"A meeting!" Anthony seemed to spit out the words.

"Aye, here along the coast at Oistins. He's to come ash.o.r.e 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 embarra.s.sment. "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 a.s.sembly 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 G.o.d 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.

Chapter Fourteen

"I've always called it 'Little Island,' since n.o.body's ever troubled giving it a name." She reined in her mare and directed Winston's gaze toward the atoll that lay a few hundred yards off the coast. The waters along the sh.o.r.e shimmered a perfect blue in the bright midday sun. "At low tide, like now, you can wade a horse right through the shallows."

"Does anybody ever come out here?" He drew in his gelding and stared across the narrow waterway. The island was a curious anomaly; there was a high rocky peak at its center, the lookout Katherine had described, and yet the sh.o.r.es were light sand and verdant with palms. Little Island was less than a quarter mile across and shaped like an egg, almost as though G.o.d had seen fit to set down a tiny replica of Barbados here off its southern sh.o.r.e. Looking west you could see the forested coast of the mother island, while to the east there was the road leading to Oistins and the Atlantic beyond.

"Never. I've ridden out here maybe a dozen times, but there's never been a soul."

He turned and surveyed the coast. "What else is around this place?"

"Nothing much, really. . . . Just the Walrond plantation, up the coast, inland a mile or so, about halfway between here and Oistins."

"Good Christ! I'm beginning to understand it all." He laughed wistfully. "I'll wager you've probably come out here with that gallant of yours." Then he looked at her, his eyes sardonic. "Didn't he get his fancy silk breeches wet riding across the shallows?"

"Hugh, not another word. Try to understand." She turned and studied him. These occasional flares of jealousy; did he mean them? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was all just a game to him, playing at being in love.

But then, she asked herself, what was she doing? Perhaps wanting to have everything, a lover and a husband. But why couldn't you? Besides, Hugh would be gone soon. Better to enjoy being in love with him while she could. "I mean that. And Anthony must never learn we came here."

He was silent for a moment, letting the metrical splash of the surf mark the time. Somehow she'd managed to get away with her little game so far. Anthony Walrond was too busy rallying his royalists to take much notice of anything else. Or maybe he was willing just to turn his blind eye to it all.

"Katy, tell me something. How, exactly, am I supposed to fit into all this? You think you can have an amour with me and then wed a rich royalist when I'm gone? I suppose you figure he'll be governor here someday himself, so you won't even have to move out of the compound."

"Hugh, I'm in love with you. There, I said it. But I'm going to marry Anthony. It's the sensible thing for me to do. Love needn't have anything to do with that." She urged her horse forward as a white egret swooped past, then turned back brightly. "Let's ride on over. The island's truly a lovely spot, whether you decide to use it or not."

He stared after her in amazement. Maybe she was right. Maybe life was just being sensible, taking whatever you could. But that was also a game two could play. So back to business. The island.

Time was growing short, and he knew there was no longer any means to finish lading the stores on the _Defiance_ without

everyone in Bridgetown suspecting something was afoot. The frigate was aground directly in front of the main tobacco sheds, in full view of every tavern around the harbor. But there was still a way to a.s.semble what was needed--using an old trick he had learned years ago. You pull together your stores in some secluded haven, to be picked up the night you make your break.

It had been a week since the invasion at Jamestown, and now what seemed to be a battle of nerves was underway. What else could it be? A new set of terms had been sent ash.o.r.e by the commander of the fleet, terms the a.s.sembly had revised and sent back, only to have them rejected. After that, there had been quiet. Was Barbados being left to starve quietly in the sun?

Or, he'd begun to wonder, was something else afoot? Maybe even a betrayal? Could it be some Puritan sympathizers in the a.s.sembly were trying to negotiate a surrender behind Bedford's back? Even Katherine was worried; and the governor had taken the unprecedented step of arming his servants. A turn for the worse seemed all too likely, given the condition of the island's morale. But she'd insisted they not talk about it today.

She touched Coral lightly across the rump with her crop, and the mare stepped eagerly into the crystalline blue water of the shallows, happy to escape the horseflies nipping at its shanks. Winston spurred his mount and splashed after her. Ahead of them, Little Island stood like a tropical mirage in the sea.

"You're right about one thing. I'm d.a.m.ned if this place isn't close to paradise. There's not a lovelier spot in the Caribbees." The bottom was mostly gravel, with only an occasional rivulet of sand. "See over there? It looks to be a school of angelfish." He was pointing off to the left, toward an iridescent ma.s.s of turquoise and yellow that shimmered just beneath the surface. "I had no idea there was any place like this along here. Tell me, are you sure there's enough draft on the windward side for me to put in and lade?"

"When we reach those rocks up ahead, we can tie the horses and walk the sh.o.r.e. Then I suppose you can decide for yourself, Captain."

She watched as the glimmer of fish darted forward. To be free like that! Able to go anywhere, do anything. "I remember one place where the bottom seems to drop almost straight down. You could probably anchor there."

"Good thing we came early." He glanced up to the sky, then at her. She detected a smile. "This may take a while."

What was he thinking? Did he feel the freedom of this place too? She loved being here alone with him, just the two of them. What a proper scandal it would make if anybody found out. "Maybe the real reason I told you about this spot was to lure you out here. And then keep you here all to myself."

He started to laugh, then stopped. "I'd probably be an easy captive, betwixt your designs and the guns of the English navy."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake don't be so dreary and melancholy. I'm sure you'll be gone from Barbados soon enough, never fear. If that's what you want." She sensed she had pressed him too hard. "But maybe you'll remember me once in a while, after you've sailed off to get yourself killed by the Spaniards."

"Well, I'm not done with Barbados yet, I can promise you that."

What did he mean? She wished he'd continue, but then his horse stumbled against a rock and he glanced down, distracted. When he looked up again, they were already nearing the shallows of the island.

"If I can get a good cart and a couple of draft horses, I'll wager I can bring the other stores I'll need out here with no trouble at all.

It's mainly hogsheads of water we're short now, and maybe a few more barrels of salt pork." His gelding emerged from the water, threw back its head and snorted, then broke into a prance along the sandy beach.

"No more than two days' work, the way I figure it. I'll have a few of the indentures give my boys a hand."

Her mare had already trotted ahead, into the shade of a tall palm whose trunk emerged from behind a rocky embankment. She slipped from the saddle and glanced back at Winston. He was still staring down the sh.o.r.eline in delight.