was ajar and unlatched; as usual the help had been careless as they
crept away with meat scraps from Anthony's table to season their own
bland meal.
He paused at the first step and tried to think how he would begin. For
no reason at all he found himself staring up at the stars. The heavens
in the Caribbees always reminded him of one dusk, many years ago, when
he had first seen London from afar--a jewel box of tiny sparklers
hinting of riches, intrigues, delicious secrets. What waited there
amidst those London lights, he had pondered, those thousands of
flickering candles and cab lanterns? Was it as joyful as it seemed? Or
was misery there too, as deep and irreducible as his own?
That answer never came. But now this canopy of stars above the
Caribbees mantled a place of strife and despair wrenching as man could
devise.
He gently pushed open the split-log door and slipped through. The back
hallway was narrow and unlighted, but its walls were shadowed from the
blaze of distant candles. He remembered that Anthony always lit extra
tapers when he was morose, as though the burning wicks might somehow
rekindle his own spirit.
As he moved through the rough-hewn archway leading into the main room,
he saw the seated figure draw back with a start and reach for the
pistol lying on the table.
"By God, what . . ."
Suddenly the chair was kicked away, and the man was rushing forward
with open arms. "Jeremy! God's life, it's you! Where in heaven's name
have you been?" Anthony wrapped him in his arms. "We heard you'd been
taken by Morris and the Roundheads." He drew back and gazed in
disbelief and joy. "Are you well, lad? Were you wounded?"
"I've been with Admiral Calvert on the _Rainbowe_." He heard his own
voice, and its sound almost made him start.
"You've been . . .?" Anthony's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you
managed to escape! Did you commandeer a longboat? For the love of God,
lad, what happened?"
What happened?
He almost laughed at the question. Would that any man ever knew, he
found himself thinking. What ever "happens" . . . save that life flows
on, of its own will, and drags you with it willy-nilly?
Without a word he carefully settled his flintlock in the corner, next
to the rack that held Anthony's own guns--three matchlocks and two
flintlocks--and slumped into a vacant chair by the table. "I've a
thirst." He glanced distractedly about the room, barely remembering it.
For the past two days--now it seemed like an entire age--life had been
a ship. "Is there brandy?"
"Aye, there's a flask in the sideboard, as always." Anthony examined
him curiously. Jeremy rarely drank anything stronger than Madeira wine.
"What is it, lad? For God's sake let's have it. All of it."
With a tankard in his hand, Jeremy discovered that the first part of
the story fairly tumbled forth--the Roundhead captain he had killed,
the anger, the dismay, the loose discipline of the men in the trench.
He even managed to confess straight out the circumstances of his
capture, that he had ignored the call to retreat, only to have his
musket misfire. Finally he reached the part where he first met Admiral
Calvert. Then the tale seemed to die within him.
"Well, lad, what happened next? You say Morris knew who you were?"
"Aye, and he spoke of you." Jeremy looked at his brother. "With
considerable respect, to tell it truthfully."
"A Roundhead schemer, that's Dick Morris, who'd not speak the truth
even if he knew how." Anthony leaned forward and examined his tankard.
"But I'm beginning to grow fearful he may have the last say in this
matter, truth or no." He looked up. "What did you see of their forces,
lad? Can they mount another landing?"
"They can. They will. They've got the Dutch provisions,
and Calvert claims they could hold out for weeks. But he says he'll not
wait. He plans to invade."
"Aye, I'd feared as much. If he does, I say God help us. This damned
militia is plagued with more desertions every day. These freeholders
seem to think they've done all they need, after Jamestown. They're
saying let somebody else fight the next time, when there isn't anybody
else. We're having trouble keeping enough men called up just to man the
breastworks." He scratched at his eye-patch distractedly. "I suppose we
can still meet them if they try another assault, but it'll be a pitched
battle, as God is my witness."
Jeremy drank off the tankard, rose, and walked shakily to the
sideboard. The onion-flask of brandy was still over half full. He
wished he could down it all, then and there. "I heard their plans from
Admiral Calvert." He finished pouring and set down the bottle. After a
deep drink he moved back to his chair, without meeting Anthony's gaze.
"I would all the Assembly and Council could have heard what he said."
"What did that Roundhead criminal do? Threaten you, and then send you
home in hopes you'd somehow cozen me?" Anthony looked up. "Jeremy, that
man's a base traitor to his king. His father was in Charles' court, and
Edmond Calvert was knighted for no more cause than being George
Calvert's son. Then when Prince Rupert and the navy declared their
support for the king, he took his ship and defected to Parliament. . .
."
"It wasn't a threat."
Suddenly the words came again. Out poured Calvert's story of Cromwell's
plans for the island if it defied him. The Assembly and Council would
be dismissed and Powlett set up as governor. A garrison would be
installed. Moreover, Powlett might well see fit to reward loyal Puritan
islanders with the estates of recalcitrant royalists. Anthony Walrond
stood to lose all his acres, again.
The elder Walrond listened thoughtfully till the story was finished.
Then he slowly drained his tankard. "It's the final
humiliation. Cromwell, may God damn him, can't rest content merely to
strike off the head of his Most Royal Majesty. Now he must needs reduce
all that king's loyal subjects to nothing."
"But it needn't be." Jeremy put down his tankard. His hands quivered,
as though to match the flicker of the candles.
"There's something you haven't told me yet, isn't there, lad? You
haven't said why they set you ashore. You didn't escape, did you?"
Anthony studied him with sudden dismay. "I'll wager you were sent back.
Why was it?"
"Aye. The reason is this." He rose and reached into the pocket of his
doublet. The letter was still there, waiting, its wax seal warm against
his shirt. "It's for you."
He found himself wishing it had been lost, though he believed with all
his heart the message meant salvation. It was a gift of God. Yet
something about it now seemed the work of the devil.
"What is it, Jeremy?" Anthony stared at the envelope. "Some kind of
threat to try and frighten me too?" He looked up and bristled. "They
can spare their ink and paper."
"Admiral Calvert asked me to deliver this. He and Captain Morris said
that whilst you were their staunchest foe, they also knew you for a
gentleman. They said you were the only man on the island they felt they
could trust. That you alone could prevent this place being brought to
ruin by Cromwell--which would probably mean fighting all over the
Americas for years, when they just want to settle this and be gone."
"Are they asking me to be a traitor to the island?"
"They've made an offer, a private offer. They said the Assembly can't
be made to reason, that it'd sooner bring ruination to the island than
agree to a compromise."
"This is damned knavery. To presume I'd be party to disloyalty."
"But think on't." Jeremy drank again and felt his boldness renewed.
"Why should you sacrifice yourself helping the greedy Puritans on this
island? The Council scorns to listen to you, and
you've still not been elected to the Assembly. I'd say you've received
naught but contempt, from the day you arrived." His voice rose. "Make
no mistake on it, there'll be a new regime here after the island
surrenders, which it'll have to eventually. Right now, Calvert and
Morris just want to keep Barbados out of the hands of this man
Powlett."
Anthony turned the envelope in his hand. "So what does this cursed
letter of Calvert's say?"
"Merely that you're a reasonable man, that you're surely sensible of
the ruin a total war would mean. And that he's got terms to offer you
that are truly in the best interest of Barbados, if only you'd give
them ear."
"I suppose he made you privy to these most generous terms." Anthony
tossed the letter onto the rough pine boards in front of him.
"If you'd use your influence to work for peace, and convince your
Windward Regiment here in this parish to cooperate, he'll take steps to
thwart the designs of Powlett. If the island laid down its arms, then
there'd be no garrison of troops. He'll guarantee it. And there'd be
amnesty for all the planters."
"It's more damn'd Roundhead lies. That's not the voice of Cromwell.
That's the voice of an admiral who fears he can't take this place by
force. So he'd try doing it by deceit." Anthony's face reddened. "Does
the man have the cheek to think I've no scruples whatsoever?"
"But he's promised more. He'd form a new Council and make you its head.
He and you'd appoint the others together. Of course they'd needs be men
of moderate stripe, who'd stood for peace. But you could both work
together to ensure the treaty was kept. Powlett might still have to
serve as governor for a time, but he'd not be able to do anything
without the approval of your new Council."
"It's all a deception, lad." Anthony sighed wistfully. "Would it were
true. You're young, and I fear to say still a bit gullible. These are
promises made in the moonlight and shrugged away at sunrise."
"I'm old enough to know there's been enough killing." Jeremy choked
back a lump of guilt that rose in his chest. "But the letter's not
addressed to me. It's to you. What harm in reading it? Morris would
like to arrange a meeting, unarmed, to discuss its terms."
"A meeting!" Anthony seemed to spit out the words.
"Aye, here along the coast at Oistins. He's to come ashore by longboat
tomorrow night, alone, to hear what you have to say." Jeremy took
another drink of brandy and its fire burned through him. "There's no
harm in that, for sure. It could be the beginning of peace."
"Lad, talk sense. They'll not hold to these conditions you've
described. Once the island is disarmed, it'll be the end for every free
man here."
"He said he'd give you all the terms in writing, signed." Jeremy
noticed his tankard was dry. He wanted to rise for more brandy, but the
room swirled about him. "It's our chance, don't you see. If Barbados
goes down fighting, there'll be no terms. No concessions. Just more
needless deaths. If you don't hear them out, it'll be on our heads."
"I'll not do it."
"But what's the Council ever done for you? For that matter, what has
Bedford done?"
Anthony stared into the empty tankard in his hand and his voice grew
bitter. "He's let Katherine take up company with the criminal who
robbed our ship at Nevis, whilst we're at this very time negotiating a
marriage portion. And made me a laughing stock in the bargain, if you
must know." He looked up. "In truth, that's the most Dalby Bedford's
done for me as of late."
Jeremy felt his face grow flush with embarrassment. "Then I say you owe
it to decency to hear what Morris has to offer tomorrow night.
Otherwise there'll just be more killing. Next it'll be starvation too.
Please. I entreat you to think on it."
Anthony picked up the letter and turned it in his hand. "Liberty or
death." His voice was strangely subdued. "That's what the Assembly
claimed they wanted. But it turns out that was just talk. They don't
even want liberty enough to stand and fight for it, that's all too
clear now."
He pushed open the wax seal with his thumb and unfolded the paper.
Jeremy watched his face as he began to read.
_My Lord, I send this to you as one who is master of a great deal of
reason, and truly sensible of the ruin of the island if it should
longer be obstinate. Only after appeal to your Lordship could I satisfy
mine own conscience that I had done my duty in avoiding what I can the
shedding of blood and the ruin of this island; for although I may by
some be looked upon as an Enemy, yet really I do you office of a Friend
in urging your Lordship and those engaged with you to judge of the
Necessity of your Lordship's and their giving their due obedience to
the State of England or else to suffer yourselves to be swallowed up in
the destruction which a little time must inevitably bring upon you,
which I cannot suppose rational men would wish.
My Lord, may it please you to know that I am not ignorant of the
Interests of this Island, and very well know the impossibility of its
subsistence without the Patronage of England. It is clear to me that
God will own us in our attempts against this island (as He hath
hitherto done), and yet to show you that I would endeavour what I can
to avoid the shedding of blood and the loss of estates, I have thought
fit to send this to your Lordship, to offer you such reasonable
conditions as may be honourable for the State to give. . . .
_
Anthony studied the terms carefully; they were just as described by
Jeremy. Calvert was offering a leniency most uncharacteristic of
Cromwell. The island would be beholden to Parliament, to be sure, but
it would not be humiliated.
Moreover, he suddenly thought, when Charles II moved to restore the
monarchy, this island's strength and arms would be intact, ready to
help throw off the yoke of Cromwell's oppression. With a surge of
pleasure he realized this could well be a strategic retreat, in the
finest military sense. If Calvert were willing to honor these generous
terms, the fight could still be won another day.
Particularly if Anthony Walrond controlled the new Council of
Barbados.