Monday at sundown he had commandeered the back room of the Dolphin Tavern, which stood hard by the sh.o.r.e of Oistins Bay, and met Powlett.

Through the night emissaries had shuttled terms back and forth between the tavern and the Rainbowe, berthed offsh.o.r.e. By the time the flagship hoisted anchor and made way for open sea at dawn, Anthony Walrond held in his hand a doc.u.ment signed by Edmond Calvert; it provided for the end of the blockade, the island's right to keep its arms and rule itself in local matters, and a full amnesty for all. The price, as price there must be, was an agreement to recognize the Commonwealth and the appointment of a new governor and Council by Calvert.

Tuesday he had summoned a trusted coterie of his royalist officers to the Dolphin and set forth the terms. They had reviewed them one by one, debated each, then agreed by show of hands that none more favorable could reasonably be obtained. Healths were drunk to the eventual restoration of Charles II to the throne, and that night a longboat was dispatched to the _Rainbowe_, carrying a signed copy of the agreement.

Wednesday, as agreed, Edmond Calvert had ordered a duplicate copy of the terms forwarded to the a.s.sembly, indicating it was his last offer.

No mention was made of the secret negotiations that had produced the doc.u.ment. At that meeting of the a.s.sembly Dalby Bedford had risen to declare he would not allow his own interests to be the cause of a single new death, that he would accept the terms and resign forthwith if such was the pleasure of the a.s.sembly--which was, he said, a democratic body that must now make its own decision whether to continue fighting or to negotiate. He next moved that the doc.u.ment be put to a vote. It was narrowly approved by the a.s.sembly; an honorable peace seemed within reach.

But then the fabric so carefully sewed was ripped apart. A committee was formed to draw up the statement of the a.s.sembly's response. In an atmosphere of hot spirits and general confusion, several of the more militant members had managed to insert a new clause into the treaty: that "the legal and rightful government of this island shall remain as it is now established, by law and our own consent."

The response was then carried by voice vote and sent back to Calvert, a gauntlet flung across the admiral's face. The defiant faction in the a.s.sembly exulted and drank toasts to the destruction of any who would have peace on the original terms.

That night Calvert had delivered a new message to Anthony Walrond, inviting him to join with the forces of the Commonwealth--a move, he said, that would surely induce the a.s.sembly to show reason. With this invitation he had inserted an additional offer: he would endeavor to persuade Oliver Cromwell to restore the sequestrated estates in England of any royalist officer who consented to a.s.sist.

On Thursday, Anthony held another meeting of the officers of the Windward Regiment, and they voted enthusiastically to defect to the side of the fleet. After all, they reasoned, had not an honorable peace already been refused by the extremists in the a.s.sembly? That night he so advised Edmond Calvert, demanding as conditions a supply of musket shot and fifty kegs of musket powder.

This morning just before dawn a longboat from the _Rainbowe_ had returned Calvert's reply--a signed acceptance of the terms. With feelings mixed and rueful, he had ordered an English flag hoisted above the breastwork at Oistins, the agreed-upon signal to Calvert. Then, to ensure security, he ordered that no militiaman be allowed to leave Oistins till the ships of the fleet had put in and landed their infantry.

The _Rainbowe _led the eight warships that entered the bay at midafternoon. Anthony had seen Edmond Calvert mount the quarterdeck to watch as the guns in the breastwork were turned around and directed inland, part of his conditions. Then the admiral had ordered a longboat lowered and come ash.o.r.e. . . .

"These supplies all have to be delivered now, before dark." Anthony was still scrutinizing the list. "Or my men'll not be in the mood to so much as lift a half-pike."

What matter, Calvert told himself. It's done. The Barbados landing is achieved. The island is ours. "You'll have the first load of powder onsh.o.r.e before sundown." He gestured toward the paper. "Your musket shot, and the matchcord, are on the _Marsten Moor_, but I think we can have the bulk off-loaded by then too."

"What of the rest of the powder, sir?" Walrond squinted at the list with his good eye. "That was our main requirement. Some of these regiments had little enough to start with, and I fear we'll be needing yours if there's any fighting to be done."

Good Christ. Calvert cast a dismayed look toward Morris. Had I but known how scarcely provisioned their forces were, I might well not have . . .

"Well, sir. What of the powder?" Anthony's voice grew harder. "We can choose to halt this operation right now if . . ."

"I've ordered ten kegs sent ash.o.r.e. Surely that should be adequate for the moment. You'll have the rest by morning, my word of honor." He squinted toward the horizon. "How much time do you think we've got to deploy the infantry?"

"Less than we'd hoped. We heard the signal for Oistins being sent up the coast about half an hour past." Walrond turned and followed Calvert's gaze. The sun was a fiery disc above the western horizon, an emblem of the miserable Caribbees ever reminding him of the England he had lost. "If their militia plans to meet us, they'll likely be a.s.sembling at Bridgetown right now. It's possible they'll be able to march some of the regiments tonight. Which means they could have men and cavalry here on our perimeter well before dawn."

"Then we've got to decide now where the best place would be to make a stand." Calvert turned and motioned Morris forward. The commander had been watching apprehensively as his tattered troops disembarked from the longboats and waded in through the surf. "What say you, sir? Would you have us hold here at Oistins, or try to march along the coastal road toward Bridgetown while there's still some light?"

Morris removed his helmet and slapped at the buzzing gnats now emerging in the evening air, hoping to obscure his thoughts. Did the admiral realize, he wondered, how exposed their men were at this very moment?

Why should anyone trust the loyalties of Anthony Walrond and his royalists? It could all be a trap, intended to lure his men onsh.o.r.e. He had managed to muster almost four hundred infantrymen from the ships, but half of those were weak and vomiting from scurvy. Already, even with just the militia he could see, his own forces were outnumbered. If Walrond's regiments turned on them now, the entire Commonwealth force would be in peril. Could they even manage to make their way back to the ships?

Caution, that's what the moment called for now, and that meant never letting the Windward Regiment, or any island militia, gain a position that would seal off their escape route.

"We'll need a garrison for these men, room for their tents." He glanced carefully at Walrond. "I'm thinking it would be best

for now if we kept our lads under separate command. Each of us knows his own men best."

"As you will, sir." Anthony glanced back, smelling Morris' caution.

It's the first mark of a good commander, he told himself, but d.a.m.n him all the same. He knows as well as I we've got to merge these forces. "I propose we march the men upland for tonight, to my plantation. You can billet your officers in my tobacco sheds, and encamp the men in the fields."

"Will it be ground we can defend?" Morris was carefully monitoring the line of longboats bringing his men ash.o.r.e. Helmets and breastplates glistened in the waning sun.

"You'll not have the sea at your back, the way you do now, should we find need for a tactical retreat."

"Aye, but we'll have little else, either." Morris looked back at Calvert. "I'd have us off-load some of the ship ordnance as soon as possible. We're apt to need it to hold our position here, especially since I'll wager they'll have at least twice the cavalry mustered that these Windwards have got."

"You'll not hold this island from the sh.o.r.es of Oistins Bay, sir, much as you might wish." Anthony felt his frustration rising. "We've got to move upland as soon as we can."

"I'd have us camp here, for tonight." Morris tried to signal his disquiet to Calvert. "Those will be my orders."

"Very well, sir," Walrond continued, squinting toward the Windward Regiment's cavalry, their horses prancing as they stood at attention.

"And don't forget the other consideration in our agreement. The a.s.sembly is to be given one more opportunity to accept the terms. You are obliged to draft one final communication for Bedford, beseeching him to show himself an Englishman and persuade the a.s.sembly to let us reach an accord."

"As you will, sir." Calvert turned away, biting his tongue before he said more.

Keep an even keel, he told himself. There'll be time and plenty to reduce this island, Sir Anthony Walrond with it. The work's already half done. Now to the rest. After we've brought

them to heel, we'll have time enough to show them how the Commonwealth means to rule the Americas.

Time and plenty, may G.o.d help them all.

"Shango, can you hear me?" She knelt beside her mat, her voice pleading. How, she wondered, did you pray to a Yoruba G.o.d? Really pray?

Was it the same as the Christian G.o.d?

But Shango was more.

He was more than just a G.o.d. He was also part of her, she knew that now. But must he always wait to be called, evoked? Must he first seize your body for his own, before he could declare his presence, work his will?

Then the hard staccato sounds came again, the drums, their Yoruba words drifting up over the rooftop from somewhere in the distance and flooding her with dread, wrenching her heart.

Tonight, they proclaimed, the island will be set to the torch. And the _branco _will be consumed in the fires.

The men of the Yoruba, on plantations the length of the island, were ready. This was the day consecrated to Ogun, the day the fields of cane would be turned to flame. Even now Atiba was dictating final orders, words that would be repeated again and again by the drums.

After the fires began, while the _branco _were still disorganized and frightened, they would attack and burn the plantation houses. No man who owned a _preto_ slave would be left alive. With all the powerful _branco_ slaveholders dead, the drums proclaimed, the white indentures would rise up and join with the Yoruba. Together they would seize the island.

Oh Shango, please. She gripped the sides of the thin mattress. Make him understand. No white will aid them. To the _branco_ the proud Yoruba warriors are merely more _preto_, black and despised. Make him understand it will be the end of his dream. To rise up now will mean the slaughter of his people. And ensure slavery forever.

In truth, the only one she cared about was Atiba. To know

with perfect certainty that she would see him hanged, probably his body then quartered to frighten the others, was more than she could endure.

His rebellion had no chance. What could he hope to do? Not even Ogun, the powerful G.o.d of war, could overcome the _branco's_ weapons and cunning. Or his contempt for any human with a trace of African blood.

Atiba had hinted that he and his men would somehow find muskets. But where?

This afternoon, only hours ago, she had heard another signal cross the island, the musket shots the _branco _had devised to sound an invasion alert. Following that, many groups of cavalry had ridden past, headed south. The sight of them had made her reflect sadly that Atiba and his Yoruba warriors had no horses.

Afterward she had learned from the white servants that the soldiers of the Ingles fleet had again invaded the island, this time on the southern coast. This meant that all the Barbados militiamen surely must be mobilized now. Every musket on the island would be in the hands of a white. There would be no cache of guns to steal. Moreover, after the battle--regardless of who won--the soldiers of the fleet would probably help the militiamen hunt down Atiba and his men. No branco wanted the island seized by African slaves.

Shango, stop them. Ogun has made them drunk for the taste of blood. But the blood on their lips will soon be their own.