James Nelson - The Pirate Round

All through that speech Yancy saw Marlowe’s eyes narrow, saw him stiffen, saw the rage he tried to hold in check. He saw Marlowe glance around at the guards, who were inching closer, the men at the table who were watching him, some of whom had even stood up, backed away to give themselves fighting room. The threat was blatant, the choice-or lack of choice-obvious.

Yancy leaned back, watched Marlowe as the latter ran his options around in his head.

He could have Marlowe killed, of course, could have done so at any moment, could have his ship sunk or taken with one word. But he was afraid that Dinwiddie might hold in his breast some smoldering sense of loyalty. If he killed Marlowe, he might lose Dinwiddie.

That risk notwithstanding, he had to have Elizabeth. She was a gift from God. Here he had been thinking of the fine, fair girls he had left behind, and then she sailed right into his kingdom. He was smitten with her, thought of her every moment since first he ran his eyes over her perfect face and body. She was not destined to be the wife of some little no one like Marlowe. She was meant to be a queen, and so God had sent her to her king.

“Lord Yancy,” Elizabeth was saying now, “I am grateful for your offer and your concern for my safety. Truly. But my husband and I have sailed these many months together, and I cannot think of our being parted now.”

“No, no, it is far too dangerous for you.” Yancy leaned over and patted her hand in a comforting manner. There was anger in her eyes also, but she would get over it. “You must stay with me.”

“I do not wish to stay with you,” she said, biting off the words.

“But you must. I am certain Captain Marlowe would agree.” He looked up at Captain Marlowe, who was leaning back in his chair, running his eyes over the room, over the two dozen heavily armed men between himself and the door, assessing the chances of himself and Bickerstaff and Elizabeth fighting their way out. They would never make it, and Yancy was sure that Marlowe was never man enough to sacrifice his own life for the honor of some bunter.

“Well, perhaps you are right, my lord…” Marlowe extemporized, his eyes still moving around the room.

“Of course I am. You will be parted… two months, no more. But see here, Captain, I do believe the tide is on the ebb now and the wind fair. I think you had best take advantage of it, hmm? Nagel, will you see Captain Marlowe and Mr. Bickerstaff safe to the dock?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Nagel, stepping up behind them. At some point in the past hour he had acquired a cutlass and a brace of pistols.

“Very well, then.” Marlowe stood, gave Yancy a shallow bow. “I thank you again for your hospitality. Come along, Francis, we must away.” He kissed Elizabeth lightly on the cheek. “You will be safe here, and I will return in a few months, my dear. Good-bye.”

Elizabeth watched him go, stunned to speechlessness, but Yancy gave him a hearty farewell. He was not surprised. He knew men, and he knew that Marlowe would make the right decision.

The sun was two hours gone when Nagel returned. Yancy was waiting on the wide veranda. He nodded as he listened to Nagel’s report. The big man had seen Marlowe and Bickerstaff back aboard, had insisted on taking them out himself in the longboat.

Yancy and Nagel stood silent for a moment, watching the Elizabeth Galley creeping out of the harbor. There was enough of a moon that they could clearly see her topsails as they filled, just a little, in the light air. The breeze and the tide carried her steadily along, past the rotten and abandoned pirate ships, past Quail Island with its garrisoned battery, until it was lost from sight in the darkness to the south.

Yancy watched until her big stern lantern winked once and then vanished behind the island. Even if he wanted to return now, he could not sail back against the breeze and the current. Marlowe was gone.

Yancy thought of the idiot Dinwiddie having his way with the harem girls, but that thought did not bother him in the least. He did not need harem girls. He had Elizabeth now. She was secure in a room down the hall, locked in and awaiting his pleasure. And what a pleasure it would be.

She would fight him, he had no doubt of that. She was spirited, not like these docile creatures native to the island. But that was what he wanted, what he needed. He craved challenge, had little enough of it as supreme ruler of St. Mary’s. She would fight, and she would lose, and eventually she would be broken, like a horse, and she would be his.

He felt arousal creeping up on him, just thinking of what the night had in store.

Elizabeth stood on the small balcony that was part of the room in which she was locked. She watched the Elizabeth Galley creeping away.

Elizabeth Galley. The irony of the name made her sick. The thought of Marlowe standing up and graciously taking his leave of her made her sick.

It was not anger, not dismay, not confusion. None of those things could describe what she felt. It was a witch’s brew of them all, boiling in her guts. She felt like running, careening off walls. She did not know what she felt. It was all too unreal. It was betrayal beyond the imaginable.

No, no. She shook off that thought. Thomas must have some plan, some trick or other in mind. He would not just leave her there. Not the Thomas Marlowe who had once thrown everything away to rescue her from a prison cell, who had killed men in defense of her honor. Thomas whose life was inextricably entwined with hers.

She watched as the Galley’s big stern lantern disappeared around the island, and then she knew she was alone, and suddenly she was unsure again. She turned and ran her eyes over the walls of the building, wondered if she could climb off the balcony and make some kind of escape. But the walls were smooth, there was nothing to grab, and below her a long drop to a rocky outcropping. There was nothing to do but jump to her death.

She looked down at the rocks, dull gray in the moonlight. Yancy obviously did not think she would do it, or he would not have given her access to the balcony. Perhaps she would surprise him. She wondered if the fall was really enough to kill her, or if it would just cripple her in some horrible way.

She leaned farther over the rail, even told herself to do it, but then she straightened and pushed herself back. That was not her way. If she had not killed herself yet, after all the misery she had suffered, then she was not about to do it now. Apparently Yancy did have her figured, just as he had had Marlowe figured.

No, it is not possible! Thomas would not abandon me!

She could not believe it, yet she knew that Nagel had escorted him to his ship, and she had seen his ship sail away.

He has to have some plan. The Thomas she knew would not leave her.

Thomas, the former pirate? His whole life is a lie, even his name. Why should I think his loyalty to me is anything more?

Thomas had sailed away, left her behind. It was hardly the first time she had been abandoned in her life, left to fend for herself. She had survived then, she would survive now. She would survive by her own wits and strength, and if indeed he had left her, then Thomas Marlowe be damned.

DUNCAN HONEYMAN insisted on coming. Pleaded, in fact, and Marlowe could not have been more surprised.

Marlowe figured that his own choice was Elizabeth or the Elizabeth Galley. He reckoned that Honeyman would see this as his big opportunity. Dinwiddie gone to God knows where, the captain and Bicker-staff off the ship. The Galley, now complete with guns, powder, shot, stores, was his for the taking.

Marlowe was ready to make that sacrifice. In some way he even hoped for it, penitence for his incalculable stupidity and hubris. “There is a sort of a code, you know, with these fellows. They are not wont to meddle with another’s wife.” Lord, those words mocked him! And it did not help to recall that he had not really believed them, even as they were coming out of his mouth. He had pushed his luck clean over the brink.