"Are you indeed, sir?" Walrond turned toward the table. "We haven't yet
thanked Captain Winston for his other service, that being whilst he was
making a show of helping deploy the Dutchmen's ordnance, he ordered a
good fifty of his new men, those Irish indentures he's taken, to swim
out to the ships of the fleet and offer their services to the
Roundheads." He turned to the room. "It was base treachery. And reason
enough for a hempen collar . . . if more was required."
"You, sir, can go straight to hell." Winston turned and started pushing
through the planters, angrily proceeding toward the door.
Katherine stared at him, disbelieving. Before he could reach the exit,
she elbowed her way through the crowd and confronted him. "Is what he
said true?"
He pushed back his hair and looked down at her. "It's really not your
concern. Miss Bedford."
"Then you've much to explain, if not to me, to the men in this room."
"I didn't come down here tonight to start explaining." He gestured
toward the door. "If you want to hear about it, then why not call in
some of the men who swam out to the ships. They're back now and they're
outside in the rain, or were. I'm sure they'll be pleased to confess
the full details. I have no intention of responding to Master Walrond's
inquisition."
"Then we most certainly will call them in." She pushed her way briskly
to the doorway. Outside a crowd of indentures stood huddled in the
sheets of rain. Timothy Farrell, who had appointed himself leader, was
by the door waiting for Winston. The planters watched as Katherine
motioned him in.
He stepped uncertainly through the doorway, bowing, and then he removed
his straw hat deferentially. "Can I be of service to Yor Ladyship?"
"You can explain yourself, sir." She seized his arm and escorted him to
the head of the table. "Is it true Captain Winston ordered you and
those men out there to swim out to the ships and offer to consort with
their forces?"
"We wasn't offerin' to consort, beggin' Yor Ladyship's pardon. Not at
all. That's not our inclination, as I'm a Christian." Farrell grinned.
"No, by the Holy Virgin, what we did was offer to help them." He
glanced toward Winston, puzzling. "An' whilst they were mullin' that
over, we got a good look below decks. An' like I reported to His
Worship, I'd say they've not got provision left to last more'n a
fortnight. An' a good half the men sailin' with them are so rotted with
scurvy they'd be pressed to carry a half-pike across this room. Aye,
between decks they're all cursin' the admiral an' sayin' he's brought
'em out here to starve in the middle o' this plagued, sun-cooked
wilderness."