The question seemed to make something snap in Bonney’s brain. Hitherto, even while Kane was choking out his life in the corridor only a few yards away, he had sat motionless, his eyes fixed fearfully on Rackham’s face. Now he scrambled suddenly out of his chair and rushed to the wall, snatching down a small-sword from its bracket. Setting his back to the wall he stood panting, the sweat trickling down his face, the sword extended before him. A little ripple of laughter came from the pirates at the other end of the room.
At this point Major Penner intervened. He had no wish to see Bonney cut to pieces, which was what he imagined must happen if Rackham were not forestalled. Avoiding the half-caste girl, who crouched by the table, her hands folded over her breasts, gazing with eyes of terror on the scene, the Major confronted Bonney and gestured with his own rapier at the sword held in the plantation owner’s unsteady hand.
‘Best put it away,’ he said. ‘Resistance will not help you. Be a sensible fellow, now, and sit ye down again.’
‘In God’s name, do as he says,’ Baker broke in. ‘What can you do against so many? Put up your sword.’
Penner held out his left hand for the weapon, and Bonney hesitated, his face all wet with desperation. Then suddenly, with a cry of panic, he lunged with his point full at the Major’s breast.
‘Ye silly bastard!’ shouted Penner, springing back. ‘Must I embroider your fat carcase?’ He advanced his own point. ‘Put it down before I do ye a mischief.’
But Bonney, blinded by fear, only thrust again, and this time the Major could retreat no farther, for the table was at his back. He parried the stroke easily enough, and as a third wild blow was aimed at him, lost his temper.
‘Take it then, you fool,’ he said, and encircling Bonney’s blade with practised ease, he transfixed his opponent’s elbow.
Bonney screamed, dropping his weapon, and staggered back clutching his arm. Blood welled up in a great stain on his sleeve, and seeped on to his fingers, but he would still have resisted had not Penner set his own point, now sullied with blood, at his throat.
Rough hands thrust Bonney into his chair, and Rackham leaned forward and set a hand on each of his shoulders.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded, and placed his thumbs on Bonney’s throat. ‘Speak now, or I’ll burn your house with you tied in this chair. Speak, you rotten slaver!’
Bonney writhed beneath his grip, and then his head lolled forward and he sank down in the chair. He had fainted.
Rackham straightened up with a grunt of disgust. ‘I’ll find her myself, then.’ He swung round to Penner. ‘Send half these lads out to the back of the house. There are other blacks on the plantation: they may have heard Kane howling for help. Three more stay here to watch our friends. The remainder can go through the house and strip it.’
With whoops of delight his followers obeyed. Some fell on the table, snatching up the silver while they stuffed the remains of the food into their mouths. Others wrenched down the ornaments from the walls, while a small party burst open cupboards and ransacked drawers. One laid violent hands on Baker, and began to haul the rings from his fingers. The merchant protested to Penner, but was bidden to be thankful he was escaping with his life. He subsided in mingled wrath and fear, and was soon left to shiver in his under-clothes.
Penner himself mounted guard on the dancing girl, his sword still drawn, and bluntly told several would-be amorists to take themselves off. Growling, they obeyed, and child-like, hurried off yelling to find other amusements.
Through the hall and the west wing of the house they stormed, like terriers, ratching in every corner. None of the rooms was occupied, and as he turned towards the rear of the house, where lay the kitchens and the domestic slaves’ quarters, Rackham felt a chill of fear. Perhaps Bonney had removed Anne from the plantation altogether, or confined her in some outhouse. It would take them the better part of an hour to make a thorough search, and before then they might find themselves beset by the militia, supposing any of the blacks had escaped to spread the alarm.
In growing anxiety he set the men to smashing in cupboards and partitions in a desperate attempt to reveal a hiding place. They turned the kitchen into a shambles without result, and Rackham was on the point of returning to the dining-room to force Bonney to talk when a shout from one of the searchers took him out to the hall.
Two of the more experienced rovers had remembered that a house may contain more below its floors than it does above, and had diligently sounded the boards in the principal rooms. He found them in a corner of the hall, where the matting had been thrown aside revealing the outline of a trap-door.
‘Bring a light,’ said Rackham, and when two of his followers were standing by with candlebranches the trap was thrown back. Stone steps led down into the darkness, and taking one of the candlebranches Rackham began to descend, feeling into the shadows with his broadsword.
He beat right and left, and the point scraped on the walls on both sides of him. The candles threw only a poor light into the gloom, but when he had gone less than a dozen steps the stone stair ended on a floor of hard-packed earth. At the same time the confining walls ceased, and he guessed he was standing in the opening to a cellar.
He looked up to the square of light above and behind him, where the heads of his four men were peering over.
‘Tom, and you, Michel, come down.’ The two men swung over the side of the trap and dropped beside him. One of them brought the other candlebranch, and showed that they were standing in a broad chamber, stone-walled, with three doors opening off it. All three were closed and two were secured by heavy bolts.
‘Anne!’ Rackham raised his voice. ‘Anne! Are you about?’
In that confined place his voice had an odd, muffled quality, but it evoked no answering sound. They waited, and then from behind the centre door came the sound of a quick movement, the clatter of some object falling, and an exclamation suddenly choked off.
In one bound Rackham was at the door. It was the unbolted one, and even as his hand descended on the latch he heard the scuffle of feet beyond the door, and the quick gasps of someone breathing in exertion.
‘Each side,’ snapped Rackham, and as his followers leaped to either side of the doorway he raised his foot and sent the door crashing back on its hinges. He jumped back as he did so, and so saved his life, for the first thing that emerged from the dark opening was the glittering blade of a cane knife, wielded by a negro who might have been the brother to the two they had captured on the road.
He hurtled forward like a diver, the razor-edged blade held before him in both hands, so that he must have spitted anyone standing close to the door. Rackham jumped aside, and Michel, thrusting out a foot, sent the negro sprawling. Tom leaped like a great cat on his shoulders, the knife in his right hand rose and fell twice before the negro had a chance to recover, and with one shriek which rang round that confined place, the fallen man collapsed and lay still.
His sword still at the ready, Rackham faced the dark opening. ‘Anne? Are you there, lass?’ he called, and to his joy he heard her voice answer from the darkness. The next moment she was in his arms. For a long minute they clung together, observed approvingly by the two buccaneers. At last they parted, and he looked into her face.
‘He held his hand over my mouth, to stop me crying out,’ she explained. ‘Pah, I can taste it yet.’ And she spat in most unladylike fashion.
‘He’ll trouble no one any more,’ observed Michel laconically, and Rackham set his arm about Anne’s shoulders and began to guide her to the steps.
Under the rough blanket which appeared to be her only clothing he could feel her trembling violently, and put it down to the cold of her underground prison. But before they had reached the steps she suddenly stumbled and would have fallen but for his protecting arm.
‘Oh, oh, Holy Mother!’ She buried her face in his chest and clung to him, her breath coming in great hoarse sobs. There were no tears in her eyes; her body was simply giving way in reaction to the ment
al and physical strain she had undergone.
He aided her up the steps, slowly, for she was no light burden to support with one hand. Half-way she paused, shook her head, and pulled her blanket more closely about her. Her eyes were glistening and her face was terribly pale, but she had mastered herself, and by a great effort set off up the remaining steps.
The pirates in the hall stared at the sight of their captain emerging from the trap with a woman on his arm, her red hair tumbled over the blanket which afforded her such scanty covering.
‘Jesus, don’t none o’ these women wear no clothes?’ said one.
Rackham turned to Michel. ‘Bid Ben assemble the men at the front of the house. Then tell Major Penner I’ll join him presently.’ The Frenchman hurried away, and Rackham conducted Anne to her room.
Once there she sat straight down in a chair, but the colour was returning to her cheeks, and her spirit with it. Her first inquiry was about Bonney, and when Rackham told her that he was wounded, she tightened her lips.
‘I’ve a word to say to that dear husband of mine. He’ll be more wounded presently.’
Bidding him turn his back, she rose and began to search out her clothing. While she dressed she explained, so far as she knew, what had happened that afternoon.
She had been in her room when Kane and a negro had entered and forcibly taken her down to the cellar. There, under Kane’s supervision, the negro had torn off her clothes, and left her only the blanket. She had been locked in, and although she had screamed and hammered on the door, no one had paid any attention. Guessing that Bonney had discovered her visits to Rackham, she reached the terrifying conclusion that he intended to let her starve slowly to death underground, but that fear, at least, was calmed when food was brought to her a few hours later. Shortly afterwards Bonney himself had come down, with Kane and the negro in attendance. He knew, he said, of her visits to the Cinque Ports, and was expecting her lover later in the evening. He had then explained, in nauseating detail, what he intended to do to Rackham, and had turned her physically ill. With the promise that she should witness the performance he had left her, and the negro had been set as guard outside her door.
How many hours had passed before she fell into an uneasy doze she did not know, but she had awoken to find the negro in the cell with her. He had flung her down, gagging her with his hand, and threatening to kill her if she moved or spoke. Then she had heard Rackham’s voice, had managed to break free, and the sound of the scuffle had reached Rackham in the outer cellar.
‘And God knows I’ve heard no sweeter sound than you roaring beyond that door,’ she added. ‘It’s a fine, strong voice you have, John.’
‘How the devil did he know of your visits to the inn?’ asked Rackham. He told her of the note, and how Penner had detected the trap.
‘Nicodemus told him. I had that from Bonney himself. They flogged the poor little mite’s grandfather to death before his eyes. That was Kane’s work, rot his soul.’ Anne Bonney spat out an oath. ‘There’s another hound whose account’s to settle.’
‘It’s settled already,’ said Rackham, turning round. She was fully dressed now, in her black shirt and breeches and long boots, and was tying up her hair in a red scarf. ‘One of my lads put a knife through him in the passage yonder.’
‘Too easy an end for him,’ she said viciously. ‘And for that greasy nigger that stripped me in the cellar. I’d have seen them roasting over a slow fire, by God! They served enough of Bonney’s poor devils of slaves the same way, although the Governor never heard tell of it.’ She wheeled round, her eyes hard. ‘And so I’ll serve the little swine himself. Where is he?’ She started forward, but Rackham laid a hand on her arm. ‘What is it you do?’ she demanded, pulling free. ‘D’you think you’ll keep me from him? You try, and I’ll—’
‘Wait.’ He placed himself between her and the door. ‘Whatever you intend by him, we’ve little time left. The town may be afoot by now, and the militia on their way. Penner’s to take you aboard his sloop, while I’ve to attend to the Kingston.’ He laughed sharply. ‘God, woman, d’ye know what it means to take a ship and clear her out of harbour? I came here to cut Bonney’s heart out, aye; but I’ll waste no time over what I have to do.’
Plainly Anne Bonney had different ideas. She faced him in genuine astonishment at first; then she laughed, an ugly, harsh sound, and put her hands on her hips.
‘And you’ll cut his heart out, will you? Faith, what a fine, bloodthirsty babe it is!’ She stepped closer to him. Under the line of the scarf round her forehead her brows were wrinkled, and she wore an expression of cruelty he had never seen on her before.
‘Look you, Calico Jack Rackham, he’s my affair and I’ll attend to him in my own way. You can take your Kingston, well enough, and leave me here with Penner. We’ll be aboard his sloop in good time, never fear. But first I’ll settle with that poisonous rat through yonder.’
Rackham was not a soft man, but there was something here that filled him with disgust. He was remembering how he had face La Bouche, unarmed, and that deep, husky voice had called out: ‘Make an end, Pierre. It’s over warm for such excitement.’
And yet in this very room he had loved her violently and passionately. She had seemed soft and languorous, then, and yet strong and vibrant, like no other woman he had ever known, and he had been intoxicated by her. What he was looking at now was either a mask, or else a mask had slipped from its place, revealing the sadistic, feral nature beneath. It was like an ugly dream, and in that moment the Kingston, the Spanish silver, the knowledge that the King’s troops might soon be upon them, were all forgotten. He felt tired and sick, and something of his feelings must have shown in his face, for her eyes brightened.
‘You’ll let me past, then?’ The plea, from lips that had been coldly promising to torture Bonney to death, was incongruous and revolting. Abruptly he stood aside, and she was past him in a flash.
He stood, listening to the sound of her boots striding down the passage, and then he remembered that the alarm might be sounding in the town, and that there was much to do, whether he felt sick and weary or not. He went out into the hall, and found Ben waiting to speak to him. The burly lieutenant came forward, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
‘Only a wet, cap’n,’ he explained apologetically, indicating the mug he held. ‘I kept the lads to about the same; enough to rinse their throats out, like. They’re outside and ready now, but for them that wi’ the Major and the prisoners.’
‘Good.’ Rackham forced himself to think what must be done next. He passed a hand acorss his face, and Ben noticed the movement.
‘Ye all right, cap’n?’ There was genuine concern in his voice. ‘None o’ them blacks nicked ye, did they?’
Rackham shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Wait for me outside with the men. I’ll be with you presently.’
He watched Ben go through the front door, and then walked slowly to the dining-room.
Bonney was still seated in his chair, his right arm roughly bound with a rag at the elbow, where the sleeve of his fine taffeta coat had been ripped away. But far from having recovered, the planter was in a state of terror far greater than when he had faced Penner’s rapier, or even when Rackham had had his hands about his throat. He was huddled back as though trying to hide, his face grey with fear, and for once his eyes had lost their shiftiness. They were fixed in a terrified stare on Anne Bonney, who stood looking down at him.
Penner stood frowning, while the mulatto girl peeped out anxiously from the corner behind him. On either side of Bonney’s chair stood the two grinning pirates who had been appointed his guards. Baker had been driven out of the house, having been stripped of his valuables.
Anne Bonney had possessed herself of a rapier and was holding it levelled at Bonney’s face. She was speaking in a strained, harsh voice, as Rackham entered the room.
‘“Down on your knees,” you said. Have you forgotten, then?’ The rapier flicked out and Bon
ney shrieked and flung himself vainly aside. Fearfully, he put up a hand to his cheek, and brought it down smeared with blood.
‘Many a hundred times you said it, and I obeyed, while you sat there grinning like the foul beast you are.’ Her voice rose with passion. ‘And do you remember calling for Kane – aye, and for your black scum of overseers, too – to come and gape at me and share the joke? A fine joke, eh, James?’ And again she slashed at his face.
Bonney screwed his head round in an effort to shield himself from that razor edge, and pawed feebly with his left hand in an attempt to ward it away. Anne Bonney caught at his coat and jerked him round.
‘Aye, you scream and cower, as I did, but when did you ever spare me, or any other poor soul?’ She shook him fiercely. ‘“Down on your knees,” you would say, and call me every filthy name you knew. Well, down on your own knees now, James Bonney! Quick, or I’ll cut your tongue out!’
She stepped back, pointing to the floor at her feet, but Bonney clung to his chair until one of the pirates heaved him bodily up and forced him down on all fours. The planter shrieked with the pain of his wounded arm, but the pirate, setting a foot behind either knee to keep him kneeling, put a hand in his collar and jerked his body upright. He was held there, helpless in the grip of the grinning ruffian, while Anne Bonney looked malignantly down at him.
At last Bonney found his tongue. ‘Anne’, he croaked, ‘Anne, lass. A jest – only a jest, girl. I meant no offence …’
She leaned down until her face, evil and mocking, was close to his own. ‘Of course, James. Only a jest. You were always a great joker. We’ll share another jest together, now, and I promise it’ll set you in a roar, my love. You mind that little black mistress you were so fond of – one of many – and how you caught her with a boy of her own colour who worked in the cane-fields? You remember what happened to them? Kane would tell you, if he still had a tongue to tell with. That was a good joke, James. You told me about it, you remember, and reminded me of it no later than to-night, down in the cellar, when you promised we should play it over again, with myself and another as the butts.’