LeRois pulled his second pistol from his sash.
“No, no,” Allair pleaded, his eyes wide, a dark line of blood running down his face. LeRois put the gun against his head, pulled back the lock, and fired. Through the smoke he could see Allair’s body give a satisfying jerk, and as the smoke cleared he could see the dark wet spot spread over the pine boards. In the middle of the black pool rested the remains of the captain’s head.
“There, cochon, you are not dying anymore.” He looked up at Ripley. He could see fear in his rodent eyes. That was good. Ripley must know that Capitain Jean-Pierre LeRois was again a man to be feared. Everyone must know it.
“Will this Marlowe work with us?” LeRois’s voice was calm now that the screaming had stopped.
“He’ll work with us. He will, I have no doubt,” Ripley said quickly. “And if he don’t, it’s no matter. We don’t need him, and if he’s a problem we’ll see him gone. I gots connections, I ain’t to be fucked with.”
LeRois nodded. That was what he wanted to hear. There would be no change in their plans. Because even though Ripley was a lying worm, there was nobody more powerful than Jean-Pierre LeRois.
Chapter 14
MARLOWE WAS prepared for a reception befitting a returning and conquering hero. Indeed, he had laid the groundwork for it himself, instructing King James that the crew of the Northumberland were to be given a run ashore after they had quietly, and in the early hours of the morning, stowed away the most valuable of the pirate’s booty in the secondary warehouse in Jamestown.
Once given their leave, the crew of the sloop descended on Williamsburg’s public houses, eagerly telling the story of their exploits, as Marlowe knew they would. Embellished somewhat, as sailors were wont to do, but even in its rawest form the tale was a remarkable one.
The story swept like a gale over the town and the surrounding plantations, with such force that even Marlowe could not have anticipated the degree of excitement that greeted the Plymouth Prize when at last she limped into Jamestown.
They arrived three days after the fight, after a day and a half of working their way slowly upriver, the Plymouth Prize in the lead, the captured pirate vessel in their wake. Hundreds of people lining the shore and the docks, cheering like Romans welcoming the triumphant Caesar into the city.
The Prize looked every inch the old campaigner, with her pumps going nonstop and her generally battered appearance and her stump of a jury-rigged mainmast. It never occurred to anyone that she might look that way due to neglect rather than hard use, or that the mast might have fallen of its own accord rather than being shot away in a desperate fight. It never occurred to Marlowe or any of his men to disabuse them of that notion.
But even the missing mast was not half as exciting to the people as the sight of the dangerous-looking crew of the Plymouth Prize stepping ashore. They were a swaggering bunch, with the air of the victorious about them. Their clothes were new, and they were heavily armed, with swords and cutlasses and pistols hanging from ribbons around their necks.
At their head strode Captain Marlowe with the ease of a natural leader, the learned Bickerstaff beside him. And surrounded by the men of the Plymouth Prize, as well as the militia who had turned out, came the prisoners, a band of pirates shackled hand and foot, murderers and cutthroats all. It was great theater, and the crowd responded with all the enthusiasm that Marlowe had anticipated.
Governor Nicholson was there, of course, along with the burgesses, all of whom were hoping to reflect some of the brilliant light the Prizes were throwing off. “Marlowe, Marlowe!” the governor exclaimed, shaking Marlowe’s hand with both of his. “I give you joy on your victory, sir, I give you joy!”
He was smiling, more happy than Marlowe had ever seen him. The governor had taken no small risk in replacing Allair, a move that might not have been quite legal. If Marlowe had proved to be a failure as well, it would have been most awkward for him.
Well, Marlowe thought, he is vindicated now. And what is more, he is the most important man in Virginia society, and he is in my debt.
“Pray, Marlowe, Bickerstaff, won’t you come to my house and dine with me and give me the particulars of your exploits?” Nicholson asked. The burgesses were surrounding them now, and each was taking great pains to be conspicuous, hoping that the governor would ask him to join the party. In the end the governor asked none of them, keeping the heroes all to himself.
They pushed through the crowd, Marlowe and Bickerstaff waving and accepting with humility-in Bickerstaff’s case, genuine humility-the thanks and congratulations of the people.
A small coach stood on the edge of the crowd, the coachman brushing the single horse. Looking out from the window, half lost in the shadows, was Elizabeth Tinling. Her blond hair fell down from under her hat, framing her perfect face, her long slender neck, and her shoulders, all but bare with the wide-cut neck of her dress.
Marlowe paused, and their eyes met. She was watching him with a look that he found hard to place: not affection or disdain, a touch of curiosity but not hero worship either, not such as he was getting from the other women in the crowd.
“Forgive me a moment, Governor,” he said, and stepped over to the coach, bowing deep at the waist as he did.
“Good day, ma’am.”
“Good day, sir. It seems to be your day, indeed.”
“Providence has been with me in my fight.”
“So it would seem. Though I am hard-pressed to tell, just by looking at your crew, which are the pirates and which the king’s men.”
Marlowe turned and looked back at his men, who did indeed look very much the buccaneers, with their pistols and sashes and new clothing. “I think, ma’am, you will find that my men are the ones who are smiling.”
“I should imagine so,” she said. A smile was floating just beneath the surface of her expression, a smile of shared devilment. Marlowe found it most heartening.
“Madam, I have brought you a little trinket, a remembrance of my battle.” From out of his pocket he took the gold cross and chain, letting it dangle from his finger for a second, catching the light from the midday sun, and then handed it to her.
“Oh, Mr. Marlowe.” She took it from his hands, recognized how fine a piece it was. “Pirate booty, is it? Is this not now the property of the king?”
“I think I am allowed some discretion in these matters. And it’s only fair that you should have this, as it was thoughts of you that sustained me through my ordeal.”
At this she looked up at him. Her expression was not the one of rapture he had hoped for. “I pray for your sake you are better with your sword than you are with your idle flattery. But in any event, I fear I cannot accept this.”
“Please…Elizabeth…I beg of you,” Marlowe stammered, thrown off balance by her unwillingness to accept his present or his silly compliments. “A token of my affection. It shall be our little secret.”
She smiled and gave him a conspiratorial raise of the eyebrows, then put the chain around her neck. “Our secret,” she said.
“Marlowe, Marlowe, do come along,” the governor said as he came huffing up. “Mrs. Tinling,” he added with a nod. “Forgive me, but I must take the hero away from you, for the time being, in any event.” With that he took Marlowe’s arm and guided him away, leaving him to call his farewell over his shoulder. He caught one last glimpse of the tiny cross lying against her pale skin before he had to return his attention to Nicholson.
“Now, I’ve no doubt that you want to get right back at it, Marlowe,” the governor said as they stepped up into his carriage, “but I have to insist that the guardship get some attention. Heaving down, new mast and rigging, the like. I’ve no doubt the burgesses will approve that. Hell, we’ll pay for it with the loot you captured.”