Black Heart of Jamaica

  Help was at hand – at least for the other mules. Caesar appeared behind me with a machete. Swiftly he sliced through the tethers to free the surviving pack animals and lead them off the road – his priority to save the shipment of arms. Desperate now, I tried to heave Mr Pitt off my legs but the animal was too heavy. Each distressed movement the creature made ground my thighs against the stony ground. I had been left a sitting duck; it would surely be no time at all before a marksman hit me.

  Then two hands grasped me under the shoulders and heaved. With a painful scrape of shins against stone, I was tugged from under Mr Pitt and hauled off the road. Caesar dragged me ten yards into the undergrowth and buried me under a bush.

  ‘Stay there!’ he ordered, returning to his rifle.

  I wasn’t going to argue. The last few minutes had just revealed that courage under fire was not my strong suit. I had come close to all-out panic when pinned out there under that poor mule. In any case I had serious doubts I could move my legs even if I had wanted to. Cautiously feeling down their length, I discovered long bleeding scratches through the ripped material of my sailor’s breeches. They stung like fury. Mercifully, no bones were broken.

  Eventually, the gunfire subsided. Caesar waited for the all-clear, then strode back on to the road, shouldered his rifle and took aim. Mr Pitt was put out of his misery with an efficient bullet in the brain. Next my friend came in search of me.

  ‘Let me see,’ he ordered, gesturing to my legs. I turned on to my stomach to allow the examination. I felt a splash of liquid on my cuts and the smell of brandy.

  ‘I hope that wasn’t your finest,’ I commented once the sting had worn off a little. ‘Hate to waste it.’

  ‘Not wasted, little soldier. If I don’t clean it, your legs might go bad and have to be chopped off.’

  I grimaced. ‘Fair enough. But if it comes to that, promise you’ll put a bullet in my brain first.’

  He helped me up and it was then that we discovered both my shoes were still under Mr Pitt’s carcass, having parted company with my feet when I had been dragged to safety. Caesar went back to retrieve them, bloodstained and battered. It turned my stomach to put them on again, but, as I was rapidly discovering, there was no time for squeamishness in war. Caesar pulled the string of mules back on to the road, minus one of their number, and insisted that I perch on the back of the lead animal until my wounds stopped bleeding. It was only as we plodded onwards around the bend in the trail that I saw the other casualties and realized that I had got away lightly. Four dead white men, local militia from their uniforms, lay on their backs. Two rebels were stripping them of their weapons, clothes and boots, making sure nothing was wasted.

  ‘War,’ grunted Caesar. ‘Ugly, n’est-ce pas?’

  ‘Ugly and terrible,’ I agreed with a shudder, sending up a silent prayer for the victims.

  Caesar sighed. ‘The way I see it, we have a choice between two bad paths. Either we carry on being killed as slaves or we take our chances as rebels – I’ve chosen to fight. But I’d prefer to be tending my own animals on a little farm where the soil is rich and the climate kind.’

  ‘Maybe one day you will.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not holding my breath. I fear we’ve a long dark road of fighting and hiding out in the hills to travel first. The odds of us coming through this alive are slim.’

  ‘But there’s a chance?’

  ‘Oui, mademoiselle, as long as the sun rises each morning, there’s always hope.’

  ACT V

  SCENE 1 – TOUSSAINT’S ARMY

  Our mule train finally arrived at the rebels’ camp two days after the attack on the road. Anxious to report that he had only half the arms, Colonel Deforce left us standing in the middle of the settlement to call on his commanding officer, General Toussaint. While we waited for permission to fall out, I studied the encampment, the centre of the rebellion, and quickly realized that there was very little to see. It was a sad jumble of cabins on the steeply sloping ground – not an inspiring sight. General Toussaint would have to pray that his troops turned out to be more disciplined than this dilapidated camp.

  News of our arrival spread rapidly. Women emerged from the huts to greet us, trailed by children hanging on their skirts or held to their backs in cloth slings. Soon the air was filled with the soothing sound of greetings and laughter. I was given a wide berth, but attracted many curious glances. It felt very odd to be the only white face among so many. I now knew what it must have been like for Pedro when the children of London followed him about the streets, bemused by the novelty of his skin. However, I was too weary to care very much what they thought of this dirt-streaked English girl. Relieved to have finally stopped travelling, I sat down on the ground, took off my tattered shoes and wriggled my toes, letting the fresh air get to my blisters.

  A bold infant in a ragged shirt crept up and tweaked my hair.

  ‘It’s all right – it’s real,’ I said, collapsing back on to the grass, eyes closed. ‘You can play with it if you like, just make sure no one treads on me for the next few minutes while I sleep.’

  The child took me at my word. With a giggle, she settled down beside me, the gentle tugs on my scalp reassuring me that she was still there as she plaited it.

  Suddenly, the ground thudded under my head and a body launched itself on top of me, knocking the air from my lungs. Gathered up into a hug, I was squeezed hard against a familiar narrow chest.

  ‘You stupid, idiotic, reckless girl! What on earth are you doing following me here?’ cried Pedro, giving me a shake.

  ‘Pleased to see you too, Pedro,’ I gasped, feeling as if the sun had risen inside me, warming me from head to toe with joy. ‘Would you mind letting me breathe, please?’

  His arms relinquished a little of their hold, but not enough to let me escape – not until he’d finished telling me exactly what he thought of my decision to chase him into a war zone.

  ‘You don’t deserve to breathe, Cat. I told you not to worry about me – you should’ve stayed with Mrs Peabody – I can’t believe you’ve got here in one piece – you should be thrashed for being so foolish!’

  Hugging him close, I waited for his stream of words to dry up. Pedro was usually so self-contained; it was decidedly odd to see him like this, spilling out his worry on my behalf.

  ‘They said you survived an ambush. Dammit, Cat, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d been killed coming after me!’

  ‘Probably chased me into the afterlife to tell me off.’

  ‘Very likely.’ He squeezed me tighter. ‘But, hang it all, Cat, it’s good to see you. I hated going off without saying goodbye but you’d understand if you knew the captain of the Merry Meg. I wasn’t given a choice.’

  ‘Oh, but I do know him,’ I interjected. ‘A very sweet man.’

  Pedro pushed me to arms’ length. ‘Captain Tivern, sweet? I don’t think we’re talking about the same person at all.’

  ‘Yes, we are. He gave me your letter. That was after he abducted me and then signed me up as galley hand. I got on famously with most of the crew, with the possible exception of the bosun who chased me up the main mast of the Medici with a dagger between his teeth.’ I twirled a curl between finger and thumb reflectively. ‘He seemed to warm to me eventually though.’

  Pedro caught the twinkle in my eye and realized I was teasing him. He burst out laughing and hugged me again.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it. Doubtless it is some tall tale worthy of Cat Royal at her most inventive.’

  ‘It’s all God’s honest truth, sir!’ I protested. ‘You didn’t think I managed to get here without a story or two to tell you, did you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ He sat back and studied me. ‘Why are you sitting on the ground?’

  ‘I’m exhausted. You’d have to be as blind as a brickbat not to notice that my feet are a battlefield all of their own – the blisters being the victorious army in case you wondered. My legs are scraped and in danger of rotti
ng off, according to Caesar, and I could sleep for a week. Other than that, and the fact that I’m still supposed to be recuperating from malaria, I’ve never been better.’

  Hearing my plight, Pedro stood and scooped me up from my grassy bed, staggering slightly under my weight. I squawked but he wouldn’t put me down. Secretly I was impressed he could manage me, but then he had always been strong for his size.

  ‘Come on then, Trouble – let’s get you fixed up and we can talk.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that.’ I sighed, content just for the moment to let someone else look after me.

  An hour later, cup of green tea in hand, I sat on a patch of earth in front of Pedro’s cabin, gazing down on the mountain slopes, an effective rampart hiding the camp from the San Domingo planters and their militia. Pristine forest clung to the hillsides, low clouds straggling over the highest peaks. The air was full of the sound of birds calling, hammering, and the shouts of men at their exercises. Down at the bottom of the valley, a fast-flowing stream slipped like a silver snake gliding northwards to the sea. A group of women washed clothes on the banks as children played beside them, the occasional laugh or cry reaching us.

  As I looked more closely, I saw that the trees had been cleared from the lowest slopes around the camp and the red earth, free of restraining roots, now bled into the river like an open wound. The sight of the forest’s fertility being washed away reminded me of the fragile peacefulness of the scene. It was all temporary, a pause before more bloodshed. Would those children live to see a time without war, a day when they would be truly free? Or would the dream that Toussaint had planted be cruelly cut down and crushed before it had a chance to flower? If I was a gambler, I’d put my money on the latter.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Pedro asked as he came to crouch beside me.

  ‘You don’t want to hear them. I was feeling melancholy.’

  He snorted. ‘Cat Royal is never melancholy. Angry, yes. Rude, definitely. Cheerful, most of the time.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve changed.’

  ‘Doubt it – not if you coming here is anything to go by.’ Pedro gave me a fond but exasperated smile.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  He chuckled. ‘I should’ve guessed you’d come after me. I imagine you browbeat everyone to get your way so that you could give me a piece of your mind and then drag me home with you. But it won’t work, Cat – not this time.’

  I put my cup down. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Pedro.’

  He waved my words away. ‘No, Cat, I’m serious. I appreciate you coming all this way, but this is my fight, my struggle; I’m not leaving while I still feel I can help.’

  ‘I know that. I’m not here to stop you.’

  ‘What!’ Pedro looked almost disappointed that he didn’t have to convince me of the rightness of his decision. ‘So why are you here then?’

  ‘I don’t know really. To check you’re all right, I suppose. I started out just as you said. Until I got your note from Tivern I wasn’t really sure what had happened to you. But I realized a while ago that I can’t live the rest of your life by your side, trying to keep you safe, I’ve been too . . . too managing. I just didn’t want to lose you.’

  ‘But you haven’t lost me, Cat. The only difference is that I’ve found myself. General Toussaint says I can help maintain morale and give the men the words they need. I’ve put one of their songs to a new tune. It’s about Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt. Do you want to hear it?’

  ‘More than anything.’

  Pedro took his violin out of its case and set it under his chin. He gave me a smile totally free of the reserve that had always clung to him in London, then stood up to play. After a few bars, a woman ambling by with a basket of fruit began to sing along. Her voice was joined by a carpenter working at his bench down the hill. As I listened, more and more voices added to the chorus until even the women down at the stream were part of the choir. The harmonies were exquisite, resonating deep inside me in a place rarely touched by such feelings – the bottom of my soul if I had to put a name to it. Even more moving was the fact that this was the song of a free people – men and women who had claimed their liberty from God, not from any man, just like the people of the Old Testament. I knew I had to give up my friend to this cause and I was proud of him, even though the sacrifice felt like a limb being amputated. When I left – as I had to do very soon – I would be leaving Pedro behind with scant chance of seeing him again.

  Pedro finished with a flourish and the song died away as his comrades returned to their tasks with a smile on their faces. He looked at me expectantly, head cocked to one side.

  ‘What do you think?’

  What could I say? I’d watched him receive standing ovations for his performances in Drury Lane, but this outshone anything he’d done before – a true gem to the paste jewels of the theatre.

  ‘Speechless?’ Pedro laughed. ‘Then that’s praise indeed from Cat Royal.’ He gave me a bow.

  I tweaked his ear, struggling to regain my usual manner with him. ‘You know it was brilliant, you rogue! You’ve always been disgustingly talented. You put the rest of us mere mortals to shame.’

  He laid the violin back in its case. ‘But you have a more important talent, Cat, for loyal, unswerving friendship. See where it’s brought you.’ He waved an arm at our surroundings.

  ‘Humph! To the back of beyond and a ragtag army that hasn’t much chance of surviving the winter.’

  ‘But the chances are a mite better with my music to encourage them.’ He gave a gesture as if conducting an orchestra on the hillside.

  I smiled. ‘With your music hitched to the wagon, I imagine they’ll be able to drive this rebellion all the way. You made them sound like gods and goddesses. And if they sing as well as they fight, then you can’t fail.’

  He gave me an ironic look. We both knew that it was not going to be as easy as that. ‘So what are we going to do about you, Cat? You know you can’t stay.’

  His question reminded me that I had to make some decisions.

  ‘I don’t belong here – and I wasn’t joking about recuperating from malaria. I’ve not been well and it might come back at any time, according to Cookie. I’d be a burden.’

  ‘Who’s Cookie?’

  ‘Mr Hawkins’ slave-cook. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I am now your old master’s indentured servant, still with twenty years to serve.’

  ‘No!’ Pedro rocketed to his feet in indignation.

  I tugged him back down. ‘Don’t worry – I couldn’t care less what he thinks. Billy burned down his barn to get me away so it cost Hawkins dearly to entrap me. But it did make me think that perhaps I should head back to England where I can rely on the Avons to protect me should Hawkins decide to try and enforce his poxy bit of paper. I could rejoin Mrs Peabody’s troupe, but what if Hawkins gets wind of this and pursues me to another island? I don’t think I fancy that as the authorities might well side with the local man.’

  Pedro nodded. ‘No, I wouldn’t risk it. Shame though.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I wanted to see Georgie again, but I suppose I’d better be sensible for once. As for going back to Lizzie and Johnny, that seems just a retreat as I have no intention of settling with them – I’d still have to decide what to do next. No, looking at it now, I think my future is in the old world, not the new.’

  Pedro tapped his fingers on the violin case for a moment before agreeing. ‘I think you’re right. You promised you’d go back one day so it might as well be now. The only problem is how to get you there.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure as the devil is in London not going to swim. I thought the only thing I could do was find a ship heading that way and bargain my way on board with this.’ I held out Billy’s necklace.

  Pedro touched it reverently. ‘That’s lovely. Wherever did you get it?’

  ‘From Billy.’

  ‘Really? Well, wonders will never cease – that’s something else you’re going to have to tell
me about. Shame to lose so pretty a thing but you’re right: it should buy you passage. When your feet have recovered, I’ll take you to Tortuga – you’ll find a ship there without having to tangle with the French authorities.’ That settled, he picked up a stone and threw it down the hill to click against a larger rock. ‘By the way, Cat, what did you do with your slave?’

  ‘I did nothing, I’m afraid. As I said, I was taken hostage off the Medici. She’s still with Billy, I expect. But I promise you, as soon as I can, I’ll find her and make sure she’s all right.’

  Pedro gave a disgusted ‘harrumph’ but even he could not blame me for my unplanned excursion on board the Merry Meg.

  Several peaceful weeks passed on the hillside. Knowing this might be the last time we would be together, Pedro and I spent as much of it as we could in each other’s company, chatting about the past and planning for the future. I helped him with his French, sang with him as he composed new tunes, and tried not to grieve already for the loss of his friendship. Even though he said I would not be losing him, I knew that in truth the next separation would be like a death. Divided by thousands of miles of sea and a country at war with itself, it would be impossible for us even to correspond with any frequency, if at all.

  The journey back to the San Domingo coast was less arduous than the one I had made to reach the camp, but no less nerve-racking. Word had reached the rebels that three hundred rifles had mysteriously turned up with a merchant on Tortuga who was willing, if the price was right, to sell them to the rebels. Caesar and his mules were dispatched once more, this time carrying Pedro and me as passengers. The armed guard followed separately to rejoin the pack animals once the guns were loaded. There was no point alerting the white authorities to the suspicious nature of the mule train with an unnecessary show of force.