Charles was at a loss of what more to say. How could he tell his son that no, it was not done, was not finished? That all he also wanted was the bliss of peace? That the only way for it to be granted was to pay the demanded price.
“You could not have killed Teach, Jesamiah. Those stories, the ones that say he has traded souls with the Devil? They are true.”
Jesamiah laughed, swung back to the rail, peered over again hoping against hope to see Mary struggling ashore. “That’s bloody nonsense. Tiola told me; there is no such being as the Devil.”
“But there is the Dark. The Dark can possess and protect a man, and only a Witch Woman can defeat the Dark.”
It was true, Jesamiah knew it was true. That was why Tiola had to protect herself now. The Dark would destroy her if it could. As, indirectly, it had destroyed an innocent young life here tonight.
Jesamiah took the chain with its gold charm from around his neck, dangled the acorn above his palm. The sailor’s belief: he must have something to pay the ferryman to take him across the Eternal River to the Other Side. Did Mary have anything to pay her passage?
Riddled with guilt, her death had been his fault, he held the chain out, dropped it into the water. “Take this, darlin’, I freely give it you, and wish you the chance to find peace.” He rubbed his hand across his face, sighed. Was this reality or was he indeed mad?
“I don’t want to know, Father. About you, about Phillipe, or bloody Teach. All I want to do is forget the past, get off this fokken miserable ship, report back to Spotswood, collect my woman and then sail away in my ship.” He said a few more things, lashing out, his anger hurting, twisting like a knife inside him. Then he strode away, went aft to find himself somewhere to sleep. Tiola would speak to him in their special way as soon as she could and meanwhile he had a black-bearded devil to deal with.
And nothing, nothing at all, was going to make him believe that he had just told his father’s ghost to fuck off.
Sixteen
Friday 1st November
As dawn approached, Tiola found herself busy. Not all spirits knew their way, they were often disorientated, some lost. As a midwife it was her duty to care for those coming into the world and those leaving it. With love she cleaned and swaddled the newborn child, and with as much kindness washed and laid out the dead. The circle of life, beginning to end, completed.
Soon, the sun would rise; the ice on the River melt, and the boundary between the plains of existence close for all but the new souls.
~
Jesamiah
? ~ She had tried calling him several times, but had been aware, even through all the babbling confusion of the many excited voices of the dead that he had been close to Teach and so she had backed away. Something else had happened though. Something terrible.
~
Jesamiah
? ~
~
Sweetheart
. ~
He sounded beaten and defeated as if he had no more strength to carry on. Tiola caught her breath – it could happen! The seeping of energy between the plains sometimes drained a living form’s life force so it became snared by the returning souls, unable to fight free! The ill, the old, the young were those who usually succumbed, Jesamiah was vulnerable, he was tired, and sounded so sad, so lonely.
~
Let me come to you
, ~ she said. ~
We can meet beneath the trees
. ~
His answer was sharp, frightened. ~
No! Stay away
! ~
She heard him exhale, steady himself. Was aware that he was on the edge of losing control, was sweeping tears from his eyes.
~
We shared something so beautiful this night, Tiola, and now it has been tainted by vile ugliness. When I make love to you as my wife I want nothing to come between us. Nothing to spoil it
. ~
~
Jesamiah? Can you not tell me? What has happened
? ~
He merely responded with, ~
Bad things
. ~ Then added, to change the subject, ~
I keep seeing my father
. ~
~
He wants to make amends, needs to cleanse himself of his guilt. Oh
! ~ Tiola broke off, cried out in distress. ~
Mary? Mary Ormond? Why are you here? Jesamiah, what has happened? Mary, you poor, poor child
! ~
He heard nothing more, but felt the pain of Tiola’s grief. Shared every emotion with her, for he was drowning in the same sorrow.
All else forgotten, Tiola ran to the sad form that was the keening spirit of sixteen-year-old Mary. Tears glistened in the girl’s dull eyes and shone against the marks of bruising and dried blood. Tiola wanted to ask how she had come to be in this state, but it was not her place to do so. Others on the far side would do that, and in the asking and the telling would comfort and heal. All she could do was walk beside Mary and guide her to the River, talking and reassuring, easing with tender love and respect the pains that wrecked the earth-bound spirit.
Mary hesitated on the riverbank, confused that it was ice not water; knowledge, hidden to the living but released to the dead, was telling her there should be a boat to take her safe across.
“Where is the ferryman?” she said, “I must pay him.” She pulled a wedding band from her finger, stared at it then threw it away in horror and disgust. Her hands went to cover her breasts, her nakedness. “I am ashamed, I am unclothed.”
“Birth-clad you came into the world, Mary, there is no shame in the naked body.” All the same, Tiola removed her cloak and placed it around the girl’s shoulders.
Mary gathered it close, grateful; she was cold, shivering.
Tiola put her arms around her, held her and whispered that all was well, that the horrors and the fears were over. And noticed a chain around the girl’s neck. She touched it.
“Mary, from where did you get this?”
Mary lifted it, peered at the acorn dangling there, bewildered. “I – I do not know. I found it in the water, I think.”
Worry was soaking through Tiola. Why did Mary Ormond have Jesamiah’s acorn? What had happened?
“He said I could have it to pay my way.”
“Then you must use it so. Throw it onto the ice as you pass over.”
Mary regarded Tiola with wide, solemn eyes that spoke more of her ordeal than could any words. In return, Tiola kissed her forehead and guided her to the frozen water where the Gentle Ones were waiting to take the girl into their compassionate protection.
Hesitating, Mary touched her hand, “He is a good man. Cherish him.”
“I will. I do,” Tiola answered.
Seventeen
Sitting on the bank of the river that wandered behind Archbell Point, through a haze of tears, Tiola watched the sun rise. She now understood Jesamiah’s despair and so wanted to be with him, to cleanse them both from the stench of brutality, but until the evil that was in Teach was defeated, she would not be able to communicate with the one she loved beyond her own life.
“I am not proud of what happened this night,” Charles said suddenly appearing, seated beside her. “That girl was treated ill. She should not have died as she did.”
Tiola jumped to her feet, fists clenched at her sides, anger blazing in her eyes. “Jesamiah was trying to save her, how dare you condemn him!”
Charles frowned up at her; “You misunderstand me. Teach should not have abused her. I am proud of Jesamiah, but he should not have taken the risk of doing what he did. He baffles me. I do not understand him.”
It was not sufficient to cool Tiola’s outrage. “Had you been a father to him then perhaps you would. Had you loved him, then perhaps you would not be baffled. He is a kind, generous man.”
Charles exhaled slowly, a mimicked reflex of when he had been alive, for he had no living breath. “He is a pirate. He kills, he steals.”
About to shout again, Tiola backed down. Charles was right. “Yes, he was a pirate. And he does kill and he does steal, but he is not possessed by evil. He is capable of being a good man.”
Charles sat a while watching the sun’s rays stabbing into the paling blueness and the last stars disappear. “We do not know,” he said, “when we plant our seed and watch a woman’s belly swell, what angel or demon will be born.” The sun rose higher, warming the world with its smile. “Please. Sit, Witch Woman. I long to talk to you but it is difficult for me to say what is in my mind when you are so fired with wrath.”
Tiola sat, although not close. Something was worrying her about Charles Mereno, but she did not know what. Not for the first time she wished she had been granted the gift of reading minds or seeing the future. She could communicate with Jesamiah by thought – he was the only living human this had ever occurred with – and it was often easy to guess intentions by the subtle movements of body language, the way an eye flickered or a muscle twitched. Mereno displayed none of these telltale signs. Like Jesamiah he had taught himself to give nothing away, to not make those indicative changes.
As the daylight strengthened, Charles Mereno spilled out his guilt to Tiola: told her what he had done in the past, how he had drunkenly abandoned Carlos and his bride when they needed him most. “Jesamiah has put me to shame; he did not become sodden with rum and consider only himself. He tried to save an innocent this night. That he failed is not his fault.”
Charles chewed his lip for a while, considering what to say next. “Carlos was my dearest friend; I also loved the woman he took as wife. Although it was not me she loved in return, I promised to look after her if ever anything happened to Carlos. It was a promise I did not expect to fulfil for many years. Certainly not on their wedding night. She never spoke again after what they did to her. She barely ate, refused to leave her room. She became a wild thing if ever I tried persuading her, so I soon stopped trying. When the child was born she would have nothing to do with him, and when he was two years old she hanged herself.”
He plucked a blade of grass, shredded it. “I had no affection for the boy. I left him in the care of servants and sailed away, returned to piracy. The boy, Phillipe, blamed me for her death.”
“But he was a child, how could a two-year-old blame you?”
“No, no, I mean when I eventually returned. He blamed me for everything. And he was right to do so, for it was my fault. It should never have happened.” He gazed across the tranquil river at the leaves stirring in the breeze.
“When I returned I brought a new wife and our baby. Jesamiah. I truly thought it would be a new beginning, that the past was ended, that we could start again. I thought the jealousy Phillipe felt for Jesamiah would pass. I should have told Phillipe who his father was and how he came to be born. But I did not. He had no idea why I preferred Jesamiah to him. Is it any wonder there was such hatred?” He plucked another blade of grass, then another.
“You promised to look after his mother, you did what you could. Why did you keep her son? Why did you not place him in an orphanage, or a monastery?”
“You ask me that; you of all people? Would you abandon an innocent child?”
Tiola shook her head. No, she would not.
“I had an obligation to his mother. I could not just send him away. You see, before he was born I had hoped he was Carlos’s child, and for her sake I thought it best to maintain that I was the father, that I was her legal husband. She had married Carlos in secret, no one beside me and the men who abused her that night knew the real story. Her servants later discovered that del Gardo, her own brother, had raped her, but they knew nothing of the rest of it. Nothing at all.”
There was a long pause. Tiola sat silent; waiting, realising there was more of the confession to come.
“Bad enough,” he said, “that her brother defiled her and that the boy could have been born of incest, but I knew from the day he came into the world which one of them had sired him. Phillipe was Edward Teach’s son.”
Her turn to gasp, then hesitate, consider. “You could not have known that for certain, Charles.”
“Oh, I knew it; when I returned with Jesamiah there was no denying it. The resemblance was unmistakeable.” He groaned; an agonising sound of despair. “I had my precious baby, Jesamiah, in my arms. I so loved him, that tiny little man. His fingers curled around mine; his beautiful dark eyes so full of trust.” Charles’s voice choked. “And as I showed him to Phillipe I never thought to hide my pride. I looked into Phillipe’s eyes and saw Edward Teach looking back at me. From that day I knew I had to make a choice: destroy Phillipe or shut myself away from my son. I chose the latter. I did not love Phillipe, I despised him. How then could I openly love Jesamiah? For his sake, apart from ensuring they were both fed, clothed and had an education, I turned my back on the both of them.”
“You allowed Phillipe to make his life a misery.” Tiola’s contempt was audible.
Charles shook his head. “Yes, Jesamiah had a tough time, but life is tough. Tougher. And because of Phillipe he has learnt to survive. No amount of love could have taught him that. He learnt how to endure and when something worse occurs, he will know how to endure that as well.”
“Worse?” Tiola almost laughed. “Could there be anything worse than those childhood years of pain and torture?”
Charles Mereno got up, walked to the trees where the sunlight was not yet penetrating.
“Oh yes,” his voice was receding, growing fainter as the shadowed trees swallowed him, “there is much worse. There is Edward Teach.”
Eighteen
Someone kicking his shin woke Jesamiah. He had eventually curled up to sleep on the quarterdeck, out in the open where it was colder and damper but smelt fresher. Irritably, for his head was pounding, he opened one eye. The man standing there blotted out the early morning sun, which was behind him. His face was in blackness, a halo of light around his head. But this was no angel, unless it was the Fallen Angel himself. The Devil.
“I been thinkin’,” Blackbeard said.
Good for you
, Jesamiah thought.
“A’cause o’ thy stupidity we could be ‘avin’ the whole of Bath Town baying fer us’n blood by tha morrow.”
More than likely
, Jesamiah also thought.
“I’ll o’course tell they it were thee who drowned ‘er. They bain’t goin’ to suspect me, ‘er ‘usband, be they?”
Sighing heavily Jesamiah crawled to his knees then his feet. “No, I suppose not. What do you want me to be doing then? If it involves killing someone, forget it. I make it a rule not to kill people ‘til after I’ve fed me belly.” Jesamiah moved around. He did not like squinting into the sun, not being able to see Blackbeard’s eyes.
“Killin’? Nay, nay, all I want thee t’do is get this ship underway. I’ve decided to shift anchorage. We’ll drop down to tha Ocracoke.” He yawned and stretched, filled his lungs with fresh air then spat over the side. No sign of a body floating there; it was possible the incoming tidal current had already taken it up river. To Bath Town. It could be bobbing, even now, against the uprights of the bridge. Or washed up on Governor Eden’s front lawn. Teach thought that was funny and guffawed.
On the other side, this could put an end to the lucrative little business venture he was running. Best be gone, then he could feign surprise and grief, make out she had run away from him. Must have met with ruffians. Curse them. Perhaps it would be a good idea to leave her clothes in a heap somewhere ashore? He knew just the place. “Make way then, Acorne, if ’n thee please.”
He turned around and stamped off below, leaving Jesamiah disconcerted. The crew consisted of twenty-six men. All of whom were drunk.
Adventure
was a sloop; minimum crew would be five or six hands. Could he rouse those who were sober enough to set sail? He scratched at his beard growth then under his armpit, aware he was beginning to stink as bad as the rest of them. Did he have time to strip off and have a quick swim? It would take the buggers twenty minutes at least to wake up enough to cast off. Probably twice that to find their way to the mooring ropes! And he could always use the excuse he was searching for the corpse.
Swim first, get underway after. He peeled off his clothes, secured a length of cable and tossed one end over the side – in case there was no one to help him aboard again.
The river was cool and refreshing, made him feel clean and cleared his head. He waded among the reeds for a short way, found only a bucket with a hole in it and four dead rats. Of Mary, nothing. Jesamiah was hit by a fresh wave of grief and guilt. He had not meant her to drown; had wanted only to save her further degradation and certain death at Teach’s hands. What else could he have done? They were only yards from the shore. Why could she not have splashed her way to safety?
“Halloo! Ahoy!”
Turning quickly, Jesamiah’s foot slipped in the silt and he toppled backwards into the water, arms flailing. A jolly boat came alongside, the young man rowing, reaching down to offer a hand.
“I apologise. I did not intend to startle you.”
Jesamiah stood up, realised the water only came as high as his knees and waded in deeper. Modesty did not bother him, but it was difficult to shout at someone for being a bloody fool when standing naked in a river displaying tool and tackle. “Who the bugger are you?”
“Jonathan Gabriel. I want to speak to your Captain. I want to become a pirate.”
“Do you now?” Jesamiah’s answer was gruff. This boy could be no more than eighteen years old. What sort of romantic nonsense had he heard about Teach? How would he feel about joining this crew if he knew what had happened here last night?
“I need the money, Sir,” Gabriel said. “So I can get wed.”
Swimming towards the ship Jesamiah made no answer. He grasped the trailing rope and hauled himself up to where the ladder cleats started – the lowest four were missing. On deck, he dried himself with his shirt and began to dress. What a surprise, no one else was up and about yet.
Jonathan Gabriel’s head appeared above the rail. “Are you the Captain’s first officer? Will you take me?”
“No I ain’t, and no I won’t. Get yourself home.”
“I cannot do that. I would seem the fool if I did.”
Ah, so there had been some bragging and tomfoolery in Bath Town? Over-indulgence at Teach’s wedding probably. Perhaps it would learn this boy a valuable lesson to sail with them as far as the estuary, then set him ashore with a clip round the ear and a hefty boot to the backside.
“Very well. Know anything about ships?”
“Not a thing, Sir. I am a tailor’s son.”
Jesamiah strolled towards the quarterdeck, stepping over lengths of discarded cordage, broken cleats, empty bottles and other piles of stuff he had no intention of identifying. And snoring men.
“You’ll have to learn bloody quick then, won’t you?”
He kicked two men awake, put his hands round his mouth and roared his first order aboard the
Adventure
.
“All hands! Get your shitty, pox-riddled pieces on deck! Now!”
He had to go below, do a good bit of kicking and prodding – and throw a few buckets of cold water around – but after thirty minutes had most of the men assembled. Not one of them was sober. Bleary-eyed, mouths like a parrot’s cage, hangovers as heavy as a ton of rock, but on deck.