Chapter 6

Bingham briefly grinned while he glanced at his friend, who kept observing the movements on the ship. Blackbane’s eyelids narrowed at the sight of only a single person on deck. The watch wore the turban of a Turk.

“Still, no matter who the men of the Diano Marina follow, we’re not going far without my maps and sextant,” Blackbane decided with a growl.

~~~

Ishak bin Yaqoob, known as Hamidu to the English sailors on the ship, lay next to his latest harem acquisition. A young woman lay on her side, facing away from him. Captured during a raid of a small village in Sardinia a few months before, he allowed her to stay after properly serving her master. The one beside him was a blond beauty. Druda was her name. While an infidel, she bore noble blood. The man intended to give upon her the title of umm walad to his concubine when she sired his first child.

The undisputed leader of the Tunis pirates, Hamidu, always sought additional wives and concubines. Slaves were a leading commodity, and the number of wives was a symbol of status for the Muslim rulers along the Barbary Coast of North Africa. Young girls brought in by the raiders of the coasts fetched top prices in the market, and he had the gold to pay. And Hamidu had every intention of becoming a ruler over the land. His growing number of ships proved his ability.

Thinking of his next voyage, the bearded man tried to drift back into his restless sleep. Such nights always happened before he set sail on another razzia into the infidel lands. The raids into Spain and Italy meant the enslavement of Christians for the Ottoman slave trade. It was as the Prophet desired, and it also brought him fame and fortune. Eventually, his exploits would give him the title of Beylik of Tunis.

As he rolled over in bed, he heard footsteps on the deck above his cabin. The sailors on watch must be making their rounds, he decided. Only his most loyal servants remained aboard. Most of his pirate crewmembers were onshore, whoring in the taverns. The pirates were a mix of religions and backgrounds. And they remained pirates first and foremost. Their skills with sails and weapons suited Hamidu, for he knew they would accept their new captain if treasure came into their hands after a raid. It was how he overcame his rival, Blackbane. Hamidu ensured his Muslim servants remained aboard. His servants would never betray him, like many of the pirates did for a few gold coins. Such men were valuable and temperamental, but there was little need to beat them into submission like a slave. All it took was a little extra gold.

In some ways, pirates were easier to handle than slaves.

With his rival out of the way, Hamidu vowed that his renamed ship would remain the terror of the Mediterranean. The sailing vessel with thirty guns struck fear into the slow merchant ships trading in the waters. Unlike Hamidu’s galley crew, which required many slaves to man the oars, the sailing ship’s crew held skills that a slave seldom carried. Plus, they were fearsome when boarding. Now, Hamidu had control of a vessel with the speed and sufficient cannon to dominate the trade routes coming through the area. As long as the infidel kings remained content to pay their ransoms, he would cut a bloody swatch across the coasts. When the sun rose in the morning, a new era would begin. A smile crossed his lips as he drifted off to sleep.

Hamidu drifted out of his pleasant thoughts when he heard footsteps outside the cabin door. The noise roused him. A moment later, there was a startled muffled cry which immediately turned into a gurgling noise. As the man grabbed his sword, which hung from the bulkhead, he pulled out his dagger as well. The door opened slowly. The dark outline of Hamidu’s guard stood at the entrance. He entered the room, holding his throat. Suddenly, the guard fell to his knees as the blood spilled through his fingers. The man toppled onto the deck. A large, familiar shadow stood in the entrance with a short broadsword.

Blackbane!

Hamidu roared out curses in Turkish as he charged. The two large men met in the center of the cabin. Their swords struck together with a loud clang while the woman tried to escape from the room. Neither man noticed as they backed away a half-step. Each was looking for an advantage. Blackbane attacked, swinging his sword as he sidestepped closer to the bed. He already noticed his rapier hanging on the bulkhead. Hamidu displayed it there like a trophy.

The Turk countered his opponent’s swing, stepping over the body of his guard. His dark eyes carefully followed the movements of Blackbane, recognizing his opponent was a skilled swordsman. But Hamidu had Allah on his side.

He attacked, thrusting his sword forward. Blackbane stepped aside, but the blade passed through his robe and embedded into the wood behind him. Ensnarled by the man’s weapon, Blackbane swung his sword up. Hamidu expected his move. He blocked the swing with his long blade dagger. Hamidu closed in on the pirate, who tried to pull away. The sound of ripping fabric mixed with the heavy breathing of the two men.

The cloth gave way just in time as Hamidu swiped his blade at Blackbane’s face. He followed up by swinging his sword at Blackbane. This time, Blackbane expected the move. Hamidu’s strike missed its mark as his opponent parried the blade away. In a fluid motion, Blackbane sliced down with his right hand. The thick sword blade cut through Hamidu’s arm, and he cried out as he fell back against the bulkhead. Blackbane grabbed his rapier from the hook on the wall. He continued his attack. While the Turk rolled away, he extended his arm for the fallen sword. The pirate thrust forward with the razor-sharp blade of his sword, catching his enemy in the belly.

Hamidu pulled away in pain, then stared down in disbelief at the massive opening. He reached for his entrails as they slid out with the blood from his abdomen.

Chapter 7

A cold fog descended across the Diano Marina as it moored between two small islands near Alderney. Damaged enroute through a series of battering storms, the sailing vessel limped into a temporary shelter. In their anchorage along the French coast and out of sight from the primary route through the English Channel, the ship’s under-manned crew repaired their ship.

As Blackbane stood on the quarterdeck, he did not hear the grumbling from the tired men while they worked on the foresails. His attention focused on the sea. He kept careful watch for signs of enemy ships. His ship held less than a third of the normal crew. Those loyal to him stayed when they left Tunis. While taking over the ship wasn’t his original plan, Blackbane took advantage of the nearly empty vessel that night. When the crew came back just before dawn, he gave them their choice; to stay with him or remain in Tunis. He promised them his crew would live like the Beyik while plundering the northern seas. To his disappointment, many of his crew left the ship.

Months later, Blackbane recognized his loyal men grew anxious about the journey. For two months, the captain steered away from potential enemies. His caution left them with few opportunities for plunder and they encountered only one vessel, which they captured. Unfortunately, the Dutch ship carried little cargo. Even more disastrous news came when the pirates learned that the captured ship’s crew suffered from an outbreak of smallpox. Only through the courage shown by Blackbane did they find a small chest of silver carried from the Dutch captain’s quarters. Still, the captain heard the mutters of men about their foul luck. Then came the rumors amid the storms.

Bingham told him that some of the crew worried about dark shadows on the ship at night. The first mate stated the men believed ghosts were haunting them. Both he and Blackbane immediately thought of Naamah. The captain still pictured her remaining at the dock while the ship pulled away just as the sun was about to rise. The woman’s last words to him that day remained drilled into his memory.

“I’ll find you again, Blackbane. I never forgive a debt.”

He took it as a reminder, not a threat. However, as he thought more about her dark shadow disappearing on the dock, he wondered why she had never come aboard the vessel that morning. Yet, he had to consider that the demon might come aboard at night to monitor him.

Still, the situation remained complicated. The captain needed to achieve results soon. As a precaution, he and Bingham carried two flintlocks in their sword belts just in case they misread the crew’s temper. After hugging the Spanish and French coasts, Blackbane needed to remain lucky to the Baltic Sea. He recognized that his current reputation made him and his men dead men should an English or Spanish ship capture them inside the English Channel.

But it was a risk they had to take. Blackbane and his first mate came up with a daring plan to hide their piracy in plain sight. They decided to use the war between Sweden and Russia for their benefit. Blackbane intended to get a Letter of Marque from either king in conflict. It would permit his crew to pirate the waters of the Baltic legally for their gold and silver. He was even willing to become William Marshall again and change the name of their ship to get the backing of a king to make them wealthy.

Noticing a shift in the wind, Blackbane turned to the helmsman, who suddenly came to attention.

“Go find Bingham,” he ordered the pirate. “And tell the men there’s a barrel of wine for them if they finish that sail before nightfall.”

The pirate enthusiastically nodded before he sped away. A few minutes later, the first mate arrived. He was holding a jewel-encrusted dagger.

“What have you got?” Blackbane asked.

“It was in a box that harem girl stole from Hamidu the night you killed him. She had it hidden under your bed,” Bingham replied with a smile. “I retrieved it this morning. Pretty smart to hide it in the last place anyone would look.”

Blackbane stared at the weapon as the first mate pulled the knife from its finely detailed gold scabbard. He’d nearly forgotten about the girl. The slave begged to return to her home. Blackbane agreed and allowed her to stay on board. Then he gave her to the crew as their reward for staying with him.

“Something’s not right here. Why did she tell you about it?” The captain glanced at his friend, who appeared uncomfortable. “It’s worth many times her value as a slave. The wench could have slipped away from our ship several times using this when we’ve pulled into a port. Yet, she remains aboard. Does she enjoy her time with the crew so much? What aren’t you telling me?”

Blackbane noticed the flicker of fear on the first mate’s face.

“Well, I should have told you before. I took the woman away from the crew. She’s been in my cabin for most of the journey. Druda can’t be a whore for the crew,” Bingham explained as he stumbled. He never betrayed an order before.

“You see, I gave the men my share of the gold we took from Hamidu. It was something I had to do for a noblewoman.”

The first mate grappled with his thoughts. He noticed the man waiting with a growing scowl on his face.

“Captain Blackbane, I want this woman to remain with me alone,” he burst out forcefully.

Blackbane lifted an eyebrow in surprise at the news. Bingham had shown no interest in a wife.

“Why? Whores are in every port when a man has gold.”

“Druda carries noble blood.” His first mate’s reaction caused the captain to glare. At times, Bingham was nearly as ruthless as Blackbane. Yet, he took the captain’s gift from the crew and paid them off in gold.

“You know that taking my gift whore away from the crew presents me with a problem?” Blackbane groused while he stared at the expensive weapon.

“They took my share without hesitation,” Bingham told him. “However, I should have come to you first with an explanation. For that error, I deserve the whip.”

Blackbane absently nodded. His first mate’s change of heart caused the captain to reflect on the situation with concern. Wives traveling with pirates were unusual, but not unheard of. But a wife could change a man’s loyalty.

“Is this dagger a way to buy her from me?” His eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion.

The first mate shook his head, his long red hair flowing over his broad shoulders.

“Captain, you know me better than that. There is no disloyalty to my heart. What I’m giving you is not a bribe. Druda told me it’s a holy relic.” Bingham frowned, despite expecting the reaction.

“Remember, I witnessed what happened during our escape. You will need the weapon against the things which come to you. The pummel contains the blood of Saint Gennaro. The Muslims stole it from her church when Hamidu captured her and the rest of the slaves. As you can see, it’s marked so in Latin on the blade.”

The first mate handed him the weapon. Blackbane instantly felt the pain from the symbol on his neck, and he nearly dropped it. He grimaced, holding his hand on his neck. Then he skimmed the inscription on the small blade. He promptly took the scabbard and sheathed the knife. The pain went away. Blackbane scanned the deck to ensure that none of the crewmen were close enough to overhear the conversation.

“The blade is too small and thin for battle,” Blackbane observed. His face showed his doubt in the weapon’s ability.

“I don’t see how it will hurt a demon.”

After a moment, the captain slid the sheath into his belt.

“Still, any defense against my opponents is welcome. Bingham, you cur, you’ve surprised me.” The man turned away and looked over the water.

“I’ll accept your gift with no reservations,” he promised the first mate. “As long as the woman remains loyal as you are, then she’s welcome to sail with us, provided that you can find work for her.”

“I’ve already told her she can work in the galley.” The first mate grinned. “I told the cook that you’ll soon boil him if he can’t do better than serving that rancid leather he calls meat.”

The captain gave the man a knowing look, but remained quiet.

“She’ll impress you. Druda is a survivor!” His second insisted.

Blackbane stared at the water as he grunted.

“We’ll see. Go forward and keep the men on their task. I promised that last barrel of Portuguese wine. That’ll keep them happy for another night, and then we’ll raise anchor in the morning. If we keep good weather and a fair wind, I expect we will be in Stockholm before our stores run out.”

“I hope you’re right.” Bingham glanced back at the crew.

“We lack men needed should we come upon a ship.” The first mate walked to the ladder leading down to the next deck, then he stopped.

“Marshall, thank you.”

Blackbane nodded, covertly watching the first mate until he was among the crew. When he entered his cabin, the captain looked down at his new weapon.

I wish this trinket would send away my nightmares!

Chapter 8

It was late at night. A thin, grizzled man half-dozed in a sitting position with his body leaning against the wooden wheel. An experienced pirate who came with Blackbane from Jamaica several years before, Little Mike held a half-filled mug in his hands. With the ship at anchor, he felt little need to pay attention to the dark waters around the vessel. As he dreamed of taverns and the beautiful wenches, the man failed to hear the noise of something sliding up from the water below.

A dark form skillfully crawled up the stern as tentacle suckers softly popped when they released from the wood. The demon expertly flipped across the railing, landing on the wooden deck. Two red eyes noticed the man leaning against the ship’s wheel.

The drips of seawater softly raining down his head slowly got the helmsman’s attention. When he looked up, Little Mike froze under Beelzebub’s gaze. The man could only let out a feeble grunt when his iris and cornea immediately melted into a solid black pit. As the dead body twitched several times, Beelzebub turned his attention toward the faint outline of a lookout who was smoking his pipe on the other end of the ship. The demon listened to the whistling for a moment before going forward. Behind the monster, the dead helmsman slowly rose to follow his master.

Although he wanted to sleep, Blackbane remained at his small desk by the foot of his bed. Focused on the navigation charts, he worked for the best route to Sweden while cursing his lack of recent maps. The shuffling of feet along the deck slowly caught his attention. The noise grew closer and sounded unnatural to him. With the calmness of the wind and closeness to the island shore, he became suspicious. Mutiny and treachery were always upon a captain’s mind.

Instantly, Blackbane went to the cabin door with his pistol and rapier in hand. The golden dagger remained nestled in his belt. He slowly opened the door to see movement in the middle of his ship. Under the moonlight, he saw a large and tall figure coming up the ladder to the quarterdeck. The captain thought it was a strange shadow until he noticed the line of men visible behind it. Blackbane stepped from his cabin quietly to confront the men coming.

“Stop there, or I’ll shoot the first traitor,” the captain ordered.

The line of figures stopped, and the tall leader stepped closer. Blackbane turned cold, even though the creature’s face remained partially hidden under the shadows of the sails above. Like the moss on the side of a pier, a green sheen of loose skin forced the captain to raise his pistol. The demon’s eyes beckoned him, but the captain stared at the creature’s open mouth. It drooped down into his neck like a giant grouper. Blackbane could almost imagine the lower jaw might disconnect like a python to swallow his prey. The moon’s pale light momentarily strengthened to show him the creature’s red robe and breeches intertwined in gold trimming.

“What are you?” Blackbane’s mouth stumbled for the words when he saw the faces of his crew. Black pits for eyes and pasty faces told him they were no longer among the living. The scene reminded him of stories of ghouls in graveyards.

“Beelzebub comes for your soul, Marshall,” the demon’s voice warbled. “You want gold and blood? I’ll give you a fleet of ships crewed by this undead to fill the seas with the blood of your enemies. You will go after the golden cross again. Once you retrieve it, you’ll have enough gold to make the Beylik look like a pauper.”

“What have you done to my men? Release them now,” Blackbane ordered as he carefully avoided the gaze of Beelzebub.

“That’s impossible, human. This crew of ghouls is no longer yours to ” the fiend told him. “Their souls belong to me, for I’ve promised them a touch of your immortality. Step forward to accept your new role as the immortal terror of the seas.”

Blackbane slowly paced while Beelzebub watched him with his black beady eyes. The captain casually placed his hand over the gold dagger in his belt.

“I see a problem in your offer,” he told the demon. “You give me a soulless existence working for you. I see no humanity in those things behind you. It is not enough.”

“What else can you expect? I save you an eternity of painful misery as each of my brothers and sisters come for you,” the demon croaked out. “The crew behind me still lusts for the same things in life. They’ll rape and kill, then eat their fill of human flesh. However, there’s no pain or hardship anymore. It’s the perfect life for a doomed pirate.”

“Besides, I know you’ve had that whore, Naamah, tempt you. No doubt she’s waiting at the next dock for you. This deal suits you better, man.”

Beelzebub laughed when he recognized Blackbane’s surprised expression at the comment.

“Yes, I saw her on the pier when your ship left. Why do you think she didn’t come aboard? Seawater stops her powers,” he told the captain. “If you don’t understand such things, how do you expect to survive? Come to me, and you will no longer suffer uncertainty and doubt.”

“My life is worth more to me than becoming a dead follower of a demon,” he said. “You bargain with me like I have no choice.”

“In that, you’re correct,” the demon told him after his lower jaw opened wide with a hideous type of smile and razor-sharp teeth. “I tell you what will happen tonight. Once you look into my eyes, the dead men will have their small prize to live forever. I’ll have you lead them into glorious destruction across the seas. You will burn, loot, maim, and kill anything you want. Think of it, all the women you desire, along with holds full of gold and treasure. When you enter cities, the self-righteous fools will bow before you. You can mount the severed heads of rulers on the masts of this vessel. It will be as you dream at night.”

The captain suddenly remembered those unfulfilled dreams. They came to him before his encounter with Remiel. The unsettling thought that the entire demon world knew of his ambitions struck the pirate like a bullet. He stepped back in hesitation.

“And you will still rule over me,” Blackbane declared. “I’ll stand before you like the dead men on the deck. There is no hope in those eyes. I’m the captain of the Diano Marina, not a scurvy ship rat who spends eternity bowing before you.”

Beelzebub sighed as more tentacle arms suddenly appeared from behind his deformed body. The large sucker-covered hands held crude instruments of battle and torture.

“It’s unfortunate you have such little wisdom. I guess I’ll find another subject to lead my followers. As your men tear into your body, you will beg me to take your soul. Only then will I take away your suffering so your crew can feed in peace.”

The crowd of dead pirates closed around their captain. Blackbane backed up to his cabin door, pulling his pistol. He quickly shot at Beelzebub. The bullet slammed into the chest of the demon, passing through with no effect. However, the walking dead helmsman behind fell to the deck, with half of his skull shot away. The ghouls closed in on their captain. Blackbane used the massive pistol grip to strike at the closest dead man, who grabbed his arm. The man’s cheekbone shattered at the strike, leaving a deep indentation. However, the creature tried to bite Blackbane, who desperately struggled to pull away.

Behind the crowd, a shot rang out when Bingham joined the fray. His bullet shattered the skull of one dead crewman. Then, the first mate attacked the ghouls with his sword on the moonlight-covered deck. A second creature fell at Bingham’s feet as Druda joined in the fray. The fair-haired woman carried a short sword in which she swung with amateurish vigor at a crewmember. She dispatched the ghoul in her bloody frenzy.

Bingham’s attack helped his captain to escape the initial onslaught. Blackbane spun away from one ghoul, decapitating the former crewmate with a swing of his sword. Hurrying across the deck, the captain attacked the demon. His furious stroke at Beelzebub missed the mark. The beast moved aside with blinding speed. As Blackbane passed, he felt a fire sweep across his back. Beelzebub struck the captain with razor-sharp claws, ripping through the man’s skin. Forced to endure the pain while he fended off two ghouls, Blackbane searched for an escape. The captain’s vicious swings on the undead creatures only slowed them. Parts of their bodies fell, and blood flowed across the slippery deck.

A scream rose from Druda, who watched Bingham go overboard when a ghoul slammed its body into her lover. Out of the corner of his eye, Blackbane caught sight of the woman running to the rail. However, he was too busy to notice her jump overboard after the first mate.

The last of the undead crew got to Blackbane as he backed into the ship’s wheel. A ghoul wrapped its massive arm around the captain’s neck while another pinned his sword arm against the wheel. Blackbane felt the bite on his arm, and he yelled in agony. He smelled the rancid breath of the large crewman at his neck, struggling to get his teeth through the captain’s collar. Blackbane cursed out in desperation.

“No! Leave him for me,” Beelzebub suddenly ordered the two ghouls.

Chapter 9

The dead crewmen stopped at the order.

The demon stepped into view; his foul face twisted into something akin to a triumphant smile. Beelzebub pulled a blacksmith tong from his black belt.

“I’ll strip you of your flesh while you scream for mercy. Then I’ll give your flesh to feed your crew,” the demon roared as he stepped closer.

The two ghouls pulled the struggling Blackbane tight against the wheel. The captain’s face turned red as he struggled to breathe from the pressure on his windpipe. His free hand pulled and scratched at the brawny arm of the ghoul with no effect.

Beelzebub brought the tong pincers toward the pinned arm of the captain. The creature’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. However, the demon failed to see Blackbane drop his free hand and begin searching on his belt. An instant later, Beelzebub’s howls filled the air. The beast backed away in fear, holding his belly. Blackbane lifted the Saint Gennaro dagger, then slammed it back next to his head. The blade penetrated the eye of the ghoul behind Blackbane. With a hideous scream, the dead crewman released the pirate captain. Blackbane yelled out, then sliced into the second ghoul who bit his arm during the fierce struggle. The creature fell away.

Finally released, Blackbane’s eyes focused on Beelzebub, who continued to back away while eyeing the dagger in the pirate’s hand.

“Rip him apart,” the demon ordered the few remaining undead.

Aware that he had little time as the dead crew came after him, Blackbane went after the monster again. Beelzebub recognized the attack, and the creature swung at him with the tong. Blackbane sidestepped the blow and continued his advance. He slid around the demon and tried to strike at the monster’s side with his dagger. However, a ghoul caught Blackbane by the leg first. The action sent the captain against the rail at the edge of the ship. Beelzebub struck his opponent’s arm with the tong, sending the dagger sliding along the deck. Blackbane again launched himself at the demon, trying to push the creature away. His clumsy attempt to buy time failed when the force of his charge struck the beast.

Beelzebub and Blackbane fell over the railing into the black water together. Desperately pulling himself to the surface, Blackbane struggled in the cold water. The captain could barely swim on a smooth day. Now, he was in the water with a fearful demon who once released the powerful Abezethibou from the Red Sea. Blackbane started swimming for the side of the ship, barely outlined in the night’s blackness. Just as he reached the wooden planks, the captain felt pressure immediately, followed by pain in his ankle. Blackbane couldn’t even gasp as Beelzebub dragged the man under the water. As the demon descended into the depths, the captain struggled. Soon, his lungs felt like they were on fire, and the man realized he was drowning.

I’m supposed to be immortal!

It wasn’t prayer; it was more of an observation. Blackbane decided the angel lied to him. He would sink into the dark depths where he would become fish food. The suffocating pressure and darkness pierced through the captain’s thoughts. Then he saw a blue light that gradually filled his mind. Blackbane’s lungs finally collapsed. The man heard the breaking bones, yet he felt no pain. Even the agony of his leg left when the demon released him.

The light intensified, and his vision showed him a vague outline of a person. The captain felt himself floating toward the person. Slowly, he recognized it was more than one person. His body passed through the shadowy forms, which slowly walked in a line. They walked on a grassy trail that reminded Blackbane of his past. He recognized the path lead to a familiar plot of land outside of Boston. William Marshall grew to a young lad on the farm.

That was before his mother became a whore on the docks!

Frequently, the thought of his childhood sent Blackbane into a rage. However, he felt calm, which seldom came to the pirate. As his floating form swept around the farmhouse, he wanted to stop and look into his old home, to step through the green-painted door. Somehow, he knew his father sat at the table inside while his mother served the family their typical meal of pease porridge with coarse rye bread.

However, Marshall had no control over the journey. Instead, his drifting soul came to a line of spirits. As he came upon the first one, he recognized the face: John Eliot, a missionary to the savages in New England. Marshall remembered seeing a painting of the man in the church his father took the family to each Sunday. The man, dourly dressed in black clothing, strolled along with a thick bible in his hand.

Behind Eliot, a small young woman clad in the ancient style white toga carried an open gold box. Somehow, he knew that her heart lay inside the box. She smiled at him as his vision faded. The line of men and women behind the woman disappeared. Only her angelic face remained in his sight. A voice whispered her name.

Julia of Carthage awaits you, William Marshall. I shall bring you peace with the touch of my hand.

~~~

A fresh breeze across his face woke Blackbane. His eyes stared momentarily at the flapping sail several feet above him. On the headsail above him, two men worked on the leech line. As he looked around the unfamiliar deck, the man heard a voice behind him.

“You Anglais?” Her hard-gray eyes observed him.

Blackbane glanced back to see a large woman on the wheel. Her tanned face had deep wrinkles and her dark blue coat barely contained her gigantic frame, emphasizing her large chest. Strands of her dark blonde hair escaped from under the woman’s red stocking cap and flittered in the breeze.

Blackbane nodded at her question.

“No francais,” he tried to explain he didn’t speak French.

“I speak your language; she told him with a scowl—Anglais husband before he drown. I’m Jacotte, captain of the l’Archimèdes.”

“What of my ship?” He asked as he sat up. His leg movement halted. Looking down at the leg iron attached to the mainmast, he frowned.

“We found your ship abandonné, cassé…broken on a reef. We go for salvage. You lie with the dead. The men were missing their eyes. They looked pluck out by mouette. We took fine cloths with your…how you say… la cargaison,” Jacotte told him.

“You mean my cargo?” Blackbane stated as he looked back at the barrels in the open hold. There were a few cannon lashed down the top of the deck as well. He guessed the remaining clothes and weapons went to the captain’s cabin for storage.

“How did I get back?” He turned back to the woman.

Jacotte gave him an odd look, appearing not to understand.

“My boy, Gascon, recognized the symbol of God on your throat. He reached for the coat, and you coughed out seawater. You cursed out your name.”

Blackbane rubbed his neck and felt the cursed sign grow hot to his touch. The boy she referred to was a large man who slid down a rope to land next to the prisoner. Gascon glared at Blackbane before Jacotte sent him away.

“Did you get my charts and instruments?” Blackbane asked the woman.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“William Marshall signed the charts. Is that you?” She asked. Blackbane nodded.

“The ship we found was the Diano Marina. I’ve heard rumors that a devil named Blackbane is the captain of such a ship.”

The hard-bitten woman kept her eyes locked on his.

“While I don’t believe all the tall tales about that ship, the corpses around your living body tell me you might be the devil. Maybe you might bring in a handsome reward? We shall see.”

“What about my ship?” Blackbane asked.

“The Diano Marina sank just as we took off the last cannon that my small ship could handle. We’ll do well no matter what happens with you,” she replied. “However, I suspect you have interesting stories.”

Jacotte gave him a smug, toothy smile

“With the cannon, weapons, and barrels of gunpowder, we’ll make more than three trips filled with fish.”

Blackbane held his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. He recognized their direction.

“You must be heading to France.”

“We’re going to Le Havre. We’ll take you to the Intendant. He’ll decide what to do with you,” she explained. “If you are Blackbane, he’ll hang you. I’ll get silver livre for your capture.”

“You only have a story about dead men on a ship which sank,” Blackbane suggested as he tried to stand. The low boom of the sail moved when the wind changed and forced him back to the deck. He looked at the woman.

“Perhaps we can make a bargain?”

Jacotte laughed at him.

“With no money and no ship, you have nothing, Marshall. Only the dagger my son found on you is worth something. And you no longer have that to bargain with. You cause trouble; then my men throw you into the sea. Understand Anglais?”

Chapter 10

The sun’s red light snuck through a single opening inside the overcrowded jail of Le Havre the following day. William Marshall sat with his back against the wall. Bleary-eyed from his haunting nightmares, his head nodded. In the middle of the dark and dank room was an open cesspool. Around him were the criminals and debtors of Le Havre. His first day in the jail showed him the top dogs who ran the area. Marshall paid attention to a large man with a pocked-mark face who kept eyeing him from one corner of the room. Understanding the language was unnecessary. It was evident that the opposite side of the cell was enemy territory. He felt the underlying menace coming from the prisoners there.

Lying near his feet was a short, fat man wearing the robes of a monk. The monk kept glancing over at Marshall the day before with his bulbous eyes that look like they would fall out of his eye sockets. While they never spoke, Marshall noticed the man intentionally took up the sleeping spot near him as the light left the room. The captain remained only mildly bothered by the man’s presence. He was hardly a threat, and Marshall noticed how the jail guards kept the monk’s clay mug filled with beer. No doubt, the fat man had friends. He had enough access to money to bribe the guards.

Marshall watched the ray of light slowly cross the filthy floor as other prisoners rose from their sleep. He felt the glimpses coming from a small group of prisoners. Judging by their threadbare clothes and shaggy beards, he guessed the men survived the conditions of the hellhole for the longest time. Marshal also surmised that his expensive clothes caught the prisoner’s eyes. He did not like his odds. The event reminded him of one line in a song that sailors enjoyed singing while working on his ship.

We’ll hang Paddy Doyle for his boots!

The ray of light crossing the floor finally reached the face of the monk, causing the man to swipe at the light beam, then grumbled out something in French. His reaction sent a brief smile to Marshall’s face before the pirate went back to his thoughts.

I’m in jail with no weapons, no ship, and no crew.

True to her words, Jacotte and her son took Marshall to the office of the Intendant. Instead, they found the prefect’s aide. A runt of a man named Jean-François looked over the captain. From the conversation, Marshall figured out that the Intendant was in Paris. He recognized the devious woman and little man bargained over his worth by the tone of the discussion. The captain understood the terms l’espion and le contrebandier while Jacotte pointed to Marshall. With a growing fury, he recognized her attempt to make him into a smuggler, perhaps even an English spy. The prefect’s aide confirmed Marshall’s suspicions. He immediately went to the door and called in two guards. As the guards hauled Marshall away, he yelled out to Jacotte.

“I’m coming back for my dagger, you hedge whore!”

“No, my friend here will ensure you hang. Jean-François agreed to my terms on Diano Marina’s cargo.”

Marshall scowled as he remembered the thieving woman’s smile. He glanced over at the iron bars of the window and the barred door, looking for places to escape. However, the only opportunity appeared when the guards opened the single door. However, the jailer kept armed men standing outside the entrance. Trying to jump them was a fool’s errand.

With a groan, the monk rose from the floor. His movement caught Marshall’s attention. He observed the monk stumble in his thick boots toward the center of the room. The man lifted his robe and began urinating into the stinking open pit. The holy man began whistling like it was just another day.

Across the room, Marshall noticed a large man rise from his seat in the corner. Dressed in a tattered gray smock, he passed by the prisoners, who were eyeing Marshall earlier. They instantly joined him. As the group approached, Marshall stood. Tension immediately filled the air. The big man came to a stop about a foot away from Marshall.

“Donne-moi ce manteau Anglais!”

The captain’s brown eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the threat. The man across from him was a few inches taller and outweighed him. His pockmarked face twisted with a sneer, revealing his missing teeth.

“Go to hell!” Marshall readied himself for the coming fight.

The prisoner reached over to pull at Marshall’s coat. Blackbane immediately punched him right between the eyes. The larger man backed away, holding his nose.

“Je vais te tuer pour ça!” the man raged in the attack.

Blackbane slid inside the swing as he countered with a knee to the man’s groin. His strike sent the prisoner to the floor. However, the other prisoners jumped on Marshall before he could kick his opponent. Two men grabbed the captain’s arms, holding him while another convict pummeled Marshall with blows to the face. The punches stunned the captain. As he tried to avoid the hits, Marshall felt another prison strike him in the lower back. Instantly, his knees buckled, and he dropped. The two men holding him lifted the captain back up. Then, he took more punishment. A savage blow to his belly doubled Marshall over in agony. He felt hands stripping him of his coat, and he pulled away. Marshall lashed out, and his fist caught one of his attackers in the face.

Then, the pirate captain found a large black mass suddenly join him. The monk landed a punch into the criminal, still holding on to Marshall’s coat. While the prisoner dropped to the floor, Marshall stumbled away. The prisoner in the gray smock came after Marshall again. He grabbed the captain, trying to overpower him. The captain heard a scream in his ear as he broke away from the bigger man. He turned to see the monk had locked his beefy arm around his attacker’s head, and his other hand gouged at the man’s eyes. An instant later, an eyeball popped out of the prisoner’s eye socket.

Screaming as he fell to the filthy floor, the prisoner held on to his bleeding face with the eyeball dangling from between his fingers. Those watching the fight backed away from the screaming man as the yells coming from guards grew closer. A moment later, several uniformed men carrying Charleville muskets with their bayonets extended burst into the room. The jailor followed; his red wool frock still wet from his spilled drink. He went over to the severely injured prisoner, who was now whimpering. The monk stepped by the jailer.

“You should take this dog away,” he said, then repeated the suggestion in French.

The man in the red frock scanned the prisoners. He paused at each of the men with bleeding and bruised faces. Finally, he nodded.

“Oui, faites sortir le prisonnier d’ici,” the jailer ordered the closest prisoner.

As the guards backed out of the room, a prisoner helped the injured man to his feet and led him out. The monk walked with the jailer to the door. Marshall couldn’t hear their conversation, but it was apparent they knew each other.

The captain backed against the stone wall and slowly slid down as his fingers carefully probed his face. Blood trickled down from his nose and a split lip. As he dabbed at his wounds with the sleeve of his coat, he saw the monk approach.

“Englishman, what brings a gentleman among the savages?”

The fat man pulled a metal flask from under his robe. Uncorking it, he took a drink, licking his lips when finished.

“Your eyes deceive you, monk,” Marshall grunted. He observed his defeated adversaries, who milled around on the other side of the room.

“I’ve never been called a gentleman. I’ve arrived without a shilling and plenty of blood in my past. What’s your name?”

“They call me Leiras,” the man in the robe said. “In here, I’m known as the Black Monk to these heathens.”

He cursed at the group of ruffians staring at them.

“It is an unusual name. Do you always jump in the middle of a fight?” Marshall asked.

“Only when I want to meet someone with a burden,” Leiras told him as he handed over his flask. The captain smelled the concoction inside dubiously, but he drank it. It had the taste of swamp water mixed with juniper, anise, and coriander. Leiras let out a deep laugh when he saw Blackbane’s bitter expression while he swallowed the liquid.

“Aye, you’re a gentleman, alright. I’ve seen much between rounds of drinks in my years. Let me guess? You enjoy the spirits of Portugal; I’ll bet. I see the cloth of the Turks on you.”

The man pulled an unfilled pipe from a bag attached to a belt around his waist. He placed the stem between his teeth as he grinned at Blackbane’s suspicious expression.

“Your clothes carry the cut of a sailor from the south,” Leiras explained. “I traveled with the heathens and rabble to the Holy Land. Once, a few Turks tried to enslave me on my trip back to civilization. I killed them so they would see the light. Now, my new friend, what’s your name?”

“The name is Marshall. William Marshall. I take it you’re not French,” he observed.

The captain handed the flask back. Leiras took another drink before he placed his thick arms on his belly. He left the pipe dangling from his lips.

“No, I’m a man of the world. Once I was a grenadier from the canton of Schaffouse and learned your language during my time with the Cent Suisses company in Paris.” There was a twinkle in his eye about his past as he spoke. His enormous head and thinning hair gave him an older appearance. The man’s mischievous smile was infectious.

“Yet you wear the habit. Why?”

“Let’s say that I’m a believer in the Lord,” Leiras replied. “As I said, over the years, I’ve seen much in my travels. When I traveled back from the Holy Land, I came upon the Xeropotamou Monastery on Mount Athos. In their sanctuary among the villainous Ottomans, the monks took me in to learn their ways. Good people, but I found them intolerable with their rules. However, I find their wardrobe comfortable. It suits me to know that few men will challenge me from the status and authority of this cloth.”

“Why are you here, and how do you keep yourself in drink?”

“The Intendant of Le Havre believes I stir up trouble against the Church with my visions. I don’t kiss the ass of the damned cardinal here,” he told him proudly. “But the jailer will do anything for a few francs. I’ve got one guard to refill my flask and bring food from his home. His wife is a fine cook.” He licked his lips at the thought. “She comes by with food late at night. The other prisoners envy me for this service.”

“Why not just bribe your way out if you have gold? There is no reason to remain here,” Marshall reasoned. Leiras smiled at him.

“You’re a thinking man, I see. Yes, normally, that would be the case.” The monk lowered his voice, glancing around as he leaned closer to the pirate.

“In my travels, I’ve come across enough treasure to keep me happy. When I arrived here a few years ago, I kept it in one place, but now I have coins hidden in several places throughout Le Havre,” he confided. “A guard might get greedy and try to take it all.”

“Intelligent idea. Why didn’t you take one guard in your confidence? You could bribe him to escape?”

“I thought of the same thing. Unfortunately, that contemptible Intendant, Auguste, is the vicomté of the area. Thus, his power scares those who must live here. The guards will give me a few things for francs, but to escape will take some ingenuity. I wait for the moment. It’s better not to starve when one soon dies.”

“You’re condemned?” Blackbane asked.

“The Church bishop has renounced me as a heretic. Of course, the Vicomte bribed him. They threw me into this hellhole before I could escape the city. I’m sure Auguste intends to let me dance at the end of a rope. He’ll be in for quite a surprise since I don’t intend to stay around.”

“Then you might have company at the gallows,” the captain replied. “I believe that devil woman Jacotte arranged the same for me.”

“Well, I’ll drink to your good health and pray for your chance to haunt her until Judgment Day,” the black monk told him with a sly grin. As he took another drink, he didn’t see the foul glare on Marshall’s face at the comment.

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