Caribbee

  *

  Winston shifted uneasily in his sleep, then bolted upright, rubbing the slight ache of his scar as he became aware of the distant spatter of drums. They were sporadic, but intense. Patterns were being repeated again and again all down the coast.

  He slipped from the bed and moved quietly to the slatted window, to listen more closely. But now the drums had fallen silent. The only sounds left in the sweltering predawn air were the cooing of wood doves and the harsh "quark" of egrets down by the bridge, accompanied by Joan's easy snores. He looked back and studied her face again, realizing that time was beginning to take its toll. He also knew he didn't care, though he figured she did, mightily.

  She'd never concede he could take Jamaica. Maybe she was right. But odds be damned. It was time to make a stand.

  Jamaica. He thought about it again, his excitement swell­ing. Enough cannon, and the Spaniards could never retake it, never even get a warship into the harbor. It was perfect. A place of freedom that would strike a blow against forced labor throughout the New World.

  Not a minute too soon either. The future was clear as day. The English settlers in the Caribbees were about to install what had to be the most absolute system of human slavery ever seen. Admittedly, finding sufficient men and women to work the fields had always been the biggest impediment to developing the virgin lands of the Americas, especially for settlements that wanted to grow money crops for export. But now Barbados had discovered Africans. What next? If slavery proved it could work for sugar in the Caribbees, then it prob­ably would also be instituted for cotton and tobacco in Vir­ginia. Agricultural slavery had started here, but soon it would doubtless be introduced wholesale into North America.

  Christians, perpetrating the most unspeakable crime against humanity possible. Who knew what it would someday lead to?

  He no longer asked himself why he detested slavery so much, but there was a reason, if he'd wanted to think about it. A man was a man. Seeing Briggs horsewhip his Yoruba was too similar to watching Ruyters flog his seamen. He had tasted the cat-o'-nine-tails himself more than once. In fact, whipping the Yoruba was almost worse, since a seaman could always jump ship at the next port. But a slave, especially on a small island like Barbados, had nowhere to go. No escape.

  Not yet. But come the day Jamaica was his . . .

  "Are you all right, love?" Joan had awakened and was watching him.

  "I was listening to the drums. And thinking." He did not turn.

  "Those damned drums. Every morning. Why don't the planters put a halt to it?" She raised up and swabbed her face with the rough cotton sheet. "God curse this heat."

  "I'm tired of all of it. Particularly slavery."

  "I fancy these Africans are not your worry. You'd best be rethinking this daft scheme of yours with the indentures."

  "That's on schedule. The Council agreed to the terms, drew up a list of men, and I picked the ones I wanted."

  "What're you thinkin' to do about ordnance?" Skepticism permeated her groggy voice.

  "I've got a batch of new flintlocks on the Defiance. Gen­erously supplied to me by Anthony Walrond's trading company." He laughed. "In grateful appreciation for helping out that frigate of theirs that went aground up by Nevis Island."

  "I heard about that. I also hear he'd like those muskets back."

  "He can see me in hell about that." He was strolling back toward the bed, nude in the early light. She admired the hard ripple of his chest, the long, muscular legs. "Also, I've got the boys at work making some half-pikes. We've set up a forge down by the bay."

  "And what, pray, are you expectin' to use for pikestaffs?"

  "We're having to cut palm stalks." He caught her look. "I know. But what can I do? There's no cured wood to be had on this short a notice."

  "Lo, what an army you'll have." She laughed wryly. "Do you really think all those indentures will fight?"

  "For their freedom, yes." He settled onto the bed. "That's what I'm counting on."

  "Well, you're counting wrong, love. Most of them don't care a damn for anything, except maybe drinkin' in the shade. Believe me, I know them."

  "I'll give them something to fight for. It won't be like here, where they're worked to death, then turned out to starve."

  "I could tell you a few stories about human nature that might serve to enlighten you." She stretched back and pulled up her shift to rub a mosquito bite on her thigh. "If it was me, I'd be trying to get hold of some of these Africans. From the scars I've seen on a few of them, I'd say they've done their share of fighting. On my faith, they scare the wits half out of me."

  "They make me uneasy too."

  "How do you mean, darlin'?"

  "All these drums we've been hearing. I found out in Brazil the Yoruba there can talk somehow with a special kind of drum they've got, one that looks like a big hourglass. I figure those here can do it too, only nobody realizes it. Let me tell you, Joan, there was plenty of Yoruba talk this morning. So far, the Africans here are considerably outnumbered, but if they start a revolt, the indentures might decide to rise up too. Then . . ."

  "Some indentures here tried a little uprising once, a cou­ple of years back. And about a dozen got hanged for their pains. I don't fancy they'll try it again soon."

  "Don't be so sure. Remember how the Irish indentures went over to the Spaniards that time they attacked the English settlement up on Nevis Island? They swam out to the Span­iards' frigates, hailed them as fellow Papists, and then told them exactly where all the fortifications were."

  "But how many of these Africans are there here now? Probably not all that many."

  "Maybe not yet. With the Dutch slavers that've come so far, I'd guess there're no more than a couple of thousand or so. But there're more slave ships coming every week. Who knows what'll happen when there're three or four thousand, or more?"

  "It'll not happen soon. How can it?" She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him down next to her. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me how you plan to take Jamaica. God's life, I still don't know why you'd want to try doing it at all."

  "You're just afraid I can't do it." He turned and kissed her, then pulled down the top of her shift and nipped at one of her exposed breasts. "Tell me the truth."

  "Maybe I will someday. If you get back alive." She took his face in her hands and lifted it away. "By the bye, I hear you had a fine time at the ball. Dancin' with that jade."

  "Who?"

  "You know who, you whoremaster. The high and mighty Miss Bedford."

  "I'd had a bit to drink. I don't precisely recall what all happened."

  "Don't you now? Well, some of the Council recall that evening well enough, you can be sure. You weren't too drunk to scare the wits out of them with those Spanish pistols. It's the talk of the island." She watched as he returned his mouth to her breast and began to tease the nipple with his tongue. "Now listen to me. That little virgin's no good for you. For one thing, I hear she's supposed to be marryin' our leading royalist, Sir Anthony, though I swear I don't know what he sees in her. She's probably happier ridin' her horse than being with a man. I warrant she'd probably as soon be a man her­self."

  "I don't want to hear any more about Miss Bedford." He slipped an arm beneath her and drew her up next to him. "I've got something else in mind."

  She trailed her hand down his chest to his groin. Then she smiled. "My, but that's promisin'."

  "There's always apt to be room for improvement. If you set your mind to it."

  "God knows, I've spoiled you." She leaned over and kissed his thigh, then began to tease him with her tongue. Without a word he shifted around and brushed the stubble of his cheeks against her loins. She was already moist, from sweat and desire.

  "God, that's why I always let you come back." She moved against him with a tiny shudder. "When by rights I should know better. Sometimes I think I taught you too well what pleases me."

  "I know something else you like even better." He seized a plump down pillow and stat
ioned it in the middle of the bed, then started to reach for her. She was assessing her handiwork admiringly. He was ready, the way she wanted him.

  "Could be." She drew herself above him. "But you can't always be havin' everything your own way. You've got me feelin' too randy this mornin'. So now I'm going to show you why your frustrated virgin, Miss Bedford, fancies ridin' that horse of hers so much."