Caribbee Part 52

The horses watched them expectantly, snorting and pawing with impatience, while they dressed again. She finished drawing the laces of her bodice, then walked over and whispered to her mare.

"We can take the horses if you think they could use a stretch." He gazed up toward the outcrop. "I suppose they can make it."

"Coral can go anywhere you can."

"Then let her prove it." He reached down and untied the hobble on his gelding's forefeet. Then he grabbed the reins and vaulted into the saddle. "Let's ride."

The route up the island's center spine was dense with scrub foliage, but the horses pushed their way through. The afternoon was silent save for the occasional grunts of wild hogs in the underbrush. Before long they emerged into the clear sunshine again, the horses trotting eagerly up a gra.s.sy rise, with only a few large boulders to impede their climb.

When they reached the base of the rocky outcropping that marked the edge of the plateau, he slipped from the saddle and tied his mount to a small green tree. "No horse can make that." He held Coral's reins as she dismounted. "Let's walk."

Behind them now the long sh.o.r.e of Barbados stretched into the western horizon. The south side, toward Oistins Bay, was shielded by the hill.

"This could be a good lookout post." He took her arm and helped her over the first jagged extrusion of rock. Now the path would be winding, but the way was clear, merely a steep route upward. "I'll wager you can see for ten leagues out to sea from up there at the top."

"I've always wondered what Oistins looked like from here. I never got up this far before." She ran a hand fondly down the back of his jerkin.

It was old and brown and sweat-encrusted. She knew now that he had fancy clothes secreted away, but he seemed to prefer things as worn and weathered as he could find. "The harbor must be beautiful this time of the afternoon."

"If you know where to look upland, you might just see your Walrond gallant's plantation." He gestured off to the left. "Didn't you say it's over in that direction somewhere?"

She nodded silently, relieved he hadn't said anything more. They were approaching the top now, a rocky plateau atop the rough outcrop in front of them.

"Up we go, Katy." He seized a sharp protrusion and pulled himself even.

Then he reached down and took her hand. She held to his grip as he hoisted her up over the last jagged rocks.

"It's just like . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What?" He glanced back at her.

"Oh G.o.d, Hugh! I don't believe it!" She was pointing toward the southeast, and the color had drained from her face.

He whirled and squinted into the afternoon haze.

At sea, under full sail with a heading of north by northeast, were eight English warships, tawny-brown against the blue Caribbean. Their guns were not run out. Instead their decks were crowded with steel- helmeted infantry. They were making directly for Oistins Bay.

"The breastwork! Why aren't they firing!" He instinctively reached for the handle of the pistol in the left-hand side of his belt. "I've not heard a shot. Where's Walrond's Windward Regiment? They're just letting them land!"

"Oh Hugh, how could the Windwards do this to the island? They're the staunchest royalists here. Why would they betray the rest of us?"

"We've got to get back to Bridgetown, as hard as we can ride. To pull all the militia together and try to get the men down from Jamestown."

"But I've heard no warnings." She watched the English frigates begin to shorten sail as they entered the bay. Suddenly she glanced down at his pistols. "What's the signal for Oistins?"

"You're right." He slipped the flintlock from the left side of his belt and handed it to her. "It's four shots--two together, followed by two apart. Though I doubt there's anybody around close enough to hear."

"Let's do it anyway. There's a plantation about half a mile west down the coast. Ralph Warner. He's in the a.s.sembly."

He pulled the other pistol from his belt. "Now, after you fire the first barrel, pull that little trigger there, below the lock, and the second one revolves into place. But first check the prime."

"That's the first thing I did." She frowned in exasperation. "I'll wager I can shoot almost as well as you can. Isn't it time now you learned to trust me?"

"Katy, after what's just happened, you're about the only person on Barbados I trust at all. Get ready."

He raised the gun above his head and there was the sharp crack of two pistol shots in rapid succession. Then she quickly squeezed off the rest of the signal. She pa.s.sed back the gun, then pointed toward the settlement at Oistins. "Look, do you see them? That must be some of the Windward Regiment, down by the breastwork. That's their regimental flag. They've probably come down to welcome the fleet."

"Your handsome fiance seems to have sold his soul, and his honor. The royalist b.a.s.t.a.r.d . . ."

He paused and caught her arm. From the west came two faint cracks of musket fire, then again. The signal.

"Let's get back to Bridgetown as fast as these horses will take us. I'm taking command of this militia, and I'm going to have Anthony Walrond's b.a.l.l.s for breakfast." He was almost dragging her down the incline.

"Come on. It's one thing to lose a fair fight. It's something else to be cozened and betrayed. n.o.body does that to me. By Christ I swear it."

She looked apprehensively at his eyes and saw an anger unlike any she had ever seen before. It welled up out of his very soul.

That was what really moved him. Honor. You kept your word. Finally she knew.

She grasped for the saddle horn as he fairly threw her atop her horse.

The mare snorted in alarm at the sudden electricity in the air. A moment later Winston was in his saddle and plunging down the brushy incline.

"Hugh, let's . . . ride together. Don't . . ." She ducked a swinging limb and then spurred Coral alongside. "Why would Anthony do it? And what about Jeremy? He'll be mortified."

"You'd better be worrying about the a.s.sembly. That's your father's little creation. Would they betray him?"

"Some of them were arguing for surrender. They're worried about their plantations being ruined if there's more fighting, more war."

"Well, you can tell them this. There's going to be war, all right. If I have to fight with n.o.body helping me but my own lads." He spurred his horse onto the gra.s.sy slope that led down to the sand. Moments later the frightened horses were splashing through the shallows. Ahead was the green sh.o.r.e of Barbados. "By Christ, there'll be war like they've never seen. Mark it, by sunrise tomorrow this G.o.d d.a.m.ned island is going to be in flames."

Chapter Fifteen

"Your servant, sir." Anthony Walrond stood in the shadow of the Oistins breastwork, his hand resting lightly on his sword. Edmond Calvert was walking slowly up the beach from the longboat, flanked by James Powlett and Richard Morris. The hour was half past three in the afternoon, exactly as agreed. There had to be enough light to get the men and supplies ash.o.r.e, and then the timely descent of darkness to shield them. "Your punctuality, I trust, portends your constancy in weightier concerns."

"And yours, sir, I pray may do the same." Calvert slipped off his dark hat and lightly bowed a greeting. Then he turned and indicated the two men behind him. "You've met Vice Admiral Powlett. And I understand Colonel Morris is not entirely unknown to you."

"We've had some acquaintance in times past." Walrond nodded coldly in the direction of Morris, but did not return the commander's perfunctory smile. The old hatred, born of years of fighting in England, flowed between them.

"Then shall we to affairs?" Calvert turned back and withdrew a packet from his waistcoat. "The supplies we agreed on are ready. I've had my Chief Purser draw up a list for your inspection."

Walrond took the papers, then glanced out toward the ships.

So it's finally come to this, he thought wistfully. But, G.o.d is my witness, we truly did all any man could ask. There's no turning back now.

As he thumbed open the wax seal of the packet, he noted absently that it was dated today, Friday. Had all this really come to pa.s.s since only sundown Monday, when he had first met Powlett, received the initial set of terms from Edmond Calvert, and begun negotiations? He had tried his best to counsel reason to the a.s.sembly, he told himself, to arrange an honorable treaty that would preserve the militia. But a handful of hotheads had clamored for hopeless defiance, and prevailed. The only way to save the island now was to force it to surrender as quickly and painlessly as possible. Victory lay in living to fight another day.

He gazed back at the ships of the fleet, and thought of the road that had brought them to this: the defection of his own regiment, once the finest fighting men in England, the royalist Windwards.