Grantville Gazette Volume 47

  A torch from outside the cell provided dim lighting, but the concern on the pirates' faces was noticeable. The thought of these men tortured as he had been filled Roderik with sorrow. Keeping them healthy and alive, as well as the governor sated, would prove difficult.

  "I didn't give him anything," Roderik said after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

  "We know," Edmund said. "We won't give them anything either, right Bart?" Again he said this as if he didn't quite trust the younger pirate.

  "No, I'd never."

  "I know," Roderik said, "but I'm not even sure what this crazed governor wants from me. Do you know what he's after from you?" Roderik got to his feet slowly, pausing to allay the pain coursing through him, and sat on the bed.

  He sighed relief at the brief contentment and lack of immediate pain he enjoyed by merely sitting on his backside. "Well, I'll tell you something. Just before I parted ways with my old captain I learned he considered moving on and leaving the agreement the two crews forged."

  "We thought so, rumors and all," Edmund said, "but as the days and weeks and months passed, your captain remained. The thought back then was that he'd repair his vessel over the winter and then go on his way."

  "But he didn't," Bart said.

  Edmund nodded. "Yes, and a new plan arose, I'm guessing after you departed. Before the ship and crew were taken we were handsomely rewarded for agreeing to take part in a larger plan."

  "Oh?" Roderik asked. "No. You can't tell me. Me knowing can only cause you harm." He didn't want to relay any useful information to the governor, not now, not after the torture, but perhaps the knowledge would help the Knights of Malta if he were released.

  "I only knew there were more pieces from overhearing the captain, but our two ships were supposed to join with two more and sail through the Strait of Gibraltar and not only provide advance warning of danger, but create fear and confusion."

  "And we'd fly different colors." Bart grinned.

  "Fairly standard procedure, correct?" Roderik asked.

  "Yes and no. If we took a ship no one complained, but our main purpose was disruption and creating panic as far north as possible and all the while sending what we learned back along a picket."

  "To where?" Roderik asked. Interesting, but without knowing the ultimate recipient the information was not as useful.

  Edmund shrugged. "Don't know. I'm a simple sailing master."

  "I'm not saying anything," Roderik said. "This means nothing to me, and frankly, won't help me any. I suggest if you want to ease your pain, and time here, consider giving the governor your information."

  Both men scowled at Roderik.

  "Listen to you," Bart said. "You think we'd give them anything? These French pigs deserve to rot. I'd die here before giving up when our captain takes a piss even."

  "You'll most certainly die here regardless," Roderik said. Bart was as foul-tempered as he remembered, but how long would the defiance remain? Surely after years of imprisonment he'd give up or give in or perhaps force an early death on himself.

  Roderik squirmed. No matter how he positioned himself the pain ignited wherever his body pressed.

  "Get rest if you're able," Edmund said.

  "We'll get your food and water," Bart said.

  "Thank you." Roderik closed his eyes. All efforts at ignoring the pain failed. The governor had taken too many liberties with him, and as a result would learn much less about the pirates than he would have before the torture. These men he shared a cell with were decent concerning their own kind, or at least when they thought of someone as their own—and that shamed Roderik. He no longer cared for the deception, but he had few choices—keep the secret or tell these men his purpose and allow whatever is supposed to happen, happen.

  ****

  Roderik sat up soaked with sweat and the sting of the day's abuse tormenting him. A lone torch outside the cell flickered, the light playing off the metal in the door's window.

  "They took Edmund," Bart said. "You didn't stir. The jailors thought you were dead for a moment and the skinny one almost kicked you."

  Roderik squinted. Bart sat in the corner near the door wearing the dark like a shroud.

  "What are you doing over there?" Roderik asked.

  "I tried to stop them."

  "You shouldn't have," Roderik said. "I'm afraid you'll only succeed in harming Edmund and us if you continue resisting."

  "What else do I have? What kind of person am I if I gave up like you? I'm an able-bodied sailor and proud. I don't serve the governor—never will. That's who I am, and now, locked away forever, why should we consider changing who we are? What we stand for?"

  "But as pirates we stood for taking from others—"

  "We stand for making our own choices and—"

  "I'm not so sure," Roderik said. "You worked for someone else and they told you what to do and where to go. Doesn't sound like freedom."

  Bart got to his feet and stood next to Roderik's bed. Blood streaked his bruised cheeks and carved trails down his grimy neck.

  "The crew agreed with the captain, thinking a contract necessary," Bart said.

  "But you have no idea who contracted your ship?" Roderik closed his eyes against the pain shooting across his back and took deep breaths. "Probably not French since we're in one of their prisons, but what if they were involved and plotting as they are so inclined?"

  "I'm not quite sure I understand you, and I don't care," Bart said. "I don't want to see the old man hurt is all. He was kind to me and he's the reason I'm alive right now. I owe him."

  Stomping, shuffling, and rattling broke through the door before the key hit the lock and the door slammed against the entryway's stone.

  Edmund fell into the cell, face meeting stone and remained where he landed without so much as a twitch. The door swung shut.

  Bart went to Edmund's side and brushed back the long greasy strands of gray hair. He rolled the old sailing master on his side, revealing a blackened and bulging lump covering an eye hiding somewhere under the mess.

  "Take my water," Roderik said, "but only if he's conscious. No sense in washing his face."

  "He's breathing," Bart said. "But his mouth is swollen."

  Michel had broken through Roderik's level of tolerance. What had he hoped to extract from the old man? And why was Roderik in here with them to gather information if Michel was going to have the men tortured anyway?

  "They'll probably grab you next," Roderik said.

  "Let them." Bart cradled Edmund's head in his lap. He tilted his own cup near the sailing master's mouth, but the water only ran off his cheek and chin.

  "Don't waste the water," Roderik said. "He'll need as much as we can spare when he wakes."

  "They'll pay for what they've done."

  "So, they're trying to beat us and starve us into confessions or providing them with information," Roderik said.

  "I'm not telling them anything. Never will."

  "Don't be foolish," Roderik said. But the words sounded hollow. "No. You're right. We're going to die in here regardless. Why not speed up the process rather than suffer."

  Bart shook his head violently. "You still don't understand."

  Roderik realized he didn't understand. In the three months he had spent at the chateau he'd learned nothing other than he shouldn't have trusted Michel. Perhaps learning the value of loyalty and integrity were the key to his redemption. "Make me understand."

  "Whatever secrets we have stay with us," Bart said. "I don't want to die. Freedom is mine if I remain true to Edmund, and true to myself."

  "You're unlike any pirate I've ever dealt with," Roderik said.

  "I learned from Edmund," Bart said. "You know, he was a real sailing master aboard an English vessel many years ago. They forced him into service as they do with so many people. Me? I wanted that life and worked my way up to where I am now. I miss my old crew and the captain. This old man is all I have left."

  "What about joining another crew?"

>   "We're locked in here, and don't see how we'd escape," Bart said.

  Right. Roderik was the only one with a hope of escaping the chateau, but doubt crept into his heart. His assumed role as a prisoner vanished, leaving him a denizen forever trapped in the bowels of the chateau. Perhaps imprisoning him was Grand Master de Lascaris's plan all along.

  Roderik's forehead burned and his ears were like two coals in the bed of a fire. Perhaps ague labored behind his thoughts and affected his judgment. His raggedy clothes clung to his sweat-covered body and his bedding was damp. Rot and decay hung in the air mingling with shit and piss and blood.

  And despair.

  Roderik hugged himself against the unexpected shiver wracking his body.

  Freedom.

  He desired freedom from pain—

  Cell.

  Isle.

  Deceit.

  Had he traded his freedom on the seas for a life of imprisonment—not at the chateau—but for a life of servitude as a knight of the order?

  Tired.

  ****

  A weakened, hoarse voice whispered in the dark.

  Roderik sat up and winced. What the governor had done to him, a young man, nearly rendered him lame, but how had Edmund, an old man, not succumbed?

  "What?" Roderik asked into the dark. The perpetually lit torch was extinguished—unusual. "Edmund, is that you?"

  No reply. No whispers. Perhaps he'd dreamed.

  A gasp pierced the dark followed by unintelligible whispers. Roderik eased from his bed, his hands pushing on shaky legs and stumbled toward the whisper's source, each step a bolt of pain. A man in his twenties should not hobble about like a crippled old man.

  "What's wrong?" Roderik asked.

  "They took Bart," Edmund whispered.

  "And you're worried he'll betray you?" Roderik asked.

  "No. I'm not worried about the boy. He's loyal—almost too loyal—and without question once he finds a cause or quarrel."

  "What are you saying?" Roderik asked.

  "He didn't know anything important. I did, however, and I've something to tell you."

  In the black night a hand fell on Roderik's arm and grasped.

  "Before I pass," Edmund said, "I want to—"

  "No," Roderik said. "You're thirsty and hungry, you'll be fine. You'll see."

  "I'm afraid you're wrong. I've betrayed you both. The governor knows everything. I was weak and now they've taken Bart, and I fear they'll have no use for him."

  "What did you tell them?" Roderik asked.

  "There's something else," Edmund said. "Listen to me. I do not know much, but—"

  "I am not going to give the governor anything. I won't provide him information to save myself."

  Edmund coughed, a slight chuckle perhaps. "Oh, I'm sure you won't. Not after he betrayed you."

  "What?" Roderik asked.

  "You don't have to pretend with me. I may be old, but it's no secret you sought a way back into the order once you left your captain—"

  "No, I—"

  "Please. I'm dying." Edmund's breaths came fast and ragged. "My eyes are trained to see through bad weather and I saw you, a fleeting moment when they yanked off my hood. I wondered why you were locked up here—the order would have thrown you in their dungeon. But it's your order—there is something amiss within your order, and not simply those on Malta—"

  "I'm not a knight—"

  "Not yet," Edmund said. "But please, I only overheard a small piece, but an innkeeper in Marseille, Claude, knows of the plot against your order."

  "I don't understand. What sort of plot? And why tell me this if you're against the order?"

  The old man coughed. "I don't know details, only the name I gave you. I was never against the order, your order was against us, and I never harbored any ill toward the knights—even if they were only glorified corsairs themselves."

  Edmund arrived at a salient point—the order sailed on the edges of piracy themselves. However, the former grand master, de Paule, upon learning how history regarded the order had sought a way to decrease their involvement in such matters. The order's current grand master, de Lascaris, however, sanctioned the practice where he deemed appropriate. But a plot against the order? Roderik needed off the isle to investigate and alert the order.

  "I tell you this so you'll understand us and perhaps find a way of helping Bart," Edmund said.

  "I don't even know if I can help myself."

  "Tell the governor whatever you wish to secure your freedom," Edmund said, "just don't endanger Bart. I care for him as if he were my son."

  "I understand, but I'm in a precarious situation. I have no idea if the governor will honor his promises to me," Roderik said. "If I manage to get out, I will try to help your young friend. I swear. But you said earlier you betrayed us, how?"

  "I'm afraid I told the governor I knew you were not a real prisoner. He grew angry and swore you were, but when I presented what I knew of you, well—"

  Roderik nodded.

  "Then he asked if Bart knew—which he doesn't and I swore to that fact. I gave the governor information on my old ship and yours, information he'll find false upon investigating." Edmund held his head in his hands. "But I was weak. I should have told him nothing and now the governor will take out his frustration on Bart and my guilt is too great to bear. I betrayed not only you and Bart, but my own ideals."

  "You're a sick man—frail and weak. You had no other options," Roderik said. "I'm the traitor. I'm the one who cannot choose a path and honor vows. I allowed myself to be used in this manner. I'm ashamed—"

  Footsteps stomped or shuffled toward the cell.

  The lock rattled.

  ****

  Two guards pushed into the cell followed by Eloy carrying a torch and flashing his horrid teeth.

  Gilles pushed Bart into the room.

  Michel's face sheened with sweat as he lumbered in, barely balancing his rotund body upon smallish feet.

  Roderik took a deep breath and shrank away from Edmund and back to his own bed.

  "Ah, you two are awake and well," Michel said.

  "Awake, but not well." Edmund's voice was weak. He coughed, spitting up blood.

  Michel brought a handkerchief to his face, covering his mouth and nose and stepped away from Edmund.

  "I'm not interested in your opinions on health and well-being," Michel said, handkerchief muffling his voice. "What I am interested in is how you will react to what I'm going to tell you."

  "Everyone is aware of who and what I am," Roderik said.

  "What do we know?" Bart asked from his knees.

  Bart's hands rested on the tops of his legs, but they were not bound. Gilles stood behind him while Eloy moved to Edmund's side. The two guards stood off to the sides of the room, blades sheathed.

  "You know nothing," Michel said. "However, there's a traitor amongst us."

  "They know," Roderik said, raising his voice.

  "I'm afraid not," Michel said. "It's—"

  "Me," Bart said. "I'm the traitor." He sprung to his feet and lunged for Michel.

  "No!" Roderik yelled. "Don't—"

  Bart rammed into Michel's rotund body, his feet staggering backward in tiny steps. They hit the corner of Edmund's bed, which collapsed. Michel landed with Bart on top. Beside them, Edmund coughed and released a pain-filled groan.

  Eloy and Gilles stared at one another as if frozen from the sudden and unexpected action.

  Roderik stood and took a step toward Bart, but was pushed sideways by one of the guards and stumbled into Eloy who flailed at his face, connecting with Roderik's jaw and crashing the two of them against the wall.

  The guards pulled Bart off the governor who remained on the ground puffing out quick breaths. Blood covered the governor's side.

  Gilles' eyes widened. "The governor. He's—"

  "That filthy pirate stabbed the governor." Eloy shot to his feet.

  The guards pushed Bart to his knees.

  "With what?" B
art asked. "Though I would if given a chance." He spat.

  Eloy drew a dirk. "Hold him."

  "Wait," Roderik said. "He didn't do anything. He—"

  Edmund choked and gasped and coughed. Roderik's head spun toward the old man. Blood spewed from Edmund's mouth.

  "Look," Roderik yelled.

  "Please," Edmund said. "I'm the traitor." Each word from the old man screamed pain and a life ending.

  Eloy shook his head. "You're trying to confuse me with all this talk." He pulled back his arm, preparing to run Bart through. The young man remained on his knees chin held high, awaiting his freedom.

  Roderik rolled forward, ignoring the stabs of pain coursing through him. "No!" He grabbed for Eloy's arm, but Gilles kicked his hand away.

  Roderik glanced up as Eloy's dirk pierced Bart's chest. The young man gasped and slumped, his knees slid apart sinking him closer to the floor. His red hair fell in front of his face. The chest puncture oozed.

  Roderik closed his eyes. Senseless. The entire imprisonment and suffering of these men was pointless.

  "What have you done?" Michel's words were labored.

  "I thought you'd been—"

  "Been what?" Michel asked.

  "The blood, you're wounded," Eloy said.

  Roderik sat up. "Look at Edmund, he's sick."

  All the men stepped away from the old man.

  "You've likely killed this man for no reason." Roderik went to Bart's side. His breathed, but said nothing and his eyes remained shrouded by stringy red hair.

  "Quiet, prisoner." Eloy huffed and waved the bloody dirk in Roderik's face. "Look at the governor. His side and back are soaked with blood."

  "You half-wit," Roderik said. "Edmund coughed blood on the governor."

  Bart's head rose, his eyes peered from under the veil of hair. "Traitor." He gasped and coughed. "How? Why?"

  "Me, Bart," Roderik said, "I've betrayed us all."

  "I'll finish you." Eloy leveled his dirk at Bart.

  "You already have," Roderik said.

  Bart's head slumped, and his body collapsed.

  Michel's face reddened beyond its normal pinkish hue; a vein on his forehead bulged. "Get out of here, Eloy. You're lucky I don't throw you in the darkest cell and let the rats pick at you."