‘It is odd, I agree. And what now? For the love of God, please do nothing foolish.’
‘For the love of my family, I shall try to survive. What else is there?’
The following week Thomas was in his hut, working diligently at his ledger, when he heard what sounded like a troop of horses arriving at the house. Knowing the Gibbes were out in the fields, he put down his quill and went to attend to the visitors. There were six of them, all mounted and armed. Their leader was a young man, once handsome perhaps, but now raddled by rum and debauchery. He spoke with authority. ‘I am here on the command of the governor, Colonel Humphrey Walrond, to speak to Samuel and John Gibbes. They are, I believe, the owners of this estate?’
‘They are, sir. And I am Thomas Hill, an unjustly indentured man, their bookkeeper and sometime cook.’
‘So, Hill, where are the gentlemen in question?’
‘In the fields, sir, as is their custom. Shall you wait for their return?’
‘I will send word for them. Corporal, Hill will show you where they are. Bring them back at once. We shall wait here.’
The corporal dismounted and followed Thomas back up the path, past his hut and down to the fields. They crossed one field of newly cut cane. Thomas thought the brutes would be in the next field, where he could hear the slaves singing. As they approached, he saw them, whips in hand, overseeing the cutting. It occurred to him how easily one can tell from the set of a man’s head and shoulders what sort of a man he is. Aggression, diffidence, stupidity, intelligence – all are evident without sight of a face. Samuel saw them first. He summoned his brother and they strode towards Thomas and the corporal.
‘What are you doing here, Hill? Why aren’t you at the books? Or have you come to do some real work for a change?’
‘I have brought this gentleman with a message. His captain was most insistent.’
‘Captain, what captain?’
The corporal looked nervous but held his ground. ‘Our captain, representing the governor, is here to speak to you on an urgent matter. He asks you to return with me immediately.’
‘Does he now? And what might he want to speak about?’
‘That I am not at liberty to disclose but the captain has the authority of the governor to insist on your presence.’
‘The governor, eh? Do you hear that, brother, Walrond himself commands us. Then we’d best oblige the man, eh? We can tell him what we think of Royalist fairies.’
The captain and his mounted troop were waiting for them. ‘Are you Samuel and John Gibbes?’
‘We are. And what of it? Who are you and why are you on our land?’
‘I am here with the authority of Colonel Humphrey Walrond, governor of Barbados, to instruct you to present yourselves at the Assembly House at midday tomorrow.’
‘You look familiar. Where have we seen your ugly face before?’
‘That I cannot say. The Assembly House tomorrow at midday, if you please.’
‘And why would we want to do that?’
‘The Assembly has passed a law requiring all landowners to swear an oath of allegiance to Charles Stuart, our rightful king. Your oaths must be sworn and witnessed tomorrow.’
The brothers looked at each other and grinned. Oaths of loyalty? To a Stuart? Who did they think they were dealing with? The Gibbes did not swear loyalty to anyone unless they were very well paid for it. ‘All landowners, you say?’ asked John shrewdly.
‘That is correct. All landowners.’
‘So has Drax sworn? Or Middleton?’
‘I cannot say.’
‘And what if we refuse?’
‘If you do not attend tomorrow I shall return with a troop to remove you from this property and sequestrate it and all your possessions in the name of the Assembly.’
‘You’d have to fight us first.’
‘So be it.’
Again the brothers exchanged glances. ‘We’ll think about it. Now get off our land before we throw you off.’
Having delivered his message, the captain left.
Thomas returned to his hut to continue working on the books. After the excitement, he found that columns of figures did not hold his attention and after his fifth mistake he closed the ledger and lay down on the narrow bed. Walrond had tried to force the Assembly to agree to an oath of loyalty before, only to find himself thrown out on his ear. Now he had resorted to force and was the governor. That would certainly divide the island and might well lead to war. Royalist sympathizers far outnumbered them but would the Parliamentarians allow themselves to be trampled on? Surely they would fight back. And what would the brutes do? They hated Royalists but they were not fond of Parliamentarians either. Perhaps his time had come. Perhaps he would soon be on a ship headed for England. Perhaps he would see Margaret and the girls before summer in England was over. Perhaps he would find out tomorrow.
Before the Gibbes set off the next morning they told him to prepare dinner. He knew what they wanted and he knew how to cook it. Meat and plenty of it, bread and wine, with a handful of squashed cockroaches to flavour the meat. And this time, far from dreading their return, he would be waiting impatiently. He would not allow his hopes to get too high but there was a glimmer.
He was in the kitchen when he heard them return and knew at once that the glimmer had died. They were laughing. Condemned men do not laugh. Merciful heaven, what trick had fate played now? He went to find out.
‘There you are, Hill. We’re hungry and thirsty. Bring our food and bring wine. We’re celebrating.’
Celebrating? God’s wounds, celebrating what? He soon found out. When he brought the wine through, they were bellowing with laughter and congratulating themselves on their success.
‘Ha. So much for that, eh, brother? Nothing more than a piss in the wind.’
‘Swear a poxy oath or give up our estate and be shipped back to England? What did they think we’d do? Who gives a whore’s arse for an oath? I’ll swear all they want if it suits me. And today it does. To hell with them all.’
‘And there’ll be chances for us, Samuel. We’ll get more land if we keep an eye open. There’s bound to be some for sale to honest Royalists like us.’
‘Bound to be, brother. A toast to Charles Stuart. He has our loyal allegiance.’
‘And another to Cromwell. So does he.’
Thomas came back with a loaf of bread and a plate of mutton. ‘What about you, Hill? Would you like to drink a loyal toast to anyone? How about the king of France? Or the Pope?’
Thomas was crushed. Of course the brutes would swear an oath if it saved their own skins. And it wouldn’t matter a farthing who or what they swore it to. He should have known. If everyone else either swore or was banished, Walrond would have succeeded and there would be little hope of an early escape. He trudged miserably back to his hut.
Chapter 14
THERE WAS ANOTHER row of notches on the table. No word from Adam Lyte, no banishment for the Gibbes, no prospect of escape. The Gibbes had left for Holetown, telling Thomas they would want dinner when they returned. God forbid that they had gone looking for women again.
Thomas sat under the listening tree and thought of home. But no sooner had he conjured a picture of Polly and Lucy chasing butterflies in the meadow than the picture turned into a poorhouse, the girls in rags and Margaret begging on the street. Again and again he tried, summoning to mind every happy image he could think of. The shop, his books, the trout stream just outside the village, the girls again.