“That’s impossible! Wynne can’t have drawn this map. He was completely out of his mind when we found him. He hadn’t eaten and drunk for days. He kept muttering meaningless words.”

“And he’s still muttering them at the moment.”

Rogers didn’t gave up. He studied the map once more, his eyes flashing frantically into their orbs. “I’ll tell you again: he can’t have drawn it, simply because this place doesn’t exist!”

“The Devil’s Triangle exists, really!”, Morgan exclaimed. He looked breathless. “Wynne has been there, no doubts. And not only the piece of paper you’re holding shows it, but also the fact we knew he was preparing to sail those seas.”

***

When they came out of the villa, some soldiers approached them, ready to escort them to the coach. Roger had wanted Morgan to let him meet the prisoner. He still couldn’t believe the story he had told him.

“Please, Excellency”, one of the guards suddenly said, opening the door of the coach which would drive them to the jail.

The coach turned into a strip of land bordering the beach. Morgan caught the opportunity of greeting the colons. Many of them bowed. A bit farther the coast made a small inlet, which was considered the real heart of the bay. There were a dozen ships at anchor there.

“Here we are, Excellency”, the coachman shouted after a while.

The road they were driving through was scattered with stones everywhere, becoming closer and closer till they formed a pavement ending in front of the fortress entrance. The access was composed of a brick arch obtained in the main wall. The grey mouths of the cannons came out of the upper cornice, surmounted by imposing battlements.

Once inside Fort Charles, they got off the coach in the middle of an octagonal square. Afterwards, they were led to the jails through a stone corridor, on whose walls some torches were flaring. A well-built man with a scornful air came through the dim light. He was panting and his face was wet with sweat. He was wearing a plain dress with dirty spots everywhere. Rogers could see blood trails both on his sleeves and on his collar. He then had the unpleasant feeling of facing the hangman.

“Excellency”, the last one greeted Morgan respectfully.

“Best greetings, master Kane”, Morgan replied. “This is captain Woodes Rogers, a corsair at His Majesty’s service.”

“How can I help you?”

“We’re here to meet Emanuel Wynne.”

The hangman nodded decidedly, he caught one of the torches hanging on the walls and took them to another corridor, where some cells were alternating. When they got to the end, they walked down a flight of stairs. The slope became steeper halfway so they had to bend, as the ceiling was gradually stooping. They would find themselves underground soon.

“Before we go in, I wish to ask you a question”, Rogers told the governor. “You’ve prepared the execution for tomorrow. Why such a hurry?”

“Wynne is a pirate, so he must pay for his crimes”, the other man replied.

Without a fair trial? Those thoughts flashed in the corsair’s mind with a disarming easiness. Do you really consider me such a fool, Henry? You’ve dragged me here for a much more important reason. Why are you spinning out? Lost in those thoughts, he got in front of a cell, without even being aware of it. The interior, which had been enveloped in darkness till then, was lighted by Kane’s torch. He saw him fumbling about a heavy brass ring enclosing a dozen keys. He put one of them into the keyhole and made it turn, producing a resounding creaking. The bars opened on a poor, bare room, whose only furniture was a bedstraw. Being underground, there wasn’t any kind of window, neither simple slits. A heavy smell of mould, excrements and urine was hovering all around.

Morgan was very interested in the shape lying on the bedstraw. It was still, covered in a filthy blanket. “Are you sure you didn’t go too far, master Kane? We want this man to be hanged before a jubilant crowd, not to die here like a rat.”

“Don’t worry”, the hangman assured him and moved towards Wynne. He then kicked his ribs. The pirate got up in a hurry, squealing. He looked like a ghost in the dim light. His thin face was marked by a bristly beard surrounding his cheeks in a mess. His long oily hair was falling on his eyes and behind his shoulders.

The governor showed a very false grin. “ Monsieur Wynne is very worn out by what happened to him. We don’t need to treat him like this. We are among gentlemen. Now, please, leave us alone. We can manage by ourselves.”

“Really…”, Kane tried to disagree.

Morgan’s face became gloomy at once.

“You can go”, he repeated slowly.

The hangman left his torch on the cell wall and disappeared.

“Wynne”, Rogers called him. “Can you hear me?”

The corsair waited, hoping the other man would answer. But when he realized he would have to wait forever, he knelt down, a few inches from the prisoner. “My ship found you off Nassau, do you remember? I’m here to talk about the map. What happened to you?”

Wynne lifted his head, staring at his interlocutor, but it looked as if he couldn’t see him. Rogers thought he saw a greenish glare coming from one of his eyes. He held his breath. He wasn’t sure, as the pirate had his hair stuck on his face. He then was persuaded that was just the reflex of the torch hanging on the wall.

“The Devil’s Triangle”, Wynne croaked after a while.

“Did you really sail those seas?”, Rogers questioned him.

“I shouldn’t have left my place. The captain’s orders. He will be furious.”

“He keeps telling the same story again and again”, Morgan said in an irritated tone. “He wants to go back to Bellamy. Even Kane’s whip strokes couldn’t make him change his mind.”

When he heard those words, the pirate started, gasping like a fish out of water and letting deep rattles come out of the bottom of his throat.

“Were you at Samuel Bellamy’s orders?” Rogers moved his fingers cautiously, catching his arm softly. Wynne was clearly made shy by Morgan’s presence. If Rogers couldn’t make him calm down, he would withdraw into numbness again.

The small man let out a surprised gasp. “We got lost.”

“Explain it better.”

“The fog… was everywhere.”

“Which fog?” Rogers spurred him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I must keep on watch”, Wynne changed his voice. It sounded like the one of a man looking for confidence. “The captain’s orders.”

Rogers kept silent, waiting again.

“There’s nothing to do”, Morgan asserted. “We are wasting our time. You have been able to learn something more, captain. We’ll grant it. However…”

“That’s just what you don’t understand!”, the pirate burst out. A spark of consciousness seemed to light again into his brain. “There’s a price to be paid by those who are looking for the treasure. A treasure which can change the destiny of the man who will find it.”

“Which treasure?”, the governor suddenly asked.

Wynne started. He got free from the corsair’s grip and crouched back on the bedstraw, in a foetal position. From that angle, Rogers could see the fresh whip signs.

“Wynne!”, Morgan exclaimed in a threatening voice. “What treasure are you talking about? Answer, God damn!”

The pirate burst into a series of moans and stopped talking. The governor’s insults couldn’t stir him anymore.

“Was that all you wanted to know, Excellency?” That sounded more like a bare statement than like a question on Roger’s part. “You’ve used me to find out the possible existence of a treasure?”

Henry Morgan’s face turned gloomy. “I didn’t use you, captain. You had a precise task. To catch Wynne. And you succeeded very well.”

“It was a simple chance, to use your same words.”

“Of course.”

“What are you playing at, Henry?”

The man stared at him doubtfully.

“You owe me some explanation”, Rogers went on soon after. “I did my duty. And I thought that was all. But now you’re involving me in this story.”

The sound of some steps came from the bottom of the corridor, together with Kane’s light whistle. They had clearly remained in the cell too long and the hangman was coming back to check if something had happened.

“There’s no need of discussing the matter here, captain”, Morgan hissed.

“I’m afraid there is”, Rogers disagreed.

“What do you want to know?”

“The truth.”

“Ok”, the governor replied. “You’re a trustworthy man, after all.”

“Hurry up!”

“Bellamy himself came to tell me what he wanted to do. Our past is not a mystery, isn’t it? So you won’t be surprised by our friendship.”

I’m not surprised at all, Rogers considered.

“He asked us for a loan.” Morgan was talking fast and he sometimes turned his eyes to see if Kane suddenly came. “He didn’t have enough money to afford starting such a dangerous journey. We wanted the list of the crew in return. Experience has taught us to get to know who is going to use the money we are spending. The only name of the list we already knew, was Wynne’s.”

“So you sent me to look for him”, Rogers highlighted.

“Exactly. When we learnt that Bellamy had disappeared, we couldn’t do otherwise.”

The French man started talking again. He was sitting on the bedstraw, crossing his legs. “I’ll be punished because I stirred up a mutiny. But it wasn’t my fault. I can swear it. Don’t trust the man with golden teeth.” Even if his face was hidden by his hair, he was clearly smiling. “What’s more, I was the only one who could see. I was on the observation mast. I had to watch, just like the shaman had told us.”

Rogers bent down once more. He was going to open his mouth, wanting to know what Wynne was referring to. The pirate was faster.

“Our eyes often deceive us, captain Rogers!”, he said.

“And what about the treasure?”, Morgan intruded.

There was no answer. Edward Wynne bent his head back and burst into an obscene and powerful laughter, clashing with his body’s thinness. He kept laughing also when the hangman came back. The governor had he whipped again and again, hoping to get more information. But the more Kane tortured him, the more the pirate laughed. He went on till his vocal cords broke and disgusting sounds came out of his mouth, forcing Rogers to shut his ears.

CHAPTER TWO
THE EXECUTION

Late in the afternoon, Johnny started on his way back.

Remembering what had happened in the morning, he decided to take the longest way. He could avoid going through the Spanish area in doing so. His mother was certainly at work, plunging as usual in the suffocating smell of spices which impregnated the Passàro do Mar’s kitchen. She wouldn’t notice him, if he came home late.

He moved on along the east end of the harbour, getting over docks and road-steads. He sometimes cast a glance at the moored ships. Most of the crews had landed. He had often felt the impulse to sign on and leave Port Royal. But how? He wouldn’t bear the sea, not even for a week.

He heard Anne’s voice echoing in his mind at that moment, as powerful as only she could have, accusing him of being just like his father. He thought again over the story he had invented with Avery’s connivance.

I had to hand him some pincers, he revised it mentally, trying to look convincing even to himself. He told me to hurry up, so I turned. I didn’t notice a lower beam and I hit against it.

She might believe him, even if he could foresee her worried look, her goggle eyes and he wide-open mouth.

She was going to overwhelm him by her usual wave of scolding, about how dangerous the world was and everything else. Obviously, he expected her to ask the old man for an explanation. He would prove everything was right that same evening, when he was going to have a drink at the tavern.

I hope he won’t get drunk, he thought.

Farther on, the ground made some terracing, following a flight of steps which had been built against the walls of the harbour. Johnny walked up there without even stopping to think about it. He knew the area like the back of his hand. When he got to the top, he stopped there to look at the bay.

He had seen that sight lots of times, but he felt a different emotion that day, which he had never felt before. The dying sunset light was enveloping everything in violet brushstrokes. He felt sure for a moment that the air was even full of electricity, almost bringing some change forward.

“The wind is changing.”

Johnny winced. A man had come close to him while he hadn’t even noticed him, and he was staring at the inlet just like him. He was wearing a blue jacket and a shirt opening on his chest, tied by a green sash on his waist. He had knee-high boots on his feet. His face was pockmarked, as if he had been stung by hundreds of voracious insects and it was framed by a pair of long and thick dark sideburns, making it look as long as a beech-marten’s one.

“Something is going to happen, isn’t it?”, the boy asked him, not even knowing why he was addressing that man.

The other one nodded.

“Go back home, guy”, he told him. He put his hands on his hips and pushed his clothes aside in doing so. A sword hilt came into view. “A storm is going to break out soon. You don’t want to be around here, when that happens, do you?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He realized that he didn’t like that man. Especially when he smiled: he had his upper incisors set in gold.

He is a pirate, he thought and, while walking away, he could hear him sneer. It was a gloomy, unpleasant laughter. He turned, fearing the man was going to follow him. On the contrary, the pirate wasn’t caring at all about him.

The frantic life of the colony was dying away meanwhile. The streets were getting empty. The people who didn’t have a house to go back to, were showering inside the inns. The lamp men had started on their tour, lighting lamps and filling them with new oil. Oddly, there didn’t seem to be any dead man lying in the mud. But the night was going to be still long, to be sure about that.

Johnny walked all along the street separating him from the Pàssaro do Mar in a strange state of excitement, which he couldn’t understand. It was the fault of his meeting with the mysterious man. And he was still thinking about him, when he met one of the several guard spots scattered along the street, where a boy, about twelve years old, was hanging a warning. Some soldiers were surrounding him, looking curious.

“At last!”, one of them exclaimed

“I feared the governor had got soft”, another man added.

“Shut up”, a third one warned him. “You don’t want to be hanged too, do you?”

They went on discussing without really caring about it. It was different for Johnny. As soon as the boy had finished, he decided to move closer, attracted by the words heading on the sign.

ACCORDING TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE OF ENGLAND’S WILL,

THE GOVERNOR OF PORT ROYAL SIR HENRY MORGAN

ORDERS THE EXECUTION OF THE PIRATE EMANUEL WYNNE

AT THE FIRST LIGHTS OF DAWN

He kept staring at it for a long time. After those words, there was a list of crimes Wynne had made. When he finished reading it, he started walking again.

He recollected the day when his father had taken him to watch an execution for the first time. He had put him on his shoulders, so he could see beyond the crowd. Johnny had kept laughing amused, till something had changed. His child excitement for that show had turned into horror, as soon as the rope had been passed around the prisoner’s neck. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t expected to see him hanging there dead after a few seconds. Tears had suddenly started streaking his face.

“Why are you crying?”, his father had asked him.

“That man over there…”, he had just answered, pointing at the swaying dead body.

“He was a wicked man.” Stephen Underwood had tried to calm him down. “He had to pay for his crimes.”

Johnny had nodded, but he hadn’t perfectly understood what he was talking about. His gesture had been an instinctive one, due mainly to his irrepressible urge to go away as soon as possible.

“Just remember that you are going to meet a lot of people in your life”, Stephen had gone on. “Each of them made some mistakes. Some of them have mended their ways and decided to leave their past behind them. Some others, on the contrary, wear them proudly on their face, like sorts of masks. I’m warning you, don’t trust the latter. They will go on making mistakes and justifying themselves by saying that it’s your fault. And the worst thing is, they really believe what they are saying. Just like the man who has been executed today.”

While he was revising those words, he found himself wondering about how much he missed his father.

***

Judging from the row coming from inside the Pàssaro do Mar, he guessed that the customers had opened the dances. Someone had even started playing, since the shrill notes of a violin had joined the racket.

Johnny stopped under the porch for a moment and looked through the single window, pressing his palms against the glass. A large room made up the central body of the inn, whose walls were covered with cracked boards, reminding a lot the sides of an ancient sail boat. There was a counter at the bottom and, right on its left, the sooty mouth of a chimneypiece. The kitchen door opened on one side.

Dozens of candles were placed along the tables and on the candlesticks. The most pleasant thing in that place was just that: the light. Unlike the other inns scattered around Port Royal, Bartolomeu was proud of having the brightest one.

The boy saw him bustling about among the tables, carrying dishes and jugs to and fro. He had expected to see his mother there too, but there was no sign of her. Anne was usually the one who bustled about serving the customers.

He went back in the street and lifted his eyes to the single window in the room upstairs. The blinders were shut.

Yet he remembered having left them open.

She might have come back and shut them”, he thought. A shrill voice suddenly pierced through his head. Something might have happened to her! That bad cough never lets her alone. It’s getting worse every day.

A painful burning sensation ran through his belly. It was as if a rat had got on fire and kept gnawing his stomach in spite of that.

He ran breathlessly down the lane stretching along the inn, he opened a back door and climbed the stairs.

The sounds downstairs got blurred, muffled. It was like going through a tunnel dug inside a mountain.

And at the bottom of the tunnel, the golden sparkle of the pirate’s teeth was shining.

“Mother?”, he called out, knocking at the flat door. He didn’t get any answer from the other side. “Mother, it’s me. I’m going to come in.”

The room was enveloped in absolute darkness. There was a sharp smell of sweat inside, mixed up to something like rusty iron.

He finally identified it.

Blood.

Panic-stricken, he looked for the oil lamp on a short night table next to the door. He found it at the second attempt. He inspected the surface of that piece of furniture once more. When his fingers brushed against the linchpin, he made it click. The lamp shone with a weak flame and the light trail started to stretch on the floor, till it got to the foot of the bed. He noticed something just then. A very slight movement. Someone was moving in the shadow.

He heard a rattle at that moment, followed by a coughing fit.

That was enough to turn his doubts into certainties.

Anne was lying on the bed, her untied, long dark hair spreading in a mess on the pillow. They reminded him of the carcass of a giant octopus brought to the shore by the streams. Johnny went closer to her and she raised her eyelids a bit. Her face was cerulean, beaded with sweat. The corners of her mouth were stained with red. A blood trickle was running down her cheek, falling on the pillow where it had made a lumpy stain.

“John, is it you?”, she asked, her voice just a bit louder than a whisper. Her breast was dancing at an intermittent rhythm.

“Yes, it’s me”, he answered.

“I can’t see. My eyes are blurred.”

The boy was shocked, he didn’t know exactly what he should say. He feared that anything coming out from his mouth, could sound unconvincing.

“You’ll see, it’s nothing”, he played it down, caressing her forehead. It was icy. “You’ll feel better tomorrow morning.”

“How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

The woman tried to smile. She moaned a second time, so he caught her hand.

“You must rest”, he told her.

“I know”, Anne admitted.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“My throat is dry.”

Johnny went to the water basin and plunged a cup into it. He went back to his mother. He sat next to her softly, placing his hand on the back of her head to help her drink. The woman swallowed the liquid greedily.

“You’ve been working so much these days. You must sleep. Sleeping will help you.”

“I’m scared”, she rattled.

“There is nothing to be scared of.”

Am I trying to convince her…or myself?, he wondered.

“Just relax”, the boy went on, trying to hide his anxiety. “I’ll go downstairs and talk with Bartolomeu now. He must need some help in the kitchen.”

“Don’t go away.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Anne’s eyes turned bright. A tear fell down her face. “I’ve already lost your father. Don’t leave me alone.”

“All right. I’ll stay here with you.”

Johnny kept listening to the woman’s breathing, which was becoming regular again, till she fell asleep. He grasped her hand once more. Only then, he allowed himself to rest.

***

The governor’s carriage took Rogers to the harbour, following the track he had suggested to the coachman along the way. A strange paranoia had started peeping out inside him. The town was swarming with spies and the last thing he wished for was being tailed by one of Morgan’s lackeys. Of course, the postilion was going to get back and he could tell him everything… so he threw a bag full of money to him, when he got down the coach.

“You have understood, haven’t you?”, he warned him.

“As clear as a starless sky, captain”, the man answered.

“So tell me again what you are going to report”.

The postilion looked around. “If someone asks me, I must say I took the captain to the crossroads between the ancient walls and the main street. The one following the cape southward. I saw him get into a brothel, intending to spend some of His Excellence’s money in sweet company.”

The corsair felt satisfied. He gestured in agreement to the coachman, who left very quickly, leaving behind himself a trail of dust and crushed stones. He waited for him to disappear, then he walked along a lane leading down to the docks. There were no more than ten old buildings in terrible conditions and everything was plunging in a ghostly silence.

“Captain.”

Rogers didn’t need to turn. He could identified that catarrhal tone anywhere. “I’m pleased to see that you’re watching the area, O’Hara. Has anything happened during my absence?”

“Nothing important.”

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“They are sleeping.” O’Hara slipped out of the darkness and turned out next to him. “You took longer than expected. Has anything gone wrong?”

“We’d better discuss it privately”, Rogers cut it short. He could feel on himself the eyes of all the people spying on them behind the half open shutters.

Without adding anything else, they turned a corner. They walked along a narrow and stinking lane, till they could hear the sea washing. An old and neglected warehouse appeared in front of them, almost overhanging the docks.

“I left Husani on guard”, O’Hara explained, in a hoarse hiss.

The pirate smiled satisfied.

Of all the members of his crew, he would have entrusted just two people with his own life. The first one was James O’Hara himself, whom he had met several years before in Cuba. He was famous for being a loyal killer and his typical voice was due to the fact that his throat had been cut. His enemies had thought he was dead, without even checking it. On the contrary, nobody knew how he had survived. The second one, whose name was Husani, was a very big man, a slave in a cotton plantation in Virginia. He had been able to escape and sign up on a ship. Rogers had met him in Port Royal, where he had been charmed by the physical strength the African man had shown in a fight. Many people criticized him for the way he chose the men making up his crew. He didn’t care at all. He very much preferred working with gallows-birds similar to the ones he was hunting, rather than with spruced up and unexperienced soldiers.

After they had knocked at the door, they waited for Husani to come and open it. They didn’t have to wait for a long time. The door half-opened and a large dark face, with a grim look, peeped out in the opening.

“Good evening, captain.”

“Good evening to you”, Rogers answered.

The room was dirty. A low snoring echoed everywhere. Husani picked up a candle end and took his mates to a nearby table, being careful to avoid treading on the rest of the crew who was sleeping on the floor. Rogers sat down and O’Hara sat in front of him. He showed off the white slash of a scar under his chin. Husani stood at attention, but only after he had placed the candle on a rough canopy and filled three jugs with some dark liquor.

“So what, captain?”, he asked him.

Rogers searched through the pockets inside his jacket. He took out another bag, larger than the one he had thrown to the coachman.

“This is the first half”, he said. He threw it carelessly in the middle of the table. The coins inside it tinkled. “The rest when your work is done. As usual.”

“What shall we do?”, O’Hara inquired.

The corsair kept staring at the flickering flame of the candle. Time passed by. He finally answered in a far-away voice. “At first I thought that Morgan was making fun of me. Then I understood he wasn’t joking at all. And that was probably the worst moment.”

“Make yourself clearer.” O’Hara had started snapping his fingers. “What else does he want from us, after Wynne’s arrest?”

“The only problem is Wynne himself”, Rogers explained. “The governor had his own reasons for ordering us to look for him.” He stopped. “Do you remember what he was holding in his hand, when we found him?”

“A map”, the African answered decidedly.

“You have an excellent memory”, Rogers congratulated him. He searched through his pockets once more, he took out the roll Morgan had entrusted him with and placed it in front of himself.

O Hara stopped tormenting his knuckles. He put on an inquiring look. “Where should it lead to?”

Rogers turned his eyes from the map and laid them straight on him. He did it with no hurry, trying to find the right time to answer him.

“To the Devil’s Triangle”, he finally exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence, during which the only noise that could be heard was the continuous snoring of the crew. Husani and O’Hara cast each other a quick, surprised glance. Then the latter threw his head back and sniggered, showing his scar in all its length. It was a horrible noise, a sharp screech, like a blade scratching on a rusty surface.

“Do you find it funny?”, Rogers asked him seriously.

“I didn’t know your sense of humour was so sharp”, the other man answered.

“No humour.” The captain tapped his finger on the map. “Wynne really seems sure about what he has drawn. And so does Morgan. That’s enough for me, as far as the governor is ready to pay.”

“For Judas’s blood!”, Husani burst out. “Have you considered at least that it could be just a crazy man’s frenzy?”