Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

I awoke the next morning (or was it the same morning?) to raucous voices and the clatter of iron chains reverberating through me noggin. Spying the captain seated on the grounds in his chair of judgement, I shouted out to him, "What is this, then, Cap'n?"

  Turning towards me, he replied, "We've now to finish the final business of this episode. And to you a good morrow, too, Mr. Crockett!"

  "Oh aye, a good morrow to you, sir," I humbly mumbled back.

  Me head and wobbly body were in no fit means to sit through this charade. A mock trial is what it would be, for the most part. No doubt, at the captain's behest, early in the morn, the captive brigands had been drug from the "tomb," assembled in a line, clapped in irons and made to hobble up through the settlement.

  Oh, the "tomb" was what we called our prison. Back when all our construction was being done, 'twas Orke's suggestion we build a place just for that purpose. I'd guess he had no fond remembrances of his own days locked in the larder, so many years back. In any event, the captain declared it unnecessary. As you'll remember me telling you, we took no prisoners in most normal circumstances. But the captain harkened to Annalea when she intervened to suggest that such a project might service our community.

  As she posed it, with the growth in our membership came an increase in domestic problems requiring the captain's discipline. Aboard ship–'though seldom necessary–the captain's discipline was swift and severe, when required. Ashore 'though, things were less consistent. Since we had no proper facility to segregate several miscreants from our society at one time–thus allowing them to ponder and repent their sins against the community–punishment was random and somewhat whimsical.

  A complaint brought by one of the ladies–as example–against several men, for drunken lewdness, might result in one getting locked away and one being whipped near to death, while another receives a stern (and protracted) lecture and yet another is sent home to recover in his bed.

  By ameliorating justice, such a structure would prove most purposeful. The captain seemed to waver, but he was not yet convinced of the need. I have no doubt that his mind–at that time–was set on the need for manpower to erect fortifications.

  Annalea quickly added that this structure might serve a dual purpose. "Consider, sir, if made large enough, and of the right design and materials, it could contain several errant members and provide storage for roots, fruits and other plantstuff and sundry other stores."

  The captain relented. "Fine, me dear, you shall have it your way. And I know just the men for this job. They are right, experienced sappers! I shall have them assigned to you, this day. Oh, when the task is complete, have them report back to me. I'm mindful of a project that needs to be done at me own quarters."

  Since this building was constructed as well to hold stores as men, in the design of a massive root cellar, it was of solid stone–more underground than above ground–with but wee air holes randomly cut in near the roof. Locked in there more than a day, you'd repent. Locked in there more than a fortnight, you'd go mad! By its design and appearance, it came quickly to be known as the "tomb." And–quite conveniently–construction of the "tomb" gave these sappers the practical experience required to construct a sunken vault.

  The location of the "tomb" was rightly placed, too: being at the extreme far side of the settlement. It was out of the ways of most daily comings and goings, further isolating any inmates from even as much as the familiar sounds and smells of social life. And more to our convenience, the "tomb" was within a short hike to a small cove, where longboats might unload "guests" and booty harvested from the sea, thus avoiding the arduous trek 'cross the island to reach the settlement from ship's dock. This was the route by which our brigand "guests" and treasure trove made land on Nemusmar.

  Well, as I've stated, a trial of freebooters was most a charade. If you'd survived the battle, you'd survive this. Course it was an extreme rarity that would see us at odds with others of our lot. This was the greatest pitched battle we'd ever encountered with another company of freebooters. 'Though they'd been the enemy–and 'though they'd cost us comrades–I knew me mates respected them, and I believed they respected us. And I believed they were most brave warriors, who accepted their defeat and were prepared to meet their fate.

  But our way was to incorporate, not decapitate, such hearty souls. For certain, there'd be a culling. 'Twixt what me own mates had witnessed in the battle and what our vanquished foes might offer of the failings of some of their own company, there'd likely be a few less heads to count by nightfall. The rest would be made the "offer," and would most likely swell our ranks.

  For me, 'twas ironic to think that those surviving brigands, who'd hunted that galleon, persevered to overtake her, fought so hard to overrun her, fought valiantly but futilely against us to protect the wealth that was within their grasp–that these "unfortunates" would come to receive an equal share in those riches. But aye, that was our way–our law.

  With this peculiar thought in me head, near drowned out by the noisy chatter of "trial" preparations all about me, I hustled meself to the quarters of Sarah and Cynthia–the sisters–to find a soft, comforting bed. Oh, not what you are thinking! I knew the sisters were for certain at the doings; and their place was the closest. And I was in no circumstance for a long hike. And–well–I knew the sisters.