'My father left this colony in the certainty that no matter what happened,' he said, 'there would be a Warner here when he returned. I shall not betray him. I surrender Merwar's Hope to your superior force, Monsieur Galante, but I do so under protest that it is an act of war, and I intend to remain here, in whatever capacity I may, to await the conclusion of peace, and whatever arrangements may then be made, or the return of my father with sufficient force to regain what is rightfully his, whichever may be the sooner.'

The prisoners stood in a line, to be inspected by the victors. The sun was high, the sky clear, the day hot. The sails of Ashton's two ships had disappeared during the night, and the fleur-de-lis fluttered from the flagpole in front of the courthouse. Edward stood at one end of the line, with Philip beside him, and Yarico and little Tom beside Philip; beyond them the seventeen Irish labourers and the three Carib women deserted by their erstwhile husbands also waited, with the four other children. All that remained of Merwar's Hope.

'A barbarous name,' Belain remarked, taking a pinch of snuff. 'We shall restore the original, St. Christopher. It has a ring to it, and is more fitting to a Catholic Government. Would you not say, Cahusac?'

The Sieur de Cahusac bowed. Although he sported as much satin and lace as Belain, with his silk stockings and the ridiculous high red heels to his shoes, he was less of a dandy and more of a seaman, both in appearance and in speech. 'Nor is this the best position for a seaport.'

indeed, you are right. We shall leave this place, of course, with its quaint little buildings, as the centre of our tobacco industry, but I had already intended to build myself a real town, indeed, a city, in the bay over there, where the ships may lie close to the beach and the land is low for some distance back from the shore, giving us more space to grow. Hence the architects. But wait, the ladies have arrived.'

The soldiers from the ships had been drawn up in a guard of honour, and now, walking up the beach, there came the flutter of skirts. Not less than twenty women, in all the splendour of silk and satin, with hair pulled back in great mounds on their heads and little black patches on then faces and chins, with masses of jewels on their fingers, with bare shoulders and plunging bodices, although each lady was protected from the sun by a brightly coloured parasol held above her head by an attentive young Negro, wearing coat and vest and breeches and stockings and shoes in materials and colours hardly less splendid than those of their mistresses.

'You'll bring your men to attention, Joachim,' Belain said. 'We must give the ladies a treat.'

Galante nodded, drew his sword, and signalled his officer. A bugler blew a blast, and the pikemen brought their weapons upright with a clatter and a slap of hands on hafts. The women clapped their hands and exclaimed with pleasure, a babble of high-pitched French. Edward avoided looking at them. They represented the ultimate in achievement. More. They represented the enormous confidence which accompanied Pierre Belain like an aura. He had sailed from France to conquer Merwar's Hope, but not merely with a fleet of war. He had brought his officer's wives, and even the women for his common sailors and soldiers, and he had brought architects, and God alone knew what else, to create his conception of a colony. The idea of failure had not crossed his mind.

But if Edward would not look at the women, the women seemed determined to look at him. They wandered down the ranks of the prisoners, talking to each other behind their fans, laughing and exchanging comments, stopping to gaze at Yarico, and then at Edward, no doubt acquainted that one was a member of the terrible Carib race and the other the surrendered Governor of the colony. They exuded perfume, but little beauty, to his eyes; he disliked the caked eyes and the puffy cheeks, the flashing insincere eyes, the obvious layers of clothing which must be clammy with sweat, all the effulgence of court ladies. He had not known this style for too long.

'Now then, Mr Warner,' Belain said. ‘I would have you and your people put forward your best appearance. Stick out your chest, man, and take on a manly look. You have a reputation to uphold.'

'A reputation, monsieur?' Edward inquired.

'Oh, indeed. Terrible people, the Warners and their colorusts. Men who would massacre even the fierce Caribs in their beds.'

'And you played no part in that, monsieur?"

‘It is not really my style, Mr Warner,' Belain said. 'Besides, I would seek to tarnish none of your glory. For to these ladies it is glorious, you know. As they have naught to do with their lives save their flirtations and their amours, it amuses them to consider men, whom they conquer with such ridiculous ease, as very devils incarnate when opposed to other men. For where is the satisfaction in conquering anything puny?"

Contempt. All contempt. But none to match the laughter of the girl.

His head turned, without meaning to. She stood next to Captain Galante, and was obviously his daughter, or his very young sister, for she had his height, and even his face. But the features which in the man were gloomy and even sinister, in the girl were almost beautiful. Almost. Her nose was strangely short, and looked out of place beneath the wide set green eyes, and above the equally wide mouth. Symmetry was supplied by the chin, which was also too small for the rest, as it came together in a point. Her neck was long, her shoulders bare, and the cut of her bodice revealed swelling breasts. Yet strange to say, the possible delights of her figure did not at this moment hold his attention. Nor even the splendour of her pink satin gown, not quite brushing the sand and allowing her shoes, of a similar colour and material, to be seen. Her gloves were white, and her hat, broad-brimmed and drooping over her eyes, was of a dark shade of pink, and sported a tremendous white feather. Her hair was a splendid rich brown; she also wore the fashionable bun, but her ringlets undulated gently from beneath the huge hat to rest on her shoulders and wisp behind, with just a strand in front. It all added up to a picture of grace and health and confidence and wealth he had not seen since leaving England, as if an entire rose garden had mysteriously been picked up and transplanted to this empty shore. Certainly she dominated the other women. Yet none of these obvious attractions equalled the laugh. Here was no simpering smile and no coquettish giggle, no suppressed amusement, and not even the delightful wicked shriek which was Yarico's. This girl laughed, with genuine humour, mingled with, he feared, a good deal of contempt, and above all, with a joyous pleasure in being alive, in being where she was and what she was. He received an impression of pink tongue and gleaming white teeth, of head moving backwards to display neck and chin.

And then the laughter died, for just a second, as she said something else to Galante, before another peal of amusement drifted across the sand.

Clearly she was not the most popular of the ladies, amongst the ladies. They muttered to each other behind their fans, and moved on down the line of men.

'Now there,' Belain said, 'you have already caused a disappointment, Mr Warner. My niece cannot believe that you are the pirate you have been depicted. You must impress her. And she speaks English, you know. Aline, would you care to meet the monster?'

She came closer. She carried a fan, dangling by its string from the forefinger of her right hand. And her dress had a sash, in the same colour as her hat, sucking in her already restricted waist, so that it was a miracle she could breathe at all, while every breath brought a vision of swelling white up to meet his gaze. The Negro boy with the parasol hurried behind her.

'Aline, I would have you meet Edward Warner, eldest son of the famous captain. A very devil in his own right, I do assure you.' Belain watched Edward.

‘I am enchanted, monsieur.' Her voice was liquid, but it sparkled.

Edward bowed. 'And I, mademoiselle. It is seldom that Merwar's Hope, I beg your pardon, St Christopher, is graced with such beauty.'

'A gentleman,' she said. 'And a pirate, and a murderer.' Her voice had dropped to a whisper, but now suddenly it exploded into sound, bringing all her scented breath into his face. 'Monsieur, monsieur, quickly.'

He swung round, as did Philip and indeed everyone present, to gaze at the empty street.

Aline Galante's laughter rushed around his head like a tumbling wave. 'My apologies, monsieur,' she said. And once again her voice dropped to hardly more than a whisper. ‘I thought I saw a Carib warrior, sneaking from house to house. And I was sure you would wish to be informed.'

Her gaze held Edward's for a moment, her mouth widely smiling.

'And you were mistaken, mademoiselle,' he said. 'And perhaps disappointed.'

'Oh, indeed, monsieur. But then, so much of life is disappointing. Or have you not yet discovered that?"

'Enough,' Belain said. ‘I would address the prisoners.' He stood before them. 'Now mark my words well. I have accepted your surrender in good faith, and would place no more restraint upon you than is necessary. You will work the fields, as in this you are more experienced than my people. You may build yourself some huts at a suitable distance from this town of yours, for my people shall require those houses until our own city is built. Now, your governor has elected to remain with you, and so far as you are concerned his authority is undiminished. I would have you know that. As for you, Master Warner, I hold you responsible for the behaviour of your people, and also for their work. Be sure that you understand me.'

‘I understand you, monsieur.' He attempted to meet Belain's stare, but always his gaze kept straying to where Aline Galante stood next to her father, once again laughing at something, it could have been anything, which had caught her fancy. A woman, who either had lived too much, and found all life contemptible, or had not yet lived at all, and therefore found all life excitingly amusing. He wondered which it could be.

'By the great God Himself, I’ll work no more this day.' Yeats threw down the axe, and threw himself with it.

His compatriots exchanged glances, and then slowly lowered their own tools. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the day had been one of extreme heat. But it wanted yet three hours to dusk, and there was a great deal still to be done. Over the past week they had cut down the trees that Edward had estimated they would need, and this day they had commenced cutting the wood into planks. Houses were their first necessity; since the coming of the French they had slept like savages on the beach. Savages? Why, that was all they were. At the least they had all been so exhausted that even Yarico had gone rapidly into a deep sleep, and he had feared her more than any other. Although perhaps even Yarico, as she cuddled little Tom to her breast, had changed.

Yet he had known all along that the Irishmen would become his most pressing problem, and this confrontation bore no comparison with the brawls he had indulged in during his months in gaol. Then he had still been the Governor's son, with all the weight of government there to preserve his life until the return of his father. Now he lowered his own saw, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. At least they were all in front of him. Only Philip, still chiselling away at what would eventually be a door, was behind him. And Philip, at this moment, he could trust. His plight was no different.

Now, as he straightened and pressed a hand to the aching muscles in his back, the whole afternoon seemed to wait upon Iris reply. It did not, of course. Even at this distance he could hear the rumble from farther down the beach, beyond Brimstone Hill, where the French were commencing their city, their Basseterre, as they called it. And on Brimstone Hill itself the sentries patrolled between the great cannon; unlike the Warners, Pierre Belain was not the man to risk surprise. He had less faith in human nature. In Sandy Point, the ladies were gathering for one of their soirees, for the first tiring brought ashore from the ships had been a virginal, and the last few evenings even the Irish had gathered in a group on the beach to listen to the clear sweet sounds drifting through the breeze.

Perhaps there was reason for the absence of hate. The French had behaved with treachery, no doubt. Yet war had been declared, and if the English were uncaring of it, the fault was surely theirs. Nor had Belain, in seizing the colony while the Governor was absent, behaved any differently to Tom and himself in assaulting the Carib village; he was in pursuit of the most profit for himself and his people. And the

French knew more of living than the English. In scarce a week they had changed the very air on St Christopher. The music was but a symbol of the whole, of the perfume and fine clothes and the styled hair and the glittering jewels and the lilting laughter. Mama should have lived for this, for then she would have lived forever. This was, indeed, the dream that had given substance to the colony. But it would take men like Belain and Galante, and women like Galante's daughter and Belain's wife, to give that dream substance. Because they were gentlemen, and their women were ladies.

And for the Warners? A disappearance from history. A disappearance which had already begun, and was now to be hastened on apace. For the Irish were watching him, knowing too well his reputation for sliding away from violence.

‘I agree with you, Yeats,' he said. ‘It is damnably hot. Yet are we not our own masters, and must continue working until dusk. Or we shall have the Frenchmen standing over us with whips.'

"Let them come,' Yeats said, stretching. 'They can hardly be different to Jarring's bully boys. And this time they'll take to you and your brother as well. Aye, and the brown-skinned bitch. That'll be amusing, that will.'

Someone laughed. Philip also stopped work.

Edward walked across the sand.

'Ed-ward,' Yarico said. She would warn him, perhaps, that these were wild Irish, who did not fight in any way he had been taught. But then, neither had the Caribs.

He stood above Yeats. "You'll get up, Yeats,' he said. 'And you'll work, until I tell you to stop. We'll maintain our discipline, by God, until my father returns.'

'Discipline?' Yeats inquired. 'Faith, we'll have none of that from ye, Ted, lad. And ye'd do best to forget your father. He'll not return. And if he does, it'll be to naught of value. Even the Frenchies don't understand that. That sail we saw three days ago, that was a Spaniard, Ted, lad. Ye recognized her yourself. Attracted, she was, by Cahusac's fleet. There won't be a house standing on this island in another month. So where's the point in building more for the Dons to burn? If I was ye, Ted, lad, I'd go bargain with the monsieur for a bottle.'

Edward seized the axe. 'Up, or I’ll split your skull.'

The sucking in of Yeats' breath was accompanied by similar noises from all around. The Irishmen seemed to be gathering themselves.

'Ed-ward,' Yarico warned again.

But he could not look over his shoulder. He could not take his eyes from the man he must dominate.

From the hilltop there came shouts. The guards had seen the coming trouble.

Yeats sat up, slowly. 'Leave him be, lads,' he said. ‘I'll not need ye.'

Up,' Edward said, praying that there would be surrender.

And knowing differently the next moment. Yeats hurled himself to one side, at the same time kicking his feet with vicious accuracy; each toe in turn took Edward at the knees and threw him full length on the sand. Before he could turn a foot descended on his wrist, pinning it and the axe to the ground, and Yeats stood above him.

'Aye, Ted, boy,' he said. 'We'll have discipline here. I'll see to that.'

His foot swung back, and the toes crashed forward. Edward released the axe and brought up his knees, but not in time; the blow smashed into the pit of his belly, and sent rivers of pain streaking away from his groin. And the foot was swinging again.

But it no longer mattered. He knew only the redness which rose out of the sand and the trees and the man in front of him. It was a blood mist which blocked his eyes, because it arose from inside his own brain, clouding all his instincts with the desire to hurt, to maim, to destroy and to kill, as it had that day in the hold of the Great St George. He moved, his whole body at once, caring nothing for the seething pain of the second kick, for the numbing weight across his arm. His other arm, his feet, his knees and his thighs, wrapped themselves around the foot as it ground into his belly, and Yeats fell, with a grunt of astonishment. The weight left Edward's wrist and he turned, fists closed and flailing, landing twice on Yeats' face with spurts of blood, leaving a red mask where they had torn the flesh.

Still on his knees he reached forward, to seize the Irishman by the hair and drag him close for another blow. And was surprised in turn. Yeats twisted and brought his face against Edward's arm, and a thrust of real agony coursed across the muscle and up into his shoulder. He jerked backwards with a cry of horror, watched the blood welling from the terrible gash torn out of his forearm by the razor sharp teeth.

'Get him, Terry,' howled the Irish. 'We have him now.’

Yeats reached his feet, in the same moment as Edward did also. Dismayed by the quick recovery, the Irishman hesitated, and Edward closed again. Blood flew right and left, his own blood, from his arm, and blood from Yeats' face as the tremendous blows smashed into the unprotected flesh. Yeats' knees buckled, and Edward caught him by the hair while he hit him again and again and again. The Irishmen fell silent. Yeats was on his knees, still held up by the hair, while Edward hit him time and again, his own hand now starting to swell into a mushy ruin.

'Enough.' Pierre Belain gave a signal, and two French soldiers moved forward. 'Enough, Edward. Will you kill the man?'

Fingers closed on his arm and dragged him back. He stood still, and yet trembled, muscles, fingers, even knees. Sweat rolled out of his hair and down his shoulders, mingled with the blood draining down his arm and dripping from his fingers. And with the sweat and the blood went the hate. He gazed at Yeats, lying a crumpled, unconscious, bloody mess on the stained sand in front of him. By God, he thought, I did mean to kill him. With my bare hands.

But now he was also aware of people. Almost the entire population of Sandy Point had turned out to watch the fight, aroused by the sound of alarm given by the sentries. The music had stopped, and the women were there, too. He looked at them through pain-filled eyes, caught her face for an instant. This afternoon she was not laughing; indeed for a moment he almost caught a look of admiration, certainly of concern. And it was she who looked away.

‘I understand that such an event may be necessary, from time to time, for discipline,' Belain said. 'And I would not interfere with your methods, Edward. But I can afford no deaths in my labour force. We are shorthanded as it is. I have made arrangements, but until new recruits arrive, why, you must take care of your men, and yourself. Now, will you have my surgeon see to your arm?'

‘I care it,' Yarico said.

Belain glanced at her, and nodded. 'Then do so, princess. And the other man.'

Yarico tossed her head. 'His friend care him. You come, Ed-ward. You fight like Carib. Tom proud.'

'Aye,' Philip said. ‘I'd never have guessed you had that much spirit, Edward.'

‘You'll tend Yeats,' Edward told the stricken Irishmen. 'And then get back to work.'

'And you come,' Yarico said. ‘I have leaf for wound.'

He nodded, and looked over his shoulder at where the French ladies and gentlemen were slowly strolling back to the town, their entertainment completed. A burst of magnificent laughter drifted to him on the wind.

From the forest behind Blood River it was possible to watch Basseterre taking shape. In only a month the streets had been laid out. These were marked by no more than stakes driven into the earth, but there were sufficient of them. And there could be no doubt that they would eventually be filled with houses. Pierre Belain possessed all the energy of Tom Warner at his best, and twice the vision. Already he had his men digging drains, over which his city would rise like the new Paris of which he dreamed.

Edward sighed, and turned away. He had no business to be here, as the prisoners were strictly confined to the tobacco and cornfields and the small area of beach beyond. But when he chose to disappear into the forest, no man could stop him, or could tell where he was going. That was his prerogative. Caribee.

Yet he must return, in good time, to his people. It was already dusk. An important dusk, this, the Sieur de Cahusac's birthday, and for the occasion Belain had even sent down some flagons of wine to the prison camp. There would be a good deal of revelry tonight, and no doubt a fight or two, which would need ending. How confidently he considered the prospect, while the frightful scar on his forearm throbbed with botii memory and anticipation. No man quarrelled with him now. And even Philip looked at him with admiration. While Yarico snuggled close to him every night, and grew morose when he would not touch her. As if he did not wish to do so. As if his constantly encouraged manhood over the past few years was now not making itself felt too vigorously. But Yarico, Father's woman, the murderess of her own people, the mother of his half brother. .. .

He crept through the tobacco field, stood in the shelter of the porch of the Governor's House, watching and listening. It was a hot night and the shutters were raised on the courthouse; even from here he could see the glitter within, the acres of bare shoulders and breasts, the swaying, carefully curled hair, the swinging skirts on the magnificent gowns, the brilliant doublets of the men, and flashing jewels and the even more flashing smiles. He could not smell them. There was a shame. But he could imagine the scents rising in that room, the strangely satisfying mingle of perfume and perspiration, overladen with wine-filled breaths. And he could imagine, too, the conversations, the flirtations and suggestions, as he could hear the laughter.

And the laughter made him dream. Of all the French people on the island he hated only her. Of this he was sure. But it was a hate composed of so many things. She was the epitome of everything a woman should be, and thus everything any woman ever possessed by Edward Warner could never be. She was the unattainable, as Mama had been the unattainable. And she laughed, at him. But she also found him interesting. He remembered the expression he had caught, for just an instant, the afternoon of the fight with Yeats. She would not have liked to see him harmed, perhaps. But there was a dream, truly unattainable. Yet a dream he was unable to resist.

His responsibility to his own people was forgotten. He crouched in the shadows by his father's house, hour after hour after hour. He watched the moon rise, and begin once again its decline, behind a broad band of silver stretching forever across the Caribbean Sea. He listened to the noise of revelry also dim, as minds became fogged with drink, and then occasionally burst out again in tremendous sound. He listened to the endless scrapings of the fiddles. He enjoyed strange fantasies. With fifty men at his back, armed and determined, he could this night regain the colony for England, and Tom Warner.

In time he dozed, on his knees, slumped against the farthest upright of the porch, and awoke stiff and shaking with the chill that crept over the island in the few hours before dawn. At last the fiddles were silent, and the town, too. Silent, and dark, in most places. Yet not asleep. The noise was now stealthy, but none the less obvious to his Indian-trained ears. For there was much to be done, between ending the dancing and the drinking and retiring. Much that could only be done when the brain was befuddled with drink, and the body brought alive with endless contact.

The prison camp had also sunk into silence. Yet now he must return there. Perhaps he had been lucky this far to have escaped detection. And detection would certainly bring a flogging. Belain had made it perfectly clear that the town was out of bounds for any of the prisoners. Cautiously he stretched, and then shrank back into the shadows as he heard footsteps.

A couple came out of the forest, on the far side by the porch, but they did not pass the Governor's House by. Instead they walked under the porch itself. His heart swelled, and he stood against the pillar, straining his eyes in the darkness, and making out nothing more than the sheen of the woman's gown. Yet, coming here, it could only be one of two. And what had she been doing, whichever she was, this past hour? They whispered constantly, as they approached, but in French, and if she laughed, she did so silently, so that he could not hear her.

Now they had reached the door, and stood there, bodies close as they faced each other. And now there could be no doubt. She was too tall for Madame Belain. Edward sucked air into his lungs, a disturbingly loud sound in the pre-dawn stillness. For a moment indeed he all but took to his heels, for he was sure they checked. But the man was kissing the woman's hands, and leaning forward, as if he would do more.

She made him stop. He hesitated, and then he kissed her hands once more and released them. He stepped away, half bowed, and made his way down the street.

Aline Galante stood in the doorway gazing after him, not moving, until he was clearly out of earshot. Once he turned, to raise his hand, and she fluttered her kerchief in response. Then he was swallowed by the darkness.

Aline stepped out of the doorway, slowly closing the door behind her, so that the porch was utterly dark. 'Who is there?' she asked.

How his heart pounded. How his whole body glowed, with desire. He had never known anything like this before. Even with Susan, patient possession had been all he wanted.

'Speak,' she said. 'You are no Frenchman, that is obvious, Master Warner.' As she had known all along, else why address the unknown in English? Why address the unknown at all, in the deserted darkness? But she found him... interesting?

He stepped aside, inhaled her scent.

'Ah,' she said. ‘It is not the act of a gentleman, to lurk in the darkness, and watch another man courting.'

'Was that what he was doing?' Edward asked. 'Courting?'

She came closer. 'And of course it is unwise for a prisoner of war, like you, to lurk close to the house of the Governor-General. There are two reasons to have you whipped.'

Now he could see her face, with opened mouth, smiling, and perhaps even preparing to laugh. Certainly she felt no fear of him. Yet she had watched him very nearly destroy a man. But not a gentleman. Only an Irish labourer, a prisoner like himself. And it had been done with his fists, not a rapier. She knew nothing of him, save his name and his present status.

'You are silent,' she said. ‘Perhaps you are dumb with fear. My father says you are a coward. And yet, I saw you fight.

Or were you fighting from fear, Master Warner? It is said that this can drive a man to desperation.'

She asked the question with genuine interest. She was investigating an emotion she had only heard her father speak of. Because there was nothing on earth that the daughter of a man like Joachim Galante, the niece of a man like Pierre Belain, should fear.

'Your silence does you no credit, monsieur,' she said. ‘I was disposed to forgive your insolence because I found it flattering, that you should stand there and watch me, but now I find it annoying. Be sure that I shall have you whipped.'

Then be afraid, he thought, and hit her on the chin.

He knew now the power in his fist, when supported by arm and shoulder. Her head snapped backwards, and her knees buckled all in the same instant. He caught her before she struck the ground, already unconscious, and threw her across his shoulder. He even had the presence of mind to stoop and recover her fan and the kerchief which had fallen from her hand. For a moment he was enveloped in lace and satin, in beckoning softnesses and strange hardnesses as his fingers sought to hold her; when he was upright again, he shivered. For now at least he had thrown away life itself.

But before they could seize him, and hang him, or worse, there remained a few hours. Perhaps longer. No one knew the island so well as he, save Yarico. And she would not lead them after him. Not this time, he was sure.

He hurried through the fields and into the forest, his shoulder aching where he held the girl. The trees clouded around him, and the branches plucked at his arms and face, and at her legs, held fast against his chest. Yet he made his way with purpose, towards the looming height of Mount Misery, with the promise of the windward shore beyond. Hilton's house, not yet completed, but still a house, with its single cannon staring at the other islands of the Leewards, awaiting the return of the Caribs. And Susan's cave, where a man, and a woman, might lie hidden forever, if they chose.

Her body stirred, and he was exhausted. He took her from his shoulder and laid her on the ground. Already the darkness was ringed with grey, and now he was above the tree line he could look at her with more to see. Her skirt billowed against him, and she breathed, slowly and evenly. There was no reason for clothes, now. He intended rape, at the very least. Yet he would not touch her. The wild anger was already past, and he was distressed to discover that her shoes had fallen off.

She sat up, touched her chin, stared at him with a frown. 'Mon Dieu,' she muttered, and winced. She pulled off the star shaped black patch on her cheek.

'We've a distance to go,' he said. 'You'd best get up.'

She looked down at herself. 'They will hang you.'

'This is a big island, mademoiselle. My island.'

'But . . . why did you do it?' Her head came up as she gazed at him. 'You have the Indian woman.'

'And you are not half so intelligent as I had supposed. But you still smell sweet, and look clean, and wear pretty clothes. On your feet.'

She started to move, instinctively, and checked herself. 'And if I refuse?' ‘I ... I'll hit you.'

'Ah. Of course, Monsieur Warner, you are a famous fighting man. With women as well. But not, I think, a famous lover.' She threw back her head, and a peal of laughter disappeared into the trees. And then died. 'Ouch,' she said. 'That was very painful. Oh, do not hit me again, monsieur. I am coming with you.'

She climbed to her feet, while he gazed at her, big hands opening and shutting in angry impotence. Yarico had been his teacher in every sense. Susan had dominated his every thought. And when she had beckoned, he had gone without thinking, and walked into the deepest of bogs. And now this girl laughed at him. At her own kidnapper. At the man who would soon. . ..

'Well, monsieur?' she asked. 'Which way?' Again the glittering laughter. 'Or have you forgotten? I can show you the way back to Sandy Point, if you wish.'

He lunged forward, and she realized that she had after all made a mistake. Her laughter ceased and she attempted to sidestep, but he caught the skirt of her gown with his left land as he lost his balance. She seized the skirt with both lands and attempted to pull it free, found she could not, and tried to stamp on his arm with her feet. But he was on his knees again, both arms thrown round her legs as she kicked, o bring her full length to the ground. The fall seemed to mock the breath from her body, and for a few seconds she lay and gasped. He thrust his fingers into the bodice of her gown, pulling with all his strength. White flesh seemed to leap it him as it was released from its prison, exploding into huge, distended nipples surrounded by the largest aureolas he had ever seen, glowing pink in the first light.

She reached for breath, staring at him and trying to speak, but he would not look at her face. His tearing fingers encountered stiff material and boned corsets, too strongly made for him to rip. His hands slid over them and resumed tearing below. He panted, and grunted like a wild animal. And now she had recovered her breath, and sat up to hit him, closing her hands together and swinging them left and right against his head, and having no effect at all except to increase his madness. His last tug was so violent he fell away with it, and lay on his back with the dress billowed on top of him.

Aline Galante turned on her knees as she attempted to get to her feet, a magnificent white-skinned surge of womanhood, all that he had ever dreamed of since that day in the bedchamber with Mama, with long rich brown hair, loosed by the struggle and scattering over her shoulders, with belly still tightly constricted by the corset and legs till clung to by cotton stockings, and between a wonder world of thick, dark forested riches, the whole clouded by the perfume she wore, an excitement not even Mama had ever offered, and still dominated by the laughter he seemed to hear ringing from tree to tree.

He caught her ankle, and she tripped, and fell again, and rolled on her back to kick at him, once again realizing her mistake as he retained his grip. 'Monsieur,' she shouted. 'Edward, I beg of you. .. .' She knew now that she could not stop him with words, and sat up as he released her to take off his breeches, but he was still quicker than she was, and before she could turn again he had seized her round the waist and laid her flat. Her hands came up, swinging and scratching at his face, and her knees drummed against his thighs as his body slid up hers. They were almost the same height, and his face pressed against hers as he forced her legs down. Still she fought, sobbing and gasping, for breath and with anxiety in the beginning, and then with pain, as his grip on her arms tightened, and as her kicking pelvis became absorbed in his weight, while the ribs of the corset ate into his flesh with a force equal to the thrust of her breasts.

Passion left him with male suddenness, and he was aware only of the softness under him, of the urgency behind her knees as they flopped against him, of her gasps for breath which mingled with her sobs. In time he moved, or was moved, and rolled into the bushes to gaze at the sky. Never had he wanted woman more. Never had he so hated himself, as now.

Aline was on her knees, retching and panting. 'Monsieur,' she begged. ‘I cannot breathe. I cannot.. ..'

He knelt beside her, fingers tugging at the corset. Now he could see, and now it was easy. And now he could see, too, the blood on her thigh. And now, too, he wanted to weep.

‘I'm sorry,' he mumbled. I did not know....'

'You took me for a street woman?' The tight bones slipped from her waist, and she inhaled with tremendous satisfaction.

‘I saw you, with that man. . . .'

'Mon Dieu,' she said. 'But of course, you English are savages. In France, monsieur, a lady's virginity is at least safe until her marriage. That man did no more than kiss my shoulder. Nor would it have occurred to him to do otherwise.'

Edward got up, turned away from her. Gone was the exultation and the ecstasy, the anger and the hatred. Now he felt only disgust.

He heard her moving behind him. Doing what? Preparing what tragedy?

'Mon Dieu,' she said again. "You have destroyed my dress. You will at least do me the courtesy of returning to the town for another.'

He looked down on her. She was quite the most splendid

object he had ever seen, with the body of a voluptuous athlete, the slender legs, so white and so absurdly stained with earth, reaching up to the wide woman's thighs, the wonderland beyond, the magnificent breasts, the hauntingly unforgettable face, so beautiful in its very lack of symmetry, the masses of waving mahogany hair, above all else the total distraction with which she examined her tattered garments.

'As you said just now, they will hang me.'

She did not bother to look at him. ‘It is more than likely,' she agreed. 'But not immediately.' Now at last she raised her head, and to his utter amazement burst into a peal of magnificent laughter. 'Oh, you look so miserable, Monsieur Warner.'

'You ... you can laugh?'

'Would you have me weep? I did, when you were hurting me and when I supposed that I might stop you. To continue would be to introduce wrinkles into my face, and I should not like that. And why should I not laugh? My maidenhead had to be wrenched from my body at some time quite soon, and there are worse ways to lose it. Why, I would wager you have done me a service.'

'A service?’

She stood up. 'But of course. For now we must be married.'

'Be married?' he repeated stupidly.

'Of course, monsieur. I cannot go to any other man lacking a maidenhead. And you are a gentleman born, are you not? Oh, yes, Papa will insist upon it. And I promise you, Edward, if you are good, I will allow you a wedding night.'

'But... my crime....'

'Oh, for that you will be hanged,' she said, and burst into another peal of amusement. ‘You do not really expect not to be punished?’

Edward scratched his head.

'And I,' she explained, 'will then be a widow. Now, no one expects a widow to possess a maidenhead. Indeed, to a widow all things are possible.' She extended her arm. 'You may kiss my hand, Edward, and I will accept your troth.'

He seized her hand and pulled her forward.

'Oh, no, monsieur,' she cried. 'Nothing more. Let us endeavour to conduct ourselves, at least in the future, with propriety.

'Propriety.' He released her, slowly, allowing himself to enjoy her beauty, hoping to be rewarded, and was, with the slightest flush, but only the slightest, and she returned his inspection with interest.

'Well, monsieur,' she said. 'We can both at least be sure of what we are getting. Are you not satisfied?"

'Are you?"

She wrinkled her nose, a fresh extravagance of sheer delight he had not before observed. ‘I doubt I shall ever find a body quite to equal yours, monsieur.'

'But you will still have me hanged.'

'Well,' she pointed out, 'you have committed a most serious crime. To most fathers, rape is no less than murder, especially of an unmarried daughter.' She wrinkled her nose again. 'You would not wish to beg for your life?"

'No.'

She shrugged. 'Then you are at once a gentleman and a fool. Truly, I have often wondered where the one left off and the other began. If you do not hurry to obtain some clothes for me to wear, there will be search parties out looking for me, and I should not like to be discovered naked in the forest.'

He clenched his fists in indecision. So easy to take her again, to drive her in front of him, over to Windward. Over? They were already there. He gazed through the trees at the beach, at the great rollers pounding on the sand, at the islands beyond, at the ships. Endless ships, one, three, five, seven, ten, fifteen, twenty, more than a score of sail, filtering through the windward passage.

'By God,' he whispered.

She stood beside him. Her moist shoulder touched his own. 'Mon Dieu,' she echoed. 'But that is an Armanda.'

'You're right. From Santo Domingo. By God, but Yeats is nothing less than a prophet; your uncle has raised a hornet's nest' He turned, and ran back through the forest

 

9

 

The Phoenix

 

‘But monsieur’ Aline cried. ‘You cannot leave me so far from town.'

Edward checked. 'Then come on’ 'Like this? That is impossible.'

He faced her. 'Aline, that is a Spanish fleet. Have you any idea what they will do to your father, to your aunt and uncle, to you yourself, if they manage to make a landing here?"

'And the Sieur de Cahusac will stop them?’

Edward smiled. 'We shall see if your Frenchmen are any more courageous than our English’

Aline was pointing. 'You smiled. Do you know, that is the first time I have ever seen you smile? Will these Spaniards not also kill you?"

'Undoubtedly,' he agreed. 'But I have been told that one death is much like another, when it comes to the point.' Almost he laughed, less at his own bad joke than at the sheer situation. He was reminded of the middle-sized fish swallowing the little fish, and then in turn swimming too close to the big fish. In the Americas there was no bigger fish than the Spaniards. Besides, it was such a treat to discover Aline looking concerned.

'Well,' she grumbled. 'At least help me, monsieur’

He knelt beside her, discovering the torn shift and sorting it out from a variety of other undergarments. ' 'Tis certain you'll not need this.' He threw the corset into the bushes.

'But....' she rested her hands on her knees as she knelt, and gazed after it. And then laughed, as only she could laugh. 'But of course. .Why put it on when a Spanish sailor will soon be dragging it off.'

He helped her dress and they began their return journey, as slowly as they had come out, although it was well into the morning by now, because Aline's feet were soft, and often they had to stop while she massaged her insteps, or Edward had to carry her over outcrops of rock. Yet she never complained, although very soon she panted for breath and perspiration began to mark that splendid face. Indeed, by the time they regained the forest behind the town she was a sorry sight, her hair scattered in every direction, the last of her paint gone, her gown torn and stained with dirt and leaves and sweat, her feet coated with dust beyond the ankles, for her stockings had disintegrated.

'Well, now,' he said. 'You'll be all right here, Aline. You can watch what is going on, and I'll try to get some clothes out to you. And if you begin to worry, you can always come in as you are.'

‘I am starving,' she pointed out. 'Do you realize that it is past noon? And what are you going to do, anyway?"

'First of all, inform Monsieur Belain of what is sitting on his doorstep.'

Again the tremendous laugh. 'And do you not think he knows?"

He followed the direction of her pointing finger. Brimstone Hill was a mass of soldiers, their officers gathered at the seaward parapet, gazing through their telescopes; and indeed, on the faint breeze he could now hear the rumble of cannon.

'Nevis, by God,' he muttered. ‘I had no idea there was anything there worth bombarding.'

The French fleet was also active, with boats constantly plying to and from the shore, and sails being made ready.

'You'd best forget about your appearance and come now,' Edward suggested. ‘I doubt that Monsieur Belain intends to pit six against thirty, after all.'

'You had best hurry, Edward,' she said. 'Fetch me a cloak. That will do. And some bread and cheese and a bottle of wine.'

'One day, mademoiselle, you are going to have to look at life a little more seriously.'

'One day, monsieur, I shall be old and grey and have grandchildren, and I hope that they too will be able to make me laugh. Now, do not say that you will not kiss your betrothed farewell, even if only for a few minutes.'

He hesitated, and then lowered his head and brushed her on the lips.

'Oh, Edward,' she said. That was the kiss of an old married man. Not an ardent lover.'

He pulled himself away and ran through the trees, followed by her laughter. He gained the beach north of the town, to find his Irishmen, with Philip and Yarico and Little Tom, and the Carib women, gathered on the sand to watch the ships. From here Nevis was out of sight, but there was no mistaking the anxiety of the Frenchmen, nor the fact that they were packing up; boxes and bales had appeared on the street, and the women were hurrying back and forth.

Thank God you've come back,' Philip said. 'Where in the name of Heaven have you been?"

‘I went over to Windward, and saw the Dons. Seems there must have been more of them than I thought, and farther south. Tis fortunate we are that they chose to stop at Nevis first. Why have you not been to Belain to inquire his arrangements?'

'Sure, and those beggars will not let us past, Master Edward,' Yeats declared.

For there was a platoon of French marines, fully armed and looking suitably determined.

'Spaniards bad people,' Yarico said. 'Many dead.'

'And this lot ain't staying,' muttered another of the Irishmen; the first pinnace was loading with women, to take them out to the ships.

'Come on,' Edward said, and went along the sand.

'Halt there, monsieur,' said the young officer in charge. 'My admiral will have no panic.'

'Panic?' Edward demanded.' ‘Tis not us that are panicking. What, does your commander mean to cut and run?"

'The Governor has the safety of his people in mind, monsieur. That is a fleet of war out there.'

'And what about my people?"

‘I do not know, monsieur. No doubt His Excellency will acquaint you with his plans in due course.'

‘I’d speak with him now, if you will permit it, lieutenant' ‘I do not permit it, Monsieur Warner.'

Then tell Monsieur Belain, and Captain Galante, that I have news of Mademoiselle Galante.'

The officer frowned. 'News, monsieur?'

'You are aware that she is missing, are you not?"

‘I had heard ... you'll come with me, monsieur.'

"We'll all come,' Edward said. 'Will you lads stand by me?'

'Well, sir,' Yeats said. 'We might, if we knew what ye was after.'

‘I'm after bargaining for our lives, Yeats, and I think we'll do best by staying close.' Then we're with ye, sir’

The officer chewed his lip. And then came to a decision. 'You'll march in close order, monsieur. And you'll obey my commands’

'Willingly,' Edward agreed, and fell in at the head of his men, with Philip at his side and Yarico immediately behind him. The marines took their places on either side of the group, and marched them towards the town.

'What do you seek?' Philip muttered. 'Belain will not find us a place on those ships.'

Then he must let us make for the interior of the island, now. To stay here is to be murdered’ Edward pointed out.

They approached Sandy Point. From the street to the landing stage an avenue of soldiers had been formed, and down this the women, assisted by the sailors, were carrying their belongings, chattering at each other in French, alarmed, certainly, and yet apparently still confident that they could escape the coming holocaust. By now, too, Brimstone Hill had been abandoned, and the officers were returning to the beach.

The prisoners and their escort were halted by a captain who exchanged remonstrances with the lieutenant, waving his hands in the air, shouting and gesticulating, and being at last interrupted by Belain himself, accompanied by Galante. They also spoke with the lieutenant before turning to Edward.

'What means this demonstration, Warner?" Belain demanded. Where is Mademoiselle Galante? We have had a patrol out searching for her this last hour.'

‘They'll not find her,' Edward declared with a sinking heart. Because however modest she was, she would certainly have heard and no doubt responded to their halloos.

'But you know where she is?" Galante demanded. 'Why, you insolent young puppy. ...'

Belain made a remark in French, and his brother-in-law fell silent.

'You abducted her?" Belain asked, very softly.

‘I asked her to become my wife, Monsieur Belain.'

"You....' he burst into laughter. But there was little humour in his eyes. ‘I see. And when she refused....'

'She did not refuse, monsieur. She accepted, and we took a walk in the forest to plight our troth.'

‘To ... by God,' Galante shouted, reaching for his sword.

Once again he was checked by Belain. ‘I have no doubt my niece will confirm your story, Edward. So then, why keep her hidden?"

‘I but wish to know your intention regarding my people, and myself,' Edward said.

'Ah. Well, as you will have observed, the Dons appear to resent our settling in their islands, so we shall have to take ourselves off. There is a pity now, but I have no doubt at all that we shall come back, when the power of Spain has been whittled down a little further. I tell you the truth when I say that I had no idea they yet mustered thirty men-of-war in Santo Domingo. Why, they must have scoured the entire Caribbean to find them. But they are here, and the odds are unsuitable.'

‘You mean you will abandon the colony?"

‘Indeed we must. Our investors will not be pleased. But who knows, we may be able to use our time well, before we finally leave the Antilles. If every ship the Spaniards can muster is here, there must be one or two unprotected ports which we can visit with profit.'

'And us, monsieur?"

'Why, Master Warner, as you so gallantly insisted on remaining to watch your property when Monsieur Ashton left, I naturally assumed that you would not be prepared to allow the Spaniards to make free with your town. Do not tell me I was wrong?’

‘I admire your humour, sir,' Edward said. "You'll know as well as I that the Spaniards admit no rights of warfare to intruders in the Indies. They will treat anyone they can catch as a criminal. And a heretic'

‘Indeed I have heard that,' Belain agreed. 'But then, of course, in landing here with your Father and three other men, you were prepared to risk Spanish wrath. I find your attitude at once unexpected and disappointing.'

'And the fact that I am betrothed to Mademoiselle Galante has no effect upon your reasoning?'

'By God,' Galante growled. 'Give me half an hour with him....'

'There will be no need, Joachim,' Belain said. ‘I assume you are jesting, Monsieur Warner. I do not know what witchcraft you practised upon the poor child, but you must know that I could never permit such an alliance between a niece of mine and a half savage such as you. Now come, tell us where the girl is, and we shall let you go with your lives, at the least. Otherwise, by God, I shall hang every man of you within the hour. And the women.'

Edward hesitated, pulling at his chin.

' Tis the best we can hope for, Edward,' Philip muttered. ‘You said we could take to the wood. The Dons will not stay long.'

'Aye,' Yeats said. 'Better comb the beaches here in St Christopher than live as French slaves for the rest of our lives.'

'Come, come, Edward,' Belain said. 'Time is passing.'

"You'll let me and my people go,' Edward said. 'As soon as I have told you where Mademoiselle Galante is?"

'You take us for children?" Galante growled. 'Suppose she is dead.'

'She is not dead. And by our lights, she is not even harmed. Refuse me this, sir, and I will cheerfully hang. And I observe that the firing from Nevis has stopped.'

‘We have got to be away, Joachim,' Belain said, 'and we waste our time here. Edward, will you give me your word as an English gentleman that you will direct us truly, and that Mademoiselle Galante is unharmed?’

‘I do, monsieur. And you will let my people go, on your word as a French nobleman?’

'Here is my hand upon it.'

'Bah,' Galante said. 'Dealing with these dogs. ‘I’d as soon hang them anyway.'

'Mademoiselle Galante is in the forest immediately behind the town, monsieur,' Edward said. 'At least, I left her there. Her gown was torn, and so she asked me to procure a fresh one before she would return here. I am sure she is waiting with much impatience. And now, gentlemen, we shall bid you farewell.'

Belain gave a stiff bow. 'Perhaps we shall meet again, Edward. If the Spaniards leave you a head on your shoulders. Adieu.'

He led them along the beach at the double. Yeats would have stopped to pick up what gear they could carry, but Edward would not give them time for this. He did not trust the Frenchmen, and he wanted to be away from the beach when the Dons arrived.

'But where will we go?’ Philip asked.

'Mount Misery for a start,' Edward said. 'And the Windward. From Mount Misery we will be able to see what is happening, and on Windward we may well he safe until the Dons have departed.'

'And then what, Mr Warner?’ Creevey, the half-wit, asking the one question he dreaded most.

'Why, then we shall build ourselves a new town,' Edward said, with all the confidence he could muster. 'And plant ourselves a new crop. This is all my father and I, and Ashton, and Berwicke, and Hilton did when first we landed. And then we had the Caribs to worry about.'

'And when the Dons come back again?’ Yeats panted.

‘I doubt they will. They were but offended by the sight of the Sieur de Cahusac's fleet. We order things with more modesty, and so have remained untroubled these five years.'

And soon after this exchange they ran out of breath, which was all to the good. Edward could not help but wonder what would happen when the Irishmen remembered that there was no longer any outside force to fear, saving the Spanish, which would equally affect them and their masters. Against seventeen men he could pit himself, Philip and Yarico, and the three other Carib women. Presumably they would follow the lead of their princess.

They climbed, through the forest, listening to the dying sounds of pandemonium from the beach. The jungle grew thicker, but Yarico knew more ways through it than even Edward, and they made good time, stopping only to slake their thirst from the various mountain streams which cascaded down from the summit of old Misery. And by the middle of the afternoon they had reached the very place, just above the tree line, where Edward had been the previous night with Aline. A place of blessed memory, but of strange memory, too. He could hardly believe that it had happened, that he had committed rape and that the girl had laughed. He had lied to Belain and her father, about her physical well-being. To them she was no doubt as badly hurt as if he had cut her face with a razor. But she had laughed. Aline Galante, a face, and a body, and a mind, and above all, a laugh, to remember. And what, he wondered, would she remember about Edward Warner, the white Indian? He thought she would forgive the lie, even if her father was unlikely to. She might even honour that memory of him, for risking so much to save his people.

The Irish had collapsed in exhaustion, and Philip was also sitting down, the boy Tom beside him. Yarico stood at the edge of the forest, gazing at them, her face expressionless. Edward wondered what she thought of it all. In the five years since the English had first landed her life had gone through too many changes. And now she was watching him.

He climbed a few feet higher up the mountain, and found himself somewhere to sit. From here he looked down on the leeward beach no less than the windward; back there was utter confusion, still; men running back and forth, the ships already breaking out their sails, although yet at anchor and clearly not possessing their full complements, and muskets being fired, into the air, he presumed; he could see the puffs of black smoke. It almost suggested a mutiny. Belain would have his hands full. But more likely they were endeavouring to recall the search parties which had been seeking Aline, now that she would have rejoined them.

It was time to forget the French; Nevis held more promise of catastrophe. From Iris vantage point the island was more than ten miles away, and yet he could see the column of smoke rising from the shore. He wondered if the smoke rising from the destroyed Carib village had looked like that, say from Antigua. But from this distance, too, he could also make out the Spanish fleet, apparently still at anchor, but endless ships dotted all over the bay. There was a deep game being played here. The Spanish admiral was clearly under orders to destroy all foreign settlements in the Leewards, but he had no intention of engaging the French fleet if he could avoid it, even with a superiority of five to one. He was giving Cahusac and Belain every possible opportunity to escape, was no doubt watching them through his glass with as much anxiety as Edward was watching him.

Yarico sat beside him. 'Ed-ward,' she said. 'Yarico. Philip. War-nah.' She laughed.

'Just as we began. With less, maybe.'

'War-nah,' she said again. 'Ed-ward War-nah. Philip War-nah. Yarico War-nah.' She waved her arms. 'All War-nah.' ‘If we live that long, sweetheart, to be sure.' 'Ed-ward....' she looked down at her gown. ‘I take off?' 'No.'

'Ed-ward....'

"You don't seem to realize that you're all of a stepmother to me, now.'

War-nah speak to me of this,' she said. ‘I mother, you son, you obey. I take off dress, and you come with me in forest.' 'No.'

She frowned. ‘I beat you, Ed-ward.’

He caught her wrist. 'You're a funny child, Yarico. You must try to understand. You and me, that is over now. When my father returns, I doubt not that he shall make you his wife. Before the priest. Then indeed you will be my stepmother. And then, if you like, you may beat me.'

She pouted. 'No,' she said. 'They say...' she tossed her head at the Irish, 'War-nah not marry Yarico. Yarico got brown skin.'

The colour of your skin doesn't matter to Tom Warner,' Edward said. 'You're the mother of his son, just as Rebecca was the mother of Philip and me. And Sarah. By our law, our religion, a man may only have one wife. But now that Rebecca is dead, why, he may marry whomever he chooses. And he has chosen you, Yarico. That will be a great day. You will be Mistress Warner. You will be part ruler of this island.'

She did not look mollified. ‘Yarico already ruler of this island. Yarico last of Tegramond's people.'

He hesitated, but decided against telling her that Wapisiane had survived. That secret he would have to take with him to his grave, as it came back to haunt him in the small hours of the night. 'Aye,' he said. 'But then you’ll be the first of Warner's people as well. Come. They've rested long enough.'

Hilton's house remained as they had left it, on that unforgettable night five weeks in the past. The roof timbers lay waiting to be set in place, and the thick wooden walls rose out of the rocks of the bluff he had selected like the bones of some gigantic skeleton. A skeleton with but a single tooth, for the cannon still pointed aimlessly seaward.

'You do not think they will look for us over here?' Yeats asked.

'Not this night, at any rate,' Edward said. 'And here at least there is food and wine.' For no one had been to Windward since Tony's departure, and the carefully constructed cellar containing the salted beef and the barrels remained unopened. 'Tomorrow, Yarico, you must show us how to gather our food from the forest itself, which berries are edible and which poisonous. And we must get Tony's fish-nets working again as well. We shall do all right over here; the forest is thickest, and there are also caves in which we can take refuge, so the Dons will not find it easy to pin us down. But none the less we shall take care. This night we shall all sleep sound; as from tomorrow we shall post guards.'

They gazed at him, reminiscent of a flock of sheep. For the moment they were too frightened and too tired to do more than think of their immediate needs. And too thirsty. Their eyes kept straying to the house.

'Aye, help yourselves,' Edward said, and with a whoop they ran for the trapdoor.

‘Is that wise?' Philip muttered.

'The sooner it is consumed the better. And it will give us time to think. It may not have occurred to you, brother, but we do not possess a weapon between us save our knives, and we are outnumbered ten to one by our servants.'

'Yarico will show us how to make weapons of wood, as the Caribs do,' Philip said. 'Yarico?’

Yarico continued cuddling little Tom, who was already asleep.

'She's preparing to sulk,' Edward said.

'A strange woman,' Philip said. 'How Father can ever... but what has she to sulk over now?’

Hardly stranger than you, Edward thought. At fourteen I'd have found her attractive enough; I did. 'Who can understand the mind of a woman,' he said with suitable pompousness. 'And you'd do best not to criticize Father. He is all the hope of survival we have at this moment.'

Yarico pointed. 'Canoe come.'

'Eh?' Edward scrambled to his feet, peered into the darkening sky. 'By God.'

For now that it occurred to him to look, the tiny bark could be seen cautiously negotiating the surf.

‘Indians, you think?' Philip whispered. 'Shall I call the men?’

Already sounds of song came from the house.

'Not a war party, that's certain,' Edward said. ‘It is too small a vessel. And there cannot be more than four people in it.' He knelt beside Yarico. 'What do you make of it?"

Again the disinterested shrug of her shoulders.

'Yarico’ he said. ‘In a moment you are going to make me angry. And it would not be good for a son to spank his own stepmother’

Her eyes gloomed around him. 'Spank?'

He seized her shoulder, pulled her body towards him, and struck her smartly on the left buttock. 'Like that. Many more like that.'

'Ed-ward,' she exclaimed in delight. "We go in forest, for spank?’

'Oh, for Christ's sake’ he shouted. 'All right. We go into the forest for spank. Just tell me what you can about that canoe.'

She released Tom and stood up. It was quite dark by now, the boat no more than a silhouette on the suddenly still evening. 'White people’

'White people? But... ‘

Yarico tossed her head 'Hil-ton’

'Tony? There's a gift from Heaven. Come on, Philip... ‘

'Not Hil-ton’ Yarico said. 'Hil-ton woman’

'By God’ He ran down the beach, sand flying from his feet, Philip beside him. Yarico and Little Tom followed more slowly. 'Susan?" he shouted. 'Susan, is that really you?"

The canoe came into the shallows. It was paddled by O'Reilly in the stern and Connor in the bow; amidships sat Susan Hilton and Margaret Plummer, the wife of one of the colonists who had volunteered to accompany Hilton to Nevis, a small, quiet woman of about thirty, presently looking as if she had seen a ghost.

But Edward had eyes only for Susan; he bounded into the water to help her, and to look at her, too, for her belly was beginning to swell.

'Edward?' she whispered. 'Oh, Edward. I had not thought to see ye over on Windward’

He smiled. 'Maybe you thought I'd be hung by now. It's not so easy to dispose of a Warner’

She put up her hand to stroke his chin. 'And ye've a beard, all but. Ye'd naught but a little down, six weeks ago’

'So maybe you'll grant that I'm a man, at last. And you are well?’

'Well?' she shivered, and he set her on the sand. ‘Ye'll know the Dons have taken Nevis, Ted, lad?" O'Reilly demanded.

'We saw them,' Edward said. 'But I'll confess I had no idea any of you remained there. You told me naught of your plans before you left, remember?'

'Aye. Well....' he nodded to Connor, and between them they pulled the canoe clear of the water. 'The business was done in haste.'

'He's dead,' Margaret Plummer muttered. 'Dead. Do you think he's dead, Paddy?'

O'Reilly scratched his head. 'Well, he'd be dead by now, Mrs Plummer, that he would.'

'Oh, aye, Mrs Plummer,' Connor agreed. 'He'd be dead by now. Is that our boys we hear over there, Ted?'

'You can join them in a minute, Brian. Tell me what happened on Nevis. How many of you were left there?'

Susan led the way up the beach, still moving with all the vigour he remembered, despite her handicap. 'Just a dozen, Edward. It was Tony's decision. He knew we could not make a go of the colony without more people, and he feared to be dispossessed when your Father comes back. We held a conference, and decided it was best for him to return home and obtain the grant of Nevis, before Ashton could spread lying tales about him.'

'But he left you behind.'

‘I am pregnant, as he then knew. And I was in good hands. We anticipated nothing from the Dons. Especially after the French left us alone. 'Tis what your father did, Edward. Successfully’

'He screamed,' Margaret Plummer whispered. ‘I heard him scream. Christ I can still hear him scream.'

'What happened?' Edward asked again.

'Took by surprise we were, Ted, lad.' O'Reilly stopped beneath the house and gazed up at it, hands on hips. 'Sure, and 'tis good to see the old place again’

Susan sank to the sand beneath the outcrop. 'Maybe we'll get a roof on it at last, Paddy.'

Edward looked from one to the other. No mistress and servant, here. But then, had they not been members of that first shipload, so long ago? 'You were telling me of the Spaniards.'

'Well, we saw the ships, Ted, lad,' Connor said. 'But it never occurred to us they'd pay attention to Nevis. When suddenly they pulled aside and opened up. We'd only a few huts on the shore, and these they scattered with their first balls. But then they landed. Must have been near a thousand of the devils, all crimson and silver. A pretty sight.'

'A pretty sight,' O'Reilly agreed. 'A column of man-eaters, coming ashore like if they was on parade.'

'He would go back,' Margaret Plummer whispered. She had dropped to her knees beside Susan. 'He would go back.'

'Aye, and he took his friends with him,' Connor said. 'Against our advice, Ted. But there was gear on the beach, and the Spaniards had camped upwind of where we'd been. Two of us had been killed in the bombardment, it had been that sudden. Harry Plummer took Billy Smith and his brother, and the other two girls back to see what they could pilfer. They'd not have us along, ye understand. Wild Irishmen who'd make a noise, they said. Christ Almighty. And we've forgotten more about that kind of thing than they'll ever learn. Not that they'll learn anything now.'

'The Dons caught them?’

'We watched from the hill top. There was firing, and Billy Smith fell. Maybe he was killed. He was that lucky. They got the girls, and Harry and Joe Smith as well.'

They cut off his feet,' Margaret Plummer said tonelessly. 'Just cut them off at the ankles, and left him there. And his wrists. They cut off his hands at the wrists, and smeared the stumps with honey, and left him on the beach, to the sandflies.'

Edward stared at O'Reilly in horror.

'Fact, Ted. 'Tis what they have threatened to do to every interloper they find in these waters.'

'He screamed,' Margaret said. 'And screamed, and

screamed. I asked Paddy to go down and put a bullet in him, but he wouldn't.'

They'd have got me too,' O'Reilly objected. 'Long before I could have got close enough to hit him right. But I'll admit it was a terrible sound.'

'And the women? What happened to the girls?’

Connor grinned. 'Well, Ted, they was taken too, like we said. They screamed too.'

'But afterwards?' Edward demanded. 'What about afterwards?'

'Now, that we don't know, Ted, lad,' O'Reilly said. ‘You left them?"

There was nothing we could do,' Susan suddenly shouted. ‘What, two men, and two women, one of them pregnant? There was nothing we could do.'

'So you came here.'

'Man, it takes a lot of guts to paddle a canoe across that strait,' O'Reilly said. 'More than once I figured we was for it.'

'Aye,' Edward said. ‘It takes a lot of guts. Your friends are over there, Paddy. And they've found a couple of bottles. Mrs Plummer, Yarico is with us. She'll look after you.'

They hesitated, and walked up the sand. Susan started to follow them, and then checked. He could not see her face properly, in the darkness.

‘Ye'd have done the same, Edward.'

'Maybe.' Edward knelt beside the canoe. Three muskets, but less than twenty ball and scarce sufficient powder for two discharges. Two swords, and a pistol without any charge at all. Oh, they had left in a hurry, all right.

'Maybe? Ye'd not fight at Sandy Point.'

'My own people, Susan? No, I'd not fight on those terms.'

'And that sticks in your craw?"

That you'd not say goodbye. Neither you nor Tony. Nor Paddy O'Reilly, nor any of the others.'

'Maybe we thought ye'd let us down. Oh, for Christ's sake.' Her shoulders rose and fell. ‘I'm sorry it turned out that way, Ted. I still dream about ye. But it'll not do me much good now, will it?"

'And the boy?’

'His name will be Hilton.'

He took her elbow and they walked up the beach behind the others. 'That's fair enough. You expect Tony back?" 'He's my husband.'

'Well, you'd best pray he comes soon. You'd not figured the Dons will be here next?"

'They're on their way now, Edward,' Aline Galante said, from the bushes close by the beach,

'For Christ's sake,' Susan said.

'Aline?' Edward peered into the gloom. 'What in the name of God....'

‘I followed you through the forest,' Aline explained. 'But when it got dark I lost you. And then I heard your people singing.'

'She is French,' Susan said in wonderment.

‘I wonder what she is,' Edward said. 'Aline, did you not hear the shots and the shouts of the men searching for you?'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'But I could not go out. My gown is torn, and my shift as well. And then I saw you take your people along the beach, and knew that you intended to remain, so I thought I had best do the same. Edward, I am so terribly hungry.'

'But your father. ...'

'Was like a madman on the beach. He had to be forcibly carried on board the ships. I think Uncle Pierre must have convinced him I was dead. Edward, I am also terribly thirsty.'

'But....' he scratched Ins head. 'You saw the Dons, you say?"

'Yes. They weighed anchor at sunset. The breeze is light. They will not be here before morning'

'But do you not understand? They will land and burn the town. They will come looking for us. They will hunt us like dogs. We shall have to exist in the forest, if we can exist at all. You have all but condemned yourself to death.'

'But I will have you to look after me,' she pointed out. 'And you know this forest better than any Spaniard. You must understand, Edward, that I could not possibly return alone to Papa and tell him of my situation. With you gone, he would surely have whipped me. But when he returns, after the Spaniards, why, then we will be able to explain the circumstances to him. They may even seem more natural, then.'

'Your situation?' Susan inquired with interest. 'Ah, I see that Master Warner has been up to his old tricks.'

'We are betrothed, madame.' Aline gave a contemptuous glance at Susan's belly. ‘I am assuming it is madame? But unfortunately, we cannot make our love known at this moment, because our two countries are at war, and Edward is indeed nothing better than an escaped prisoner. Yet I cannot desert him.'

'By Christ, she's a lady,' Susan said. 'Ye'll be the second lady on St Christopher, mademoiselle. Tis not an attitude we're accustomed to.'

‘Indeed?' Aline demanded. "Then I had best see about redressing the situation.'

'God give me patience,' Edward cried. 'Will the pair of you stop chattering? Aline, your father is not coming back. Belain has abandoned the colony and means to return to France. If he does ever return here, it will not be for years.'

She stared at him, frowning.

'And in addition, we are not betrothed. I raped you. Can you not understand that? I felt lust for you and anger against your people, and the pair of those emotions got the better of me. How can you talk about love?'

‘I must grow to love you, monsieur,' Aline pointed out, her voice suddenly cold. 'As it appears that now most certainly we are to be man and wife. This is a duty I have long known would be required of me, and I do promise you that I shall endeavour to perform it to the best of my ability.'

'God's truth,' Susan said.

'Of course,' Aline continued. ‘If you find it impossible to love me, then I shall be forced into a solitary existence, yet it is your duty, as a gentleman and as my husband, to honour me and respect me, at least in our outward relations. I do not know what this woman is to you, but I did understand from my uncle and even my father that you were a gentleman born, and I expected to be so treated. Which is to say that our private affairs should not be discussed in front of anyone.'

'God's truth,' Susan said again. Edward scratched his head.

'So I would be obliged, monsieur,' Aline concluded, ‘If you would either provide me with food or kill me now. That would be preferable to a slow death from starvation.'

Edward sighed. 'There is food at the house, mademoiselle. And I apologize for any rudeness I may have shown or any inconvenience I may have caused you. You are of course welcome to share in whatever I and my people have to share, until some better arrangement can be made.'

'God's truth,' Susan said a third time.

‘I’d be obliged if you'd take Mademoiselle Galante to the encampment, Susan, and see that she is fed and given something to chink. And Susan, she is in your charge. Be sure that if any insult is given her I'll break the head of the man responsible.'

'You'll do that?’ she asked.

'Aye, me. Tell Paddy O'Reilly to have a talk with Terry Yeats. Now be off with you,' 'While you do what?' ‘I've a spell of thinking to do.'

He walked away from them, and into the forest. A spell of thinking. It seemed as if all the problems in the world had suddenly closed in on him, in a matter of hours. That the Spaniards would land and destroy Sandy Point and everything else they could find, seemed certain. That they would launch themselves into a full scale hunt for any white men on the island was at least likely, and that they would torture and maim whoever they found was as certain as anything else on this earth; they did not regard heretic intruders in their world as human. That twenty odd people condemned to exist in the forest would very likely starve to death was no less likely, even with the aid of Yarico. The Indians were used to a diet of fish, and fish required the spreading of nets off the shore, hi the open and with a great deal of time at the disposal of the fishermen.

That Susan and Paddy O'Reilly and Brian Connor would prove disruptive elements was no less certain. They felt contempt for him, and Paddy O'Reilly would regard himself as a different proposition to Yeats. That Yarico would do nothing to make life easier for him was also not open to doubt. And that Aline Galante would prove a continuing problem was most certain of all. Aline Galante. Truly it could be said that one's sins came home to roost. He dared not allow himself to consider his own feelings towards the girl, beyond a compulsive admiration for the remarkable way in which she had accepted the consequences of her ghastly mistake. It occurred to him that she was probably the most remarkable woman he had ever met.

He climbed, for hours, up and then down. He found the place he was looking for, and eventually slept, on his belly, face pillowed on his hands, worn out by exhaustion and tension. And awoke soon after dawn, to peer down at Sandy Point and Great Road and the armada which had appeared there. Endless ships, all he had seen at sea yesterday morning and perhaps more, most at anchor but some still arriving and taking their positions. Boats ferried men ashore, and the beach seemed to have become a solid mass of glittering pinpoints as the first rays of the sun picked out the shining morions and breastplates, the halberd points and the sword handles. It was a splendid picture, the steel being set off by the crimson doublets and the flutter of their flags, dominant amongst which was the red and gold of Spain. There were too many to be counted, but he could estimate several hundred men on shore already. And now he could see the dogs. Would he had his own to set against them. But they had gone with Belain, and the French fleet was lost beyond the horizon.

He waited, for the puffs of smoke to arise from the town, and saw nothing. Save the men, patrolling the street, no doubt exploring the houses. The Dons had not come to destroy, yet. For others were investigating the corn fields and the tobacco plantations, talking amongst themselves, good fellows and honest husbands, who had yesterday raped two girls to death and cut off the hands and feet of their male victims because they were not considered part of the human race.

He watched a group of officers on the beach. A table had been erected, with stools, and they were spreading maps, rough sketches, apparently, for each peak had to be identified with pointing fingers. But they were planning a campaign. They meant to scour the island. Hardly more than thirty square miles in which to hide, and the dogs would soon reduce that to nothing. Already a file of men was ascending Brimstone Hill; the two cannon would be the first to go.

He got up, turned his back on the invaders, and climbed once more into the woods. Caribee. He was still more than half Indian, in his strength, the ease and the purpose with which he traversed this forest. Yet would even that strength avail him, running, before the dogs? And how could he teach the Irishmen to move as he did? Or Philip, for that matter. Or the pregnant Susan? Or Aline, used to ballrooms and topiaried garden paths?

He checked, as he approached the windward shore. The sun was high now, and sweat streamed down his body. He was afraid of them, because it had always been his nature to be afraid. He was, despite his victory, afraid of Yeats and his companions, afraid of Paddy O'Reilly, his strength and his determination, should he ever seek to use it. He was afraid of Susan's tongue as he was afraid of Yarico's anger, as he was equally afraid of Aline's trust. And Philip? He was afraid even of Philip's eventual usurpation of his rights.

But was he not, of them all, the only one without cause to fear? Did they not fear him in even greater proportion? Could he not turn his back on them, and survive? Even on Yarico, encumbered as she was with Little Tom. He needed none of them. Without him, without his leadership no less than his knowledge of this forest, they would be helpless, easy victims for the Dons and the dogs.

He walked across the sand. An amazing thought, because it was just as likely that the Dons, unaware of the massacre at Blood River, knowing only that the French had sailed away, would also be afraid. It would be no more than the nervous tension of men about to go into battle, uncertain of what was opposed to them, unknowing which of them would survive the coining days. But it was none the less fear. A fear which could be made to grow.

Of them all, only he had no cause. Providing he kept his wits about him, and remembered that while he was in his element, they were like fishes cast on the shore, and left to drown in fresh air.

He stood before the house. No guard, naturally. Such a thought would not occur to Paddy O'Reilly. They had drunk all of Hilton's wine, and lay scattered about the sand, snoring. The women were absent. What had happened here last night?

'On your feet,' he shouted, and kicked O'Reilly in the thigh.

The big Irishman sat up and scratched his head. 'What? What? By Christ....'

'Aye, and if I had been a Spaniard you'd have been looking Him in the face, if He'd have you.'

O'Reilly scrambled to his feet. 'Are they coming, then?’

They are,' Edward promised. 'Get your friends awake, arid be sure they're sober. Where are the women?"

They took to the house.' O'Reilly pointed.

Skirts fluttered, as Susan and Yarico climbed down, followed more slowly by Aline and Philip, and then by Meg Plummer and the other Carib girls and the children.

'We thought they'd taken you,' Susan remarked.

‘I'm not that easy to take. But they'll be here in a couple of hours.'

'Mon Dieu,' Aline said. 'But why should they come here?'

'Because they mean to make sure there are no human beings left alive when they leave. They know we've spread over the island.' He frowned at her; her face was pale and it was evident that she had scarcely slept. 'Are you all right?’

'Yes, monsieur.' She glanced at the Irishmen, who were gazing at her. ‘I suffered no more than threats.'

'For that night,' Susan said. ‘I'll not stand in front of her again.'

They remember too well she's French, Edward,' Philip said.

Aline's pointed chin was thrust forward. ‘I am one of you, now.'

Edward nodded. "You are that. Well, Yarico?' Yarico shrugged. 'Edward, woman,' she said. 'Ed-ward must care.'

‘I intend to. And what will the rest of you do when the Dons get here?"

O'Reilly looked at the canoe. 'There's Antigua.'

Ten miles of open sea in that piece of bark? And there are Caribs on Antigua, Paddy. They'd have you strung up before you got landed.'

'We'd best take to the woods,' Yeats said.

'For what?' Susan demanded. 'The dogs will hunt us down.'

'True,' Edward said. ‘If they're set to it. And they will be.'

'By Christ,' O'Reilly said. 'Are we done, then?’ 'Very likely,' Edward said. 'And we'll be done quicker by either sitting here and quarrelling, or skulking around the bushes waiting to be dragged down to the beach.'

'So what do we do?" Connor demanded. 'Flap our wings and fly away?’

Edward faced them. 'They've come here to destroy a rival settlement, made up of tobacco farmers, not soldiers. They're not considering a fight.'

'Oh, sure,' O'Reilly said. 'Right cowards they are.'

‘I never said that, Paddy. I'm just stating what's in their minds. They want to destroy all foreign settlements in these islands. Otherwise they'd not have gone on to Nevis and given Monsieur Belain time to leave. That's clear as day. And now they're expecting no resistance. And why should they risk their lives? There's nothing here to interest them. Some tobacco, a little corn. They'll have that aboard by tonight. And they don't know what's in that forest'

'And you aim to tell them?'

'Just that Paddy. We'll make up a story and tell them that.'

'Ye'll fight them?' Susan cried.

‘You think they'll just look at you because your belly's got a bulge?" he shouted. ‘It'll make for variety. Aye. I mean to fight them. Every Spaniard we kill gives every one of us a better chance of survival. I'm telling you, they didn't come here to die.'

'And we're our hands,' Connor said sarcastically.

"Yarico and I will show you how to make bows and arrows. We have our knives. And we need but one success to gain all the aims we need. By Christ, what are you staring at? You just agreed we were done. This way at the worst we can take a couple of Dons with us. What are you, men or cattle? You're men, by God. Irish men.'

‘It'll be like old times,' Yeats muttered. 'But who'll lead?"

‘I'll lead,' Edward told him.

‘You?' O'Reilly demanded. ‘I doubt ye've the belly for a game like this one, Ted, lad.'

'Maybe you'll find I've changed, Paddy,' Edward said. ‘You'd best ask Yeats.'

'Fisticuffs,' O'Reilly said. ' Tis not the same as cutting a man's throat, now is it?"

‘I'll lead, by God,' Edward said. 'Because my name is Edward Warner. Because this island is mine. And if you care to dispute that argument, Paddy O'Reilly, you'd best do so right away.'

O'Reilly hesitated, glanced at his fellows, at Susan, at Yarico, standing there with solemn faces. He shrugged. 'Ye’ll lead, Ted, lad. At the beginning, to be sure.'

And at the end? The end meant just one unsuccessful engagement. Thus he sweated, as he lay on the ground on an outcrop of rock above the windward beach, and looked down at the smoke rising where Tony Hilton's house had stood, yesterday. And counted the Spaniards; twenty men and an officer. Exactly even, in numbers of men. But those down there earned swords and pistols, and halberds. And they had two dogs, now casting about the beach, sniffing and finding, as they were intended to. Oh, God, he thought, if Father were here. Then there would be no question as to the success of the coming engagement If only Father were here. But to gaze at the horizon in the anxious hope of seeing a sail was to lose resolution in a dream.

A rustle had him turning, knife thrust forward. Just three days ago tins girl had smelt of perfume, had laughed with the confidence of a lady making her way through a world filled with eager admirers, had preferred to remain in the jungle rather than walk the street in front of her friends in a torn gown, and had made up her own rules for the living of life itself.

Three days ago it might have been possible to doubt just how much of a human being she was, and how much of a fancy doll. Not any longer. She had discarded her gown and wore her shift, as did Susan. Indeed he had watched her staring at Yarico, who had preferred to revert entirely to the Indian, with thoughtful eyes, where it would never have occurred to Susan to go that far in the search for forest freedom. Aline's feet were bare, as were her shoulders and the curves of her magnificent breasts, and now they were tinged pink by the continuous sun, as were her cheeks and forehead, hi places the flesh was rough and threatening to peel, as his had done on the voyage from England, how many eternities ago? Her fingers, long and delicate, were still topped in places by the slender nails, but these also were no longer white. Just as her mind could no longer be the web of cultured artificiality he had taken and crumpled beneath his hands, as he had done to so many minds. She cleaned fish with Susan and Yarico, she disappeared into the forest with them for her necessaries, and she endured the glowing gazes of the Irishmen without embarrassment any longer. Only in one respect had she preserved her individuality; rather than leave her mahogany brown hair float in the wind and catch on tree and twig, as did the other women, she tied it back with a length of cloth torn from the hem of her gown, by her action leaving her face curiously exposed, almost like a boy's, and thus increasing at once its strength and its beauty.

There should have been another aspect of her unique personality to be admired, but for three days she had not laughed. Perhaps that first night had revealed to her with too startling a certainty just what situation she had placed herself in. Or perhaps she doubted him. Because for three days he had done nothing more than treat her as any of the other women, and in this she lacked the intimacy, as she had lacked the knowledge and the experience, of Susan and Yarico. But there was no other way. The Irishmen were as hungry as he, and for him to give way to his desires, even for a moment, would be to expose her to everything they dreamed of, and their dreams filled their eyes and their faces every time they looked at her.

So now she was risking too much. 'You should not have come,' he said.

'No one saw me leave. They are too excited and too frightened.'

'And you are not?"

She knelt beside him. It was remarkable how the traces of perfume came to him, even above the sweat. But it was the sweat more than anything, the moisture which accompanied her, winch made him want her more than any woman since he had wanted his own mother. 'Yes,' she said. 'But I am happy to be so. These past few days I have wondered how I ever managed to exist, before. Was not all mankind intended by God to live like this? And womankind, too?'

'You'll find it uncomfortable if it continues too long,' he said.

'Never. I but lack your affection.'

He sighed, and turned back to watch the men on the beach. 'You understand our situation.'

'Yes. But that is no reason for you never to smile on me. And now we are alone.'

'You think so? They will have missed you by now, and now they will know whence you have gone.'

'Well, then,' she said. 'The damage is done.'

He could not stop his head turning. She was not three feet away from him, the skirt of her shift pulled up to reveal her knees as she knelt. 'Can you not wait until we are married, mademoiselle?'

‘I could, monsieur. Supposing I was certain of that event. I do not speak now only of the Spaniards. I speak of surviving them.'

'Then you have lost your faith in me.'

‘I would know whether it was no more than lust.'

No more than lust. No more than lust, at this moment, certainly. Compounded not only by her nearness and her loveliness, but by fear, of the coming few minutes, of his own reaction to it, and of what might happen afterwards. 'You have lived with my people for three days. You have talked with Susan and Yarico. Do you think I am worth much as a husband?'

'They tell me very little’

"Yet their contempt for me must be evident. You'd do best to wait until our situation is resolved. I am no less confused than you. To claim you now, of your own free will, were to damn you forever to living at my side. And you may prefer to seek your comfort elsewhere, given time.'

'Thus you say I made a grave mistake in deserting my father.'

'Aye,' he said. ‘You did that, Aline. Now hurry back and tell them that the dogs have picked up our scent.'

As they had been intended to do. The two mastiffs on the beach were casting into the trees, and baying their eagerness into the morning air. And the officer was giving orders to his men.

Aline stood up. 'You are a savage, Monsieur Warner. I suppose I understood that from the moment of our first meeting, and yet I could not believe it of a white man with a background of gentility. My father was right. I apologize for forcing my company upon you, monsieur. Be sure that I shall not do so again.'

She went through the trees, and he sighed. Christ, how complicated life had become. But if he were a savage, would he not merely have thrown her on her back, at this moment, and taken his pleasure from her, and then gone to battle without anxiety, in the sex-induced euphoria which would carry him successfully through whatever lay ahead?

If he were, indeed, a savage. But now, at the least, he must fight like one. He was on his knees, watching the last of the Spaniards enter the forest below him. He turned, and made his way back through the forest to where he had left his people. He could have arrived only seconds after Aline, and found them staring at him. Whatever she had said, they would have no doubts as to what had happened in the woods. And, thinking in terms of savages and savagery, what had he here? He gazed at the sweating faces, the loose mouths, the tongues which came out and circled the thick lips, the sharp teeth beyond, the straggling beards, the tattered breeches which were all any of them wore, the naked Carib girls and the three white women, standing with Philip—Philip, so like Father, who still wore a shirt. They knew nothing of his plans, for he had told them nothing; not even Susan suspected what was in his mind. They knew only that in two days they had been unable to master the small, light Indian bows Yarico and her companions had made for them. For missile power he must rely on himself and the four Caribs. But the Irish were none the less fighting men, who would do what he commanded, a wolf pack who would follow him at least once. He wondered if Aline realized that as she stood beside them. But no doubt Aline, with that still undamaged self confidence of hers, supposed that in experiencing Edward Warner at his worst she had actually experienced mankind at his worst, and having survived, she had nothing more to fear.

And then, had they not been savages, would success have been the least possible?

'They are coming,' he said. 'Down there will lie our salvation.' He pointed, and heard Susan's breath as she caught it.

'Down there?' O'Reilly peered at the crevasse. 'We'll be naught but bits of meat hung out for the dogs.'

'You'll be surprised,' Edward said.

'Bad place,' Yarico said. 'Spirits of dead down there.’

‘I've no doubt they will be,' Edward agreed. ‘In an hour or two. Down you go, Susan. You'll have to show these bold lads there's nothing to be afraid of. You too, Margaret, and take these children with you. Over the inner lip, Susan, and into the burning cave. You'll keep the children quiet, and no matter what happens, you'll not come out until all sounds of battle have ceased. You understand me?'

She hesitated, and then nodded. 'And the Frenchie?'

'Stays here,' Edward said. ‘I've a task for her.'

Aline's hair flew as she turned her head, sharply.

'All right,' Susan said.' 'Tis a fact I'll be small value in a set to. Come on, Meg. And ye lot. God speed, Edward. And to your boys, Paddy O'Reilly.'

O'Reilly cocked his head. 'Them's the dogs.'

'So we'd best hurry,' Edward said. 'You’ll take your lads down, Paddy. You'll find more space than you suppose, so you'll split up, ten to each side. It'll be dark as the pit, but after a few moments you'll get used to it, because of the light coming over the back.'

'And what will ye be doing, Ted, lad?’

'My job is to get the Dons into the cave. As many of them as possible. But you'll not move, Paddy, and not one of your people will move, until Philip here gives the signal. The Dons are as superstitious as anyone. They'll be worrying about the dark and the glow from the inner cave, long enough. When the signal is given, you'll fall on them. But you'll mind out for mademoiselle here. She's going to be more use than any one of us, and you remember that. But there's another thing. This is just the first shot in our war. There mustn't be any survivors.'

Now, where had he heard someone say that before?

The baying of the dogs was close. Paddy O'Reilly looked at Brian Connor. 'Ah, well,' he said. ' Tis certain we'll the more quickly if we stay up here, Brian boy.' He sat down and disappeared. The rest of his companions followed.

'Now, Philip,' Edward said. 'You'll take command. When you hear my call, you'll give the word down there. Arrange your men along the outer walls, and tell them not even to breathe, until they get the signal. And be sure that Susan and Margaret Plummer and the children stay in the inner cavern.'

'Man, 'tis sure a wondrous place.' O'Reilly's voice ghosted up to them.

'But what is that light, to be sure?' Connor's voice shook.

'A natural phenomenon,' Edward reassured him. 'Now be quiet.' He held Aline's arm. 'Would you assist us, mademoiselle?'

'But of course. It is all of our lives, is it not?' She freed her arm.

Then listen well. I wish you to remain here, to allow the Spaniards to catch a sight of you. They will certainly like what they see. Then you must run away from them, and jump clown into the crevasse. Once in there you must run through the cave and join Susan and Meg.'

'And the Spaniards?"

'Most of them will wish to follow you inside, or my estimate of human nature is sadly at fault. You'll understand there is a risk here. Should you slip, or fall... .'

She tossed her head. ‘I am not so easily overcome, monsieur, when I am prepared. You took me by surprise.'

'Aye. Well, it is less the men that worry me than the dogs. Now prepare yourself.'

He showed Yarico and the other three Carib girls that he wanted them to climb the trees close to the entrance, with their bows and a supply of arrows. 'And you'll shoot straight, Yarico,' he said.

'Yarico always shoot straight,' she remarked.

‘I've no doubt about that. Who do the Caribs pray to, just before battle?'

She pointed to the sky. 'The Caribs pray to Sun, Edward. Sun is cacique of all things, unless sleeping.'

'Well, he's wide awake now. Ask him to keep an eye on things, will you?"

He climbed the tree he had selected for his own, carrying one of the heavy muskets and all the powder and ball; he was himself not sufficiently accurate with a bow. It was nearly noon, and the heat came boiling down through the dun tree curtain. And now he could hear the dogs quite loudly, and even the cries of the men; they could tell their animals were onto a human scent. He flicked sweat from his forehead, dried his hands again, and watched Aline. She knelt by the crevasse, as he had instructed her, apparently busying herself with gathering some bark. But she too was listening; he could see the colour in her cheeks, and he could watch the rise and fall of her breasts. She was a young woman of rare courage. And rare beauty. And even rarer spirit; it was possible to suppose, watching her expression, that she was enjoying herself.

A dog yelped, close at hand, and Aline stood up. There was a shout in Spanish, followed by a chorus of excitement. Aline glanced through the trees, and then ran for the cleft, sitting down and sliding out of sight.

Through the bushes came the dogs, held on leashes by two of the soldiers. The rest followed in a close group, discipline forgotten as they hurried for the picture and the promise which had been presented to them. But discipline, as Edward had hoped, was slender at this moment in any event. The crimson jackets were made darker by sweat; more than one morion had been removed and was carried under the arm, leaving the man at once vulnerable to a blow on the head and incapable of quickly drawing his sword.

The dogs came up to the crevasse, and shied away from the utter darkness within. The men gathered in a cluster before the aperture. But now the dogs were casting on either side of the entrance, beginning to show an interest in the trees, clearly scenting the Carib girls and perhaps Edward. Once again he flicked sweat from his forehead, and levelled his already primed weapon.

The officer in command of the search party came to a decision, and signalled half his men. The girl had gone into the cave, and he was not going to let her escape. The officer sat down and slid into the darkness; he had not even bothered to draw his sword. His men followed, one by one, a dozen of them, leaving eight standing around the entrance. The odds were not as good as Edward had hoped, but they obviously were the best he was going to get. He threw back his head and shouted, 'Now.'

Pandemonium broke loose. From inside the cavern there came shouts and howls, as the Irishmen, their eyes by now accustomed to the gloom, laid about them on the temporarily blinded Spaniards. The men at the lip insensibly gathered closer together. They could hardly be missed, although as they all wore cuirasses it was still necessary to be accurate. Edward fired. His ball caught one of the men in the thigh, and he gave a scream and fell to his knees. Yarico and her companions were far more deadly; one of the Dons took a barb through the neck, and hit the ground with scarce a sound. Two others were wounded about the face, and the remainder gazed in horror at the forest as four more arrows struck home. There was one survivor, and he dived for the entrance to the cave, again as Edward had hoped. Three of his comrades were dead, and the other four lay on the ground, vainly tugging at the barbs lodged in their flesh.

'The dogs,' Edward yelled, for the mastiffs were at the foot of the trees. A moment later they were stretched on the earth, and Yarico came sliding down with the utter ease common to the Indians' prehensile fingers and toes. Edward followed more slowly, then ran to the entrance of the cave. The wounded Spaniards stared at him with wide eyes, and one said something, clearly a plea for mercy. But he had no means of coping with prisoners of war, even had he been able to forget the people on Nevis. 'You'll see to these men,' he told Yarico, and slid into the entrance.

The battle in the darkness was also over. Now the Irishmen moved around their victims, completing their dreadful work where it was necessary, loosing morion and breastplate, sword belt and pistol holster.

'Mon Dieu,' Aline said from the inner lip. 'But I was afraid, Edward, I confess it now.'

'And they're dead.' Susan sat beside her. 'Every last one of them? Ye have a way with ye after all, Edward. I never doubted that'

'By God,' O'Reilly shouted. 'He's the kind of general we've needed. With this armour, and these weapons, why, we'll show them Dons a thing or two. Aye, Ted, lad? Nay, I'll not call ye that again, I swear it. General Warner. Aye, General Warner, ye'll tell us this is but the beginning.'

Edward gazed up through the aperture at the forest outside, and the brown stained grass, where Yarico and her girls were stripping one of the living Spaniards to slice the raw flesh from his buttocks.

'Aye, Paddy,' he said. 'This is but the beginning.'

 

10

 

The Crisis

 

Edward knelt on the sand, to draw with the end of the stick he held in his hands. ‘We can start to take the offensive, now,' he said. ‘I'd judge they're more scared of us than we of them.'

He gazed at the men standing around him. They wore armour, cuirasses and morions, over crimson Spanish doublets and new Spanish breeches; they carried pistols and arquebuses, and every man wore a sword. Yet they were the same Irish devils who had once mocked him. Lacking two of their numbers, alas. But Yeats and his friend had died well, fighting a rearguard action on the day they had been caught too far from the cave.

And the women. Susan, who seemed to grow larger every day; she still wore no more than her shift, which drew tight against her belly. Aline and Meg had actually found themselves breeches to fit their thighs and shirts to cover their breasts and shoulders; if the result was the display of more white leg than any man present had ever seen before at one time, they were actually far more decently clad than when reduced to their tattered undergarments. Yet they had not really changed, either. Meg Plummer still fought like an avenging angel, and Aline . . . Aline played her part as required, but she had withdrawn her mind. The brutality, the bestiality, the utter absence of civilization with which she was surrounded, had at last proved too much for her. She spent much of her time with the children, talking to them and entertaining them. But this was to the good, because the children were always a problem. Little Tom more than most, as his mother reached back into the savage recesses of her mind for survival. But Little Tom was Aline's favourite. He was a Warner.

Yarico. She stood immediately behind him, her shadow falling across the plan he would draw. Her three compatriots were beside her. They had lived long enough amongst the white men to know that they no longer belonged there. White men did not live as they did because they had fine clothes and big houses and huge ships and noisy guns. They apparently believed that it was best to five as they did. But survival depended upon these four women, in more ways than one, and they had utterly reverted to their native state, wearing no more than the aprons of their childhood, carrying their bows at all times, and waiting eagerly for the next occasion to pounce upon an unwary Spaniard.

That first day, that first victory, Paddy O'Reilly had vomited, and Aline had all but fainted. And Edward had found the officer's pistol and shot the Spaniard through the head before he could suffer further. And only then stopped to think. What a terrible word for the commander of a desperate band of human beings fighting for their lives. Thought implied so many things, involved so many aspects of the business of living he had always rejected as utterly horrible. Thought composed the entire reason for the hatred between his father and himself. Thought had convinced him that the Spaniards must also be convinced that there were many, many people, savages no less than white men, lurking in the forests of St Kitts. This was the name the Irish had given to the island, and it was far more fitting than the papist St Christopher or the pompous Merwar's Hope.

So, of them all, only he had truly changed. He was shocked every time he saw himself reflected in a pool of water. But this was a pleasant shock. His size, for he dominated them all alike by his height and his breadth; his full fair beard which fitted naturally into his uncut hair; the firmness of his mouth—here was a far cry from the vacillating creature of only a few months before. But here, too, was a man who understood only death and destruction, survival by whatever means came to hand, however horrible.

Thus he had taken his decision. The dead had been neither buried nor burned. They were stripped of their clothing, mutilated and carved, and heaped on the beach by Hilton's house. There the ghastly, stinking remains had been discovered by the next patrol. Then the forest had come alive. But he had taken his people back into the recesses of Susan's cave, and there they had remained in utter security, to venture forth again and annihilate another patrol, two days later. And give one of the living captives to the women, so that nothing could be left as doubt in the Dons' minds.

This second catastrophe had stung Don Francisco de Toledo into action. The Spaniards had moved forward as an army, so quickly and in such numbers that the guerrillas had been taken by surprise. Hence the loss of Yeats and his friend. But thanks to that sacrifice they had got back to the cavern, and while over a thousand Spanish soldiers and sailors had tramped the beaches and the forest trails, they had remained in safety hidden away beneath the earth. Yet the character of the cave had certainly changed. It had changed that first day, when a dozen men had died inside its eerie half light. And it had continued to change ever since, as more than twenty people had used it as a home. Its beauty had dissolved in oaths and blasphemy, in crude jokes and cruder songs; its air had become filled with the stench of human sweat and human excreta; and its dark corners had been filled with eyes watching and wanting. Theirs was a sexless society, because Edward Warner so ordained it, and because they knew that they lived by virtue of his leadership and his determination, and his ability. By his talents and his courage he had gained an ascendency over these people in a way his father had never done. This was a remarkable thought, but it was none the less true.

And yet he never doubted by how slender a margin his superiority ranked. His biggest headache lay in the fact that the women were as eager as the men. Not Susan, perhaps. But then, Susan merely hated the destruction of this private world in which she had spent so many hours. The Caribs, certainly. Aline, at least as regards himself. Even Meg Plummer, perhaps. They were young, strong women, living close to death and in circumstances of utter intimacy with a score of young, strong men, whom they daily watched lolling and hunting in their defence. Only by working them all to the point of utter exhaustion could he keep them from each other's crotches, and, by an almost inevitable sequence of emotions, from each others' throats. Certainly there was work enough to be done. The fish had to be caught and gutted in the black hours before dawn, when the Spaniards did not venture over to Windward. And they could not live on fish alone. They suffered from a food shortage as it was, even if Yarico and her girls managed to keep them supplied with fresh fruit. But yet the spur was action against the Dons, for which they relied upon Edward's imagination and leadership. And for two days now no Spaniards had appeared on Windward. Thus it was necessary to take the fight to them; last night four of the Irishmen and two of the Carib girls had been late returning to the cave, and no one doubted the cause of their delay. Tonight it would be an increasing problem.

So he drew his map upon the sand. 'Like us,' he explained, 'the Dons need fish to eat. They spread their nets in the shallows off Blood River, where the Indians used to spread theirs. The nets are guarded, to be sure, but by not more than a dozen men; I have seen them. And they are well removed from the main force, which is encamped in and around the town, as you'll know. Now, there is the obvious way to discourage those bastards. Destroy their nets.'

' Twill be risky,' Paddy O'Reilly objected.

'For Christ's sake, Paddy, just kneeling here is risky,' Edward pointed out. "Why do you think there has been no patrol over here these last few days? Because they are afraid. We have made them afraid. They think of us as ghosts, because we disappear whenever they come close. We must be sure that they remain afraid. That they grow more afraid. And that they become more uncomfortable. Deprive them of a couple of days' food and there will be rumblings of discontent within the Spanish camp itself.'

O'Reilly shaded his eyes. 'Maybe we won't have to go so far.'

Edward stood up, watched Brian Connor staggering up the beach, kicking clouds of soft sand into the air behind him.

'He looks as if he's seen a ghost,' Philip remarked. "Well, there's sufficient of them on this island, to be sure,' Susan said.

'What is it, Brian?' Edward shouted. 'Are the Dons mounting another expedition?'

"They're away,' Connor shouted. They've embarked,' he shrieked. He came up to them, threw himself full length on the sand, and rolled on to his back, arms and legs outflung. "They're licked, Ted.'

Edward glanced at the Irishmen, watched the emotions, relief, delight, surprise, joy and frustration flitting across their faces. Then without a word to each other they ran for the path which led up Mount Misery. They climbed and kicked each other, hurried and tripped, tumbled and rose again, barked shins and knees and shoulders, exchanged excited opinions and ambitions, and gained the open space above the tree line, from whence they could look down on Leeward. But long before they reached their vantage point they saw the smoke, rising above the remains of Sandy Point. From the ledge itself the erstwhile town made a sad picture, somehow more horrible than Edward remembered the same site after the hurricane. For this day the sea was calm, the breeze light, and Sandy Point had been more than an accumulation of huts. But now they all burned, individually, to reveal the Dons' attention to detail, and generally, as the smoke from each blazing roof merged into the smoke from the next blazing roof, as the pillars supporting the porch of Government House crashed outwards, and the roof itself fell in, through the bedrooms and into the chamber where Tom Warner had entertained his guests.

But the desolation was not confined to the town; behind it the tobacco plantations and the corn fields were flattened areas of dusty earth. And still the horizon was dotted with sails and pennants and flags, with mahogany brown hills and curling white wakes, as the fleet gathered way before the gentle southerly breeze

Philip knelt beside his brother. 'By all the rules of warfare we can claim a victory, Edward. You can claim a victory. We are left in possession of the field.'

'Aye.' Edward glanced at the awestruck Irishmen. 'Our misfortune is, Philip, that there are no rules on St Kitts. We make them up as we go along.'

Even from a hundred yards away, the heat clung to the air; the smoke had mostly died by now, and only the glowing ashes remained. Occasionally there was a rumble as a pillar or a roof, made from greener timbers than the rest, came crashing down to send a shower of sparks upwards.

‘It'll have cooled by morning,' Edward said. 'Well get to work then.'

'To work?' Connor demanded. 'And what work were ye considering, Ted?"

'You'd spend the rest of your lives lying on the sand?"

"There'll be a ship along,' O'Reilly said. 'An Englishman or a Dutchman. Well beg passage on that'

"You'll desert the colony?"

'Colony? For Christ's sake.' O'Reilly removed his helmet and unbuckled his cuirass. Here was the problem; beside his armour he was carefully laying his brace of pistols and his sword. And most of his companions still wore theirs.

'And for the meantime,' Connor said. 'We'd best come to an accommodation. We're entitled to relax and enjoy ourselves.'

Another of those occasions he had long known would come. He had Philip by his side, but there were seventeen men opposed to them. Aline and Meg and Susan stood with the children, a little to one side. They watched, and waited, and endeavoured to preserve their composure. The Carib girls had gone to see what had become of the fish nets.

'What sort of an accommodation were you thinking of, Brian?" Edward said quietly.

'Well, our creature comforts, mostly, Ted,' O'Reilly said. 'Now we no longer have the need of a leader, we're flunking of a democratic society, like. Share and share alike. Now, there's nineteen of us, all told, and there's seven women.'

'Saving that Susan ain't good for nothing,' Connor pointed out.

'Aye, so it really works out to one woman to every three and a half men. But I've a better idea, Ted, lad. Your brother ain't hardly even a half, yet, and ye've no taste for the flesh, now have ye? In any event, the brat in Sue's belly is likely yours, by all accounts. So well let ye take care of her, and the rest of us will take care of the others, which’ll give us better than three to one. We'll work it out'

'No,' Meg Plummer said. 'Edward, you cannot permit this.'

Aline said nothing; she breathed deeply and there were pink spots on her cheeks.

'And if I'd not agree?" Edward demanded.

‘Why, then, lad, 'tis sorry we'll be, to be sure, but well be inclined to take what we require. Ye'll not draw a sword against me, Ted. We'll have your throat cut before ye can get it clear of your scabbard.'

'For God's sake,' Susan shouted. 'Can ye never stop fighting? Where would ye be without Ted? I’ll tell ye. Ye'd be lying on that beach, bits of ye.'

'Sure, and we know that, Sue,' O'Reilly agreed. 'So we're content to leave him be, and leave ye be as well. All we're claiming is our just rights as men. Tis what we fought for. Just as, make no mistake, he fought the Dons not for us, but for this island. Well, he can have it, after we're gone. Now then, Ted, lad, take Sue and your brother and make tracks into that forest'

Edward hesitated, glancing at Philip.

‘You cannot leave Aline and me to these men, Mr Warner,' Meg begged.

'Be off wi' ye,' O'Reilly growled 'Be off wi' ye, before I changes my...'

The phssst cut the afternoon air like a physical impact. The shaft slammed into O'Reilly’s chest with such force it knocked him off his feet, reducing his words to a bloody froth.

'By Christ' Connor yelled, reaching for his sword, to be halted by another singing arrow which sliced into his thigh.

'You stop,' Yarico called from the bushes. ‘I kill you all.'

The Irishmen gazed at the trees, and waited; they knew too much of her accuracy. O'Reilly tried to sit up, and fell back, coughing once again. Susan hurried forward to kneel beside him.

'God's truth,' she whispered. 'Hell not survive.'

‘You come,' Yarico called. 'You come, if you want We go. You come, Ed-ward?’

‘I come,' Edward said. ' 'Tis sorry I am about this, Brian Connor, but you brought it on yourself. Get that arrow out and patch up the blood, and you'll be all right Aline. Meg. You'll bring the children.'

He drew his pistols, and Philip followed his example, and they slowly withdrew up the beach, while the Irishmen gazed after them and muttered to each other and O'Reilly coughed his last on the sand, the arrow sticking skywards from his chest like an avenging finger. After a moment's hesitation, Susan laid his head on the sand and followed the other women. Yarico stood at the edge of the trees, with her three companions.

‘I owe you my life,' Edward said. 'And not for the first time. I wish I could understand you, Yarico.'

She tossed her head. 'Yarico War-nah,' she reminded hirn. 'Ed-ward War-nah. Philip War-nah.' She smiled at her son. 'Tom War-nah.' She extended her arms to embrace the entire island. 'War-nah land.'

The Irish knew too much about the cave and the defences of the windward coast Edward preferred to make camp on the upper slopes of Mount Misery, from whence they could command both coasts and even the sea beyond, and where there was a spring they could use for fresh water. Food remained a problem, which necessitated a trek down to the beach every day to clear the nets and to search for fruit. But for this he was grateful. It was necessary to keep occupied, or he had no doubt that the women would in time become quite as unruly as the men had been. And soon enough they relaxed most of their precautions. The Irish never came to Windward. They never seemed to go anywhere, but camped on the beach beside the burnt out ruin of Sandy Point, fishing where they could, living on the coconuts which grew in profusion along the shore. O'Reilly had died, and Connor was not quite in the same mould. Lacking leadership, they were content to lie on the beach for the rest of their lives, if need be.

For the rest of their lives. From the upper slopes of Mount Misery the other islands, Nevis, Antigua, Montserrat, even the more distant peaks, were clearly visible. And the sea between. An empty sea. The Spanish fleet had sailed north, and left desolation behind them. Not even a Carib canoe. For the word would have spread across the islands that the dreaded Dons were out in force, and even the Caribs preferred to remain hidden until quite sure the danger was past.

And Pierre Belain? Back in France, no doubt. Grieving for the death of his niece, for the loss of his investment. Although perhaps he had managed to recoup himself as he had hoped. But, assuming Aline to be dead, he would be vowing vengeance on Edward Warner. So would Joachim Galante. another pair to set beside Wapisiane. And how many others?

And Tom Warner? And Tony Hilton? It was now near a year since they had sailed away. To be lost at sea? To decide that it was not worth their while to come back? The news of the French assault on St Kitts must surely have filtered back to England by now. Not come back? Tom, not return to his dream? To his island, to his family? Tony, not return to Susan? There was an impossibility. Certainly it was not something his brain would accept.

Movement, in the bushes behind him. He only half turned his head. It was of interest, to know who would be the first to seek him out on his own. But he did not really doubt. They each had a reason to hate him, saving the three Carib girls and Margaret Plummer. But then, Meg Plummer had no reason to seek him, either.

'You risk much, mademoiselle.'

She knelt beside him. They are all asleep.'

'Yarico does not sleep. At least, not in the manner you or I would understand.'

'And you fear her?’

He turned to look at her. ‘Why, yes, Aline. I think I fear her.'

She wore her shift, and had untied her hair. So then, in what way was she different from Susan Hilton, or even Yarico herself, in the dark? Except that the moon had risen, and it was not that dark. She differed in the whiteness of her skin, even after two months in the tropical heat. She differed in the length and shape of her legs, so thin when compared with the rest of her, and yet, now that constant walking in the forest and on this mountain had given her the muscle she needed, so flawlessly shaped. She differed too in what he could see heaving against the thin material, the nipples swollen and anxious, because of the slight chill in the night air, certainly, but anxious because of what?

But more than any of them, she differed from the others, from Mama herself, because of what he knew of her. Because of the humour he knew to lurk beneath that occasionally petulant exterior. Because of the breeding he knew to control that mind. Because of the mind itself.

‘You are strange,' she said, having allowed him several seconds in which to inspect her. ‘I understand that she is all of a stepmother to you. Does that not make you precious to her?"

'You'd not understand,' he said. 'And you'll not tell me.'

'No,' he said. "Why have you come?" He turned away from her and lay on his stomach. ‘I had assumed that you had decided our betrothal was a mistake’

'Perhaps I would dream’

'Of what?'

'Oh. . . ‘ the leaves rustled as she sat. Her knee brushed his. There is much of which I must clearly dream, for the remainder of my life. Of hot baths. Of perfumes. Of clothing of which a woman might be proud. Of the jewels I used to wear. Of the men who would kiss my hand. Even of the men themselves, perhaps’

'When my father returns’ Edward said. ‘I will have you shipped back to Europe. You can tell your father and your uncle that I lied to them, that in reality you were bound and gagged at some distance from the town, and therefore escape was impossible for you. And that afterwards, why, you were my slave. They will certainly forgive you. They will be too overjoyed to have you back. As for your virginity... well, its loss will have been none of your doing.'

‘Your understanding of society is indeed limited, Edward,' she said. 'Certainly they would be overjoyed to have me back. But equally certainly they would see me to a nunnery the same day.'

They'd shut you up, for being raped?’

'Would they not bury me, for being murdered?'

'By Christ,' he said.

'So I would ask you this,' she said. 'Last week on the beach, supposing that Yarico had not come to your rescue, or perhaps even sided with the Irishmen, what would you have done? Would you have left me with them, or would you have died in my defence?"

'And on that answer depends your decision, a nunnery or marriage to me?"

'Oh, no, Edward. I will still marry you. No matter what happens, I will marry you. I could never contemplate shutting myself away from life and laughter. I would rather be dead, and I am not prepared to contemplate that either, at this moment. I merely wish to know whether it will be possible for me to love you.'

‘I would have left you.'

She caught her breath. 'You... .’

'As you have just said, death, for either of us, is not worth contemplating unless it is inevitable. I would have left you, and hoped to rescue you in due course.'

'And would I have been worth rescuing?'

'Your body would have been bruised. You would have been entered by several men, perhaps by all of them, instead of just one. Yet I think both of those things would have been set right by one of those hot baths of which you dream. As for your mind, Aline, had it also been bruised, then I doubt whether you would have been worth having back. But then, could your mind be bruised by such an event, you would not have been worth dying for, either.'

'Mon Dieu,' she whispered. 'And you call yourself a man? Have you no notion at all of honour?'

‘I would rather say that your society has no notion of honour, Aline. Honour must surely be related to Christianity, as we claim to be Christian. So then, is it honourable to kill a man? It is certainly un-Christian. It can surely only be justified by dire need, the preservation of another life, perhaps. Those men would not have killed you, Aline. You are too beautiful.'

'Mon Dieu,' she said again. 'That I can have been so unfortunate. ...'

'As to find yourself encumbered with a man such as I? Well, then, how does your nunnery seem now? I do assure you, that were the honourable thing to do.'

Her breath came sharply. 'And you,' she said. ‘If indeed you lack all conception of honour, do you not at least feel the stirrings of manhood? I kneel beside you, wearing but a single garment. Perhaps I would scream were you to assault me, but I doubt that anyone lying over there would care to rescue me.'

Of course she wanted him to rape her again. She wanted sex, and she wanted reassurance, and she had found his sex at once exciting and reassuring. And also, from her point of view, victorious; he had been her subject, for a while, afterwards.

'As you are so determined to marry me, Aline,' he said. ‘I can wait. For the return of my father. He will surely have a priest with him.'

Her nostrils dilated. 'Ah, yes, Master Warner,' she said. 'He will have a priest with him. And the first thing he shall do is marry us. And then you will make me pregnant, Edward. Again and again and again. I want a great many children, Edward, so I can raise them all to hate you.'

She got up and walked back towards the others. Edward sighed, and watched her go. How hard his weapon, how anxious his mind. She did more to arouse him than any woman he had ever known, save... horrible thoughts. But thoughts to be thought, as he was being honest with himself. And he would possess her one day. But on his own terms.

'You strange,' Yarico said.

He dared not turn. 'Do you watch me constantly?'

Her laughter tinkled, but softly. 'Yarico not watch, Edward die. All die.'

'You think so?" He rolled over, found himself against her, and she was naked. 'Oh, Christ almighty, go back to your couch.'

She cupped her hands on his breast, squeezing the hard muscled flesh as she was so fond of doing. 'Why you not take that girl?'

‘I intend to marry her. Before the priest and before God. I wish it to be done properly.'

'Proper,' Yarico said. She put her arms round his head and pulled it against her breasts. Her breasts had grown with motherhood, and sagged where once they had pointed. He could hear her heart beating, and before he could stop himself his aims went round her waist and his fingers sought the roundness of her buttocks.

'You are my stepmother.'

‘I am your woman, Ed-ward. You not forget that' 'My father....' 'War-nah not come back.'

'Aye,' he said. 'You could well be right' Besides, this night he wanted her to be right. A combination of pride and guilt kept him from taking Aline, however much he desired her, however much she deliberately inflamed his desire. But there could be no pride, and there could be no guilt, where Yarico was concerned. They had earned each other.

Yet the ships came, as Edward was fast coming to believe they always would, eventually. Two ships, flying the cross of St George, and large, well-found vessels, too, with a dozen guns in each broadside. And crowded with colonists.

He led his brother and his women down to the beach, wearing Spanish armour and carrying their weapons, for the Irish were also fully accoutred, and stood in an uncertain group in front of the ruins of Sandy Point.

'What, Brian Connor, would you fight Englishmen?" Edward called out. 'Be sure you'll not have me to lead you.'

'The devil take ye, Edward Warner,' Connor said. 'Aye, and your harem.' They fell to muttering amongst themselves, and

Edward wondered if they'd try to settle matters by an assault at this moment. But by now the ships were furling their sails as their anchors plunged into the clear waters of Great Road, and the beach was clearly overseen from the decks.

And soon the first boats were approaching the shore.

Tony,' Susan yelled, and waded knee deep into the surf, for all her swollen belly.

Hilton jumped overboard himself to sweep her into his arms. 'Sweetheart. By Christ, but I had feared.'

' Twas Edward,' she said. 'He saved our lives. He led us against the Dons, and drove them away.'

'Edward.' Hilton came forward with outstretched hand. 1 never doubted you, lad. I but knew it would need something tremendous to draw you out. Well, Sir Thomas, you're a proud man this day, I'll wager.'

Edward gazed past his friend to his father. No change, except a renewal of that confidence which had accompanied him on his first return from England. And a renewal of the velvet and lace he had sported on that occasion, too, with a new sword, and a jewelled hilt, and a feather in his hat, and a carefully trimmed beard, perhaps a trifle spotted with grey, but none the less suggesting active strength.

'Sir Thomas?' he asked.

Tom Warner smiled. ' Tis easy enough to say, Edward. Boy.' He took his eldest son in his arms, kissed him on the cheek. 'We had heard so many rumours. And when we saw the remains of the town . . . Philip. By Christ, but it is good to see you'

'And you, sir,' Philip said. "What news of Sarah?’ Tom frowned. 'She ails. Yarico....'

"War-nah. Is good.' But she made no move towards him.

'And this is little Tom?" Tom swept his youngest son from the sand. 'By God, but you'll soon be a man. Meg Plummer? By Christ, what has happened here? And this lady?"

'Mademoiselle Galante, Father,' Edward said

'Mademoiselle? You have some explaining to do.'

'As have you, Father, and all good, I swear. Sir Thomas Warner, by God. You've settled your differences with the King, then?’

Once again the quick frown. 'Aye, well, in a manner of speaking. We'll talk about it. God's blood, you've armed the Irish?'

‘It was necessary, Father,' Philip said. 'They were all the army we possessed.'

'And with that band of rascals you licked the Dons? By God. They'll grow fat on that in Europe. I'll hear the tale, lads. Day by day. Blow by blow. Brian Connor, quit your skulking and come here.'

Connor advanced reluctantly, limping from the wound caused by Yarico's arrow, and taking off Ins helmet. ' 'Tis welcome ye are, Captain Warner.'

'Sir Thomas Warner, you blackguard. But uniform suits you. We'll have to talk, we will. We'll have to talk.'

'That we will.' Connor glanced at Edward.

'But first.' Tom waved at another boat which had been rowing to and fro some distance from the shore. ‘I had but to make sure all was well here, you understand.'

The boat approached, and the people on the shore stared, while a sudden band seemed to constrict around Edward's chest, and he glanced at Yarico. Was not this what he wanted? Or was it what he feared most of all?

The woman sitting in the stem wore a dark blue silk gown, her skirt pinned up at both sides to show her taffeta petticoats; her bodice was deep-cut, but her breasts were concealed by a double lace falling band, and the cuffs on her wide sleeves were also of lace; her sash was of pale blue silk, and she wore a pearl necklace with a huge ruby brooch. These things were obvious even from a distance, and long before any judgment could be formed regarding her figure, on her face, which was in the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat. But there was a quality here none save perhaps Aline had ever previously known, and that Aline was aware of it was revealed by the way she slipped to the back of the crowd, and attempted to straighten her shift.

The boat grounded in the shallows, and Tom himself stepped into the water to swing his wife ashore. 'Lady Warner, gentlemen,' he said. 'And ladies, of course.'

She smiled at them. Which is to say, she arranged her features to widen her mouth and show her teeth. It was a small mouth, somewhat tightly lipped when in repose, and looked the smaller because her face itself was broad, and shaped like the most perfect heart, dwindling from a high, clear forehead to a pointed, thrusting chin. It was not a beautiful face, and not even a handsome face, but it possessed a great deal of strength, which in turn gave it a beauty of its own—Edward was reminded of what Sir Walter Raleigh had said of Queen Elizabeth. And if she was nervous she did not show it.

While that she would be worth possessing was no longer to be doubted. Even the huge falling band could not entirely conceal the swelling flesh beneath, no doubt thrust upwards by her corsets, for her waist was sucked flat, and her complexion was as clear as Aline's had ever been. Her hair was dressed in the fashionable ringlets from the bun on the back of her head.

'My eldest son, Edward,' Tom was saying.

Again the quick smile. She extended her hand. ‘I have heard so much about you, Edward.'

He held the pale blue lad glove, gazed into her eyes with stupefaction.

'You'll have a kiss for your new mother,' she suggested, and presented her cheek.

His lips touched the soft flesh, and he was enveloped in a perfume he had not experienced since Aline.

‘You have few words,' Lady Warner remarked. ‘I like a man of few words. My name is Anne, Edward. I'd not have you call me mother. I doubt there is more than five years between us. And this will be Philip.'

'Ma'am,' Philip said.

‘I'd have recognized you anywhere.'

'Susan Hilton, M'am. I am Mr Hilton's wife.'

Anne Warner inspected the Irish girl. 'You should be confined, my dear.'

'Yarico,' Tom said. 'You'll remember, Yarico.'

Anne Warner smiled at the Indian girl's naked body. ‘I must thank you, princess, for looking after my husband in his hour of need. And this is your son?" Her gaze drooped to little Tom for the briefest of seconds. ‘You are to be congratulated.' She glanced at Aline, who had flushed the colour of a beetroot.

'Mademoiselle Aline Galante,' Edward said. 'She is the only survivor of the French colony.'

‘Indeed,' Anne Warner said. ‘I wonder she has managed to make ends meet.'

‘I would hear about these French and their treachery,' Tom said.

Anne Warner was regarding the Irishmen. 'And these?’

'Our Irish lads. Presently playing soldiers.'

'And intending nothing less, Captain Warner,' Connor said.

'By God,' Tom said. 'Mutiny? You have twenty-four cannon directed at you, Brian. You'd do well to brood on that. But well have a discussion, soon enough.'

Anne Warner had walked up the beach to look at the blackened timbers of the town. ‘I had not suspected such total destruction, Sir Thomas.'

‘It seems every time I leave this place it falls apart,' Tom grumbled. ‘I shall not do so again. This time I am home to die, eh, sweet?’

'Not for a few years, Sir Thomas, I do trust,' she said, continuing to inspect the wreckage. 'But I wonder you have the desire to start again.'

‘I have that, sweet. This is our land. Warner land. Well build again, by God. For our children and grandchildren. Oh, aye, there's much to be done.' He stamped back down the beach to where the first of the horses were being disembarked, whinnying and squealing.

'Horses?' Edward asked in amazement.

'And why not? They're a sight better than humans, when it comes to labour. Because we're going to have a road, boy. I've planned it. A road from Sandy Point across to Windward. No more surprises from that quarter.' He glanced at his son. 'Well sit down to a conference, when the heat leaves the sun. We've much to discuss.'

It took place on the beach, as all of their conferences had always taken place on the beach. Tom sat with his wife on his right hand, and Major Harry Judge on his left. 'Harry has been a soldier all his life, by God,' he announced at large. 'He'll know how to help us here, to hold and to build. He knows discipline, by God.'

Beyond Judge sat Tony Hilton and his wife, and then Edward and Philip, while completing the circle, between Philip and Anne Warner, was the Reverend Sweeting.

'Not you, Brian Connor, not you,' Tom had cried as the Irishman would have taken his place.

‘I've a right to speak my mind,' Connor growled.

'Aye,' Edward said. They have a part to play, and not as servants.'

‘Indeed?" Tom demanded. ‘I have heard too much about the part they have played. I'll call on you, Connor. When the time comes.'

Connor retired, muttering, to join his fellows; they still wore their armour and clutched their weapons. But they were aware just how futile was this gesture. Although the sun was setting low into the western horizon, cutting across the calm sea like a gigantic beacon, the work went on in Great Road. Men and women and children, horses and dogs, goats and pigs, barrels and boxes; St Kitts had returned to life.

'St Kitts?' Tom Warner asked. 'Now there is a ridiculous title.'

'Merwar's Hope was unlucky,' Hilton said bluntly. 'Maybe it was. Maybe ... St Kitts. By God, it comes easily off the tongue, would you not say, sweet?’ ' Tis your colony, Sir Thomas.'

‘Why, by God, so it is. Now then, well deal with first things first. You’ll understand that Hal Ashton and Will Jarring and the Reverend Mailing regained England without loss, or at least, without such loss as can always be expected in a journey of that sort. They made no good report of you, Edward.'

'Am I then on trial?’

'Only in a manner of speaking. I was then fitting out, and asked them to return with me, and they refused. They had had enough of beachcombing, they said. Beachcombing, by God. It was not long after that Tony himself dropped anchor in Plymouth. And he had a different tale to tell of how Hal's tyranny and Mailing's downright popery had driven you to despair. Word against word. But Tony was willing to fit and return with us. And indeed, he was easily secured in the governorship of Nevis, so winningly did he present himself to His Majesty. So I must needs reserve judgement. Now I would have you tell me straight, what happened in my absence.'

Edward glanced at Hilton, who was gazing into his wine cup, and then at Philip, who had flushed scarlet. 'Why, to say the absolute truth, Father, my resentment at having been excluded from the governorship grew until I sought to seize what I thought had been denied me.'

'By God,' Tom said. 'You admit to mutiny? By God, sir....'

'Hear the boy out, I beg of you, Sir Thomas,' Anne Warner said, softly.

‘I thank you, madam,' Edward said. 'My conception was of taking the leadership by force, Father, as I knew of the discontent in Sandy Point, and I had no wish to watch Hal Ashton attempting to cope with a revolution. I desired no bloodshed, nor would I have any. When it was obvious that the majority of the population would not support me I surrendered myself, after negotiating for the release of Tony and his people.'

This does not tally with your tale, Tony,' Tom remarked.

'Before we left I was granted a full pardon by the acting governor.' But Hilton's face was angry.

'Ashton admitted that. It would appear that every word he spoke was nothing more than the truth. And we parted on bad terms because I supposed he was but presenting his side of the matter. Truly, I am sometimes distressed at the deceit with which I am surrounded. Well, boy, you surrendered at discretion. Have you any reason to offer why I should not hang you on the instant?"

'Sir Thomas,' Anne Warner exclaimed.

' Tis the authorized punishment for mutiny.'

'But you cannot, Father,' Philip protested. "You do not know the whole of the matter.'

‘I’ll conduct my own defence, Philip,' Edward said. ‘If you will be good enough to act as my witness. Aye, Father, I surrendered at discretion. But when the French fleet arrived, Hal was quick enough to resign the governorship, which he placed on my shoulders. He then elected to evacuate the colony, leaving it entirely to Monsieur Belain. I chose to remain, with Philip and my stout Irishmen over there, to make sure that Warner's land remained in the possession of the Warners. And when the Dons came, and Belain left in a hurry, it was those very Irishmen and ourselves who fought them and made this island too uncomfortable for them to stay.'

'By God,' Tom said. 'By God.'

'And this is why I say, whatever our differences, and there have been many, those Irish have deserved the right to be treated as better than slaves.'

'By God,' Tom said again. 'Brian Connor, you'll have been listening, I have no doubt.'

The Irishman approached. ‘I have, your honour, and Master Edward has spoke nothing but the truth. We fought for ye, sir. At the least, we fought for your son. And now ye have your colony back. And more than one of me friends have died for that. Terry Yeats and...' he glanced at Yarico. 'Paddy O'Reilly.'

'Yet it is still a problem. Not of labour. I have made other arrangements for that. But we cannot have papists and the like running free to disrupt the life of the colony.'

Then give us a ship, Sir Thomas,' Connor said.

'What? To go pirating?'

'No, sir,' Connor said. 'We want nothing more than that overgrown pinnace ye have there. It will take us to Montserrat.'

'Montserrat? By God, man, you'll be wanting to make a Carib feast?"

We have talked with the Indian women, sir,' Connor said. 'Montserrat is not inhabited. And we have looked at those green peaks too often from here. But allow us to go, and take the three girls with us, sir, and we'll trouble you no more.'

'Will the girls go with you, Brian?' Edward asked. ‘I'd not force them.'

'Nor would we, Ted. But they followed Yarico and yourself because it is their nature to accept authority. Now there's naught for them here. We'd offer them a good life. Why, sir, grant us the permission and well acknowledge ourselves to be a colony of St Kitts, subject to your ultimate jurisdiction, so long as we can practise our religion in peace.'

'By God,' Tom said. ‘It would not be approved in Whitehall.'

'And yet, Father, it is the dream you first possessed,' Edward said.

'And of spreading across these islands, by God. Brian, you've fought for my land; I’ll give you yours. And I'll lend the weight of my authority to your right arm, because by God you'll need it, if I understand those rapscallions at your back.'

'Aye, sir,' Connor said. ‘I’ll lick them into shape, Sir Thomas.'

'Be sure that you do.' Tom stood up. 'Mr Connor is your leader,' he said to the Irish, who had assembled in a group just beyond the fire. 'Appointed by me, by God, and answerable only to me. My magistrate... no, by God, my deputy, in Montserrat. Brian Connor, you'll be just deputy governor of Montserrat. Take your people and the girls, and depart as you are ready. But mark me well. You'll work for yourselves, but you'll work, by God. I'll have an inspector over there every six months, and I’ll want to see tobacco growing and houses building. You understand me, Brian?"

‘I understand ye, sir.' Connor turned to Iris people. 'We're free, boys. Freer than ever before in our lives. Who’ll give three cheers for the Governor, now?"

They responded with a will, and the beach echoed with their shouts.

'So I am grateful to you,' Tom said. 'Now be about your preparations and leave us to our affairs.' He sat down.

‘You'd have them grow tobacco, Tom?" Judge asked.

‘It would be best. They have neither the labour nor the knowledge for sugar.'

'Sugar?' Edward asked.

'Sugar cane. Oh, tobacco is all very well. But it requires too much area to return but a small profit and each crop has to be replanted. Now cane, boy, why, 'tis in the first place planted closer together, and in the second, each plant throws off little shoots, called ratoons, which can be used time and again, maybe up to a dozen or more years. Why, 'tis said that the Dons have taken sixteen ratoons from a single plant'

The Dons?’

They have introduced it in Cuba and in places on the mainland. And it thrives in this climate.' 'And there is a market for this sugar?"

'Tis this new drink which is spreading across the world. Coffee. You'll not have sampled it. It is dark, and strong smelling, and strong tasting, too, and of a similarly strong substance. It needs sweetening. A drop of honey but merely loses itself in so powerful a concentration. But the juice of this plant, when suitably crystallized... mind you, 'tis a deal of work. The juice must be extracted by crushing, and then it must be boiled into granules. We shall need special equipment, rollers and vats. But I have an expert. Major Judge has seen it done when a prisoner of the Dons in Cuba.'

'And it also needs a vast amount of heavy labour,' Judge said. Too heavy for white men, it is considered, at least in this climate. Thus you’ll see that we are happy to have seen the last of your wild Irish.'

‘I’ll have to confess I do not understand you at all,' Edward said. 'We need more labour than ever before for this cane, you say, yet you are happy to let our only labour go?’

We shall replace them,' Tom said. ‘I have made arrangements for a shipload of Negro slaves to be brought here. John Painton, you remember John Painton, Edward? He's now turned to slaving. Oh, 'tis a thriving business for those who can stand the stench. He’ll be bringing them here within the six month. By then we must have the land cleared and the factory built.'

'Negro slaves? Philip asked.

'Well, they'd not come any other way. But you see the point, lad. We buy these people, and they are not cheap, I’ll tell you that, and then they are ours. No ten-year term.' 'Ours to work to death,' Edward said.

'No one said anything about death,' Tom insisted, ‘Indeed, it would be unprofitable. The point I am making is that these people wall be here for the term of their natural lives, and they will understand this. Thus there will be no cause for revolts or thoughts of revolts, or even for insubordination. And there will be women as well as men, so they will be a self-perpetuating labour force. Oh, we are thinking here not of ourselves alone, but of the future. Of generations of cane-planters and their people.'

'From being a governor you'll have become a god,' Tony Hilton remarked softly.

Tom Warner's head came up, but Judge hastily broke in, 'And an even greater advantage, Edward, is that they are born and bred in a climate very similar to this. So the heat will affect them not a whit'

'You'll explain that remark, Tony,' Tom said. 'By God, sir, I have not forgotten that you were an able assistant to my son in the revolt here.'

'Nor will you have forgotten that I bear the King's Commission as deputy governor of the island of Nevis,' Hilton pointed out 'Secured by your own good officers.'

'And under my ultimate jurisdiction, by God,' Tom shouted.

' 'Tis best we not quarrel on our first night in this charming place,' Anne Warner said.

' 'Tis best we not quarrel at all.' Tony said. ‘I'll speak my mind, Tom. It is something I have considered for a good while, and now, since I have had the chance to discuss the matter with Sue here, and discovered her to be of a like opinion, why ... that ship over there is mine, secured by my own backers, and paid for by the gold I took out of that Frencman in mid-channel. You'll not deny that'

‘I'll not deny the truth at any time.'

Then I’ll take her and bid you farewell. Do not worry, I shall abscond with none of your colonists. I've my crew, recruited by myself. I've my wife. And I’ll soon have a son. And I've too many memories both of this place and Nevis.'

'You'll sail away? By God, you've a mind to become a pirate.'

"There is a war on, Tom. I've no need to look for ships to take other than Spanish or French.'