Mewes laughed. "I'd give a hundred sovereigns to the man who could spark up a candle lantern in this weather!"

Winston looked up to see Joan slowly descending the companionway from the quarterdeck. They watched in silence as the longboat was lowered and oarsmen began rowing it the few yards to sh.o.r.e.

"Well, this is quite a sight, if I may say." Her voice was contemptuous as she broke the silence. Suddenly she began to brush at her hair, attempting to straighten out the tangles. "I've never known 'her ladyship' to venture out on a night like this. . . ." She turned and glared at Winston. "Though I've heard talk she managed to get herself aboard the _Defiance _once before in a storm."

"You've got big ears."

"Enough to keep track of your follies. Do you suppose your lads don't take occasion to talk when they've a bit of kill-devil in their bellies? You should be more discreet, or else pay them better."

"I pay them more than they're worth now."

"Well, they were most admirin' of your little conquest. Or was the conquest hers?"

"Joan, why don't you just let it rest?" He moved to the railing at midships and reached down to help Katherine up the rope ladder. "What's happened? This is the very devil of a night. . . ."

"Hugh . . ." She was about to throw her arms around him when she noticed Joan. She stopped dead still, then turned and nodded with cold formality. "Your servant . . . madam."

"Your ladyship's most obedient . . ." Joan curtsied back with a cordiality hewn from ice.

They examined each other a moment in silence. Then Katherine seemed to dismiss her as she turned back to Winston.

"Please. Won't you come back and help? just for tonight?"

He reached for her hand and felt it trembling. "Help you? What do you mean?" His voice quickened. "Don't tell me the Roundheads have already started marching on Bridgetown."

"Not that we know of. But now that the rain's put out the cane fires, a few of the militia have started regrouping. With their horses." She squeezed his hand in her own. "Maybe we could still try an attack on the Oistins breastwork at dawn."

"You don't have a chance. Now that the rains have begun, you can't move up any cannon. The roads are like rivers. But they've got heavy ordnance. The Roundheads have doubtless got those cannons in the breastwork turned around now and covering the road. If we'd have marched last evening, we could've moved up some guns of our own, and then hit them at first light. Before they expected an attack. But now it's too late." He examined her sadly. Her face was drawn and her hair was plastered against her cheeks. "It's over, Katy. Barbados is lost."

"But you said you'd fight, even if you had n.o.body but your own men."

"Briggs and the rest of them managed to change my mind for me. Why should I risk anything? They won't."

She stood unmoving, still grasping his hand. "Then you're really leaving?"

"I am." He looked at her. "I still wish you'd decide to go with me. G.o.d knows . . ."

Suddenly she pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, lingering as the taste of rain flooded her mouth. Finally she pulled away. "I can't think now. At least about that. But for G.o.d's sake please help us tonight. Let us use those flintlocks you've got here on the ship.

They're dry. The Roundhead infantry probably has mostly matchlocks, and they'll be wet. With your muskets maybe we can make up for the difference in our numbers."

He examined her skeptically. "Just exactly whose idea is this, Katy?"

"Who do you suppose? n.o.body else knows you've got them."

"Anthony Walrond knows." Winston laughed. "I'll say one thing. It would be perfect justice."

"Then use them to arm our militia. With your guns, maybe--"

"I'll be needing those flintlocks where I'm going."

Joan pushed forward with a scowl. "Give me leave to put you in mind, madam, that those muskets belong to Hugh. Not to the worthless militia on this island." She turned on Winston. "Don't be daft. You give those new flintlocks over to the militia and you'll never see half of them again. You know that as well as I do."

He stood studying the locked fo'c'sle in silence. "I'll grant you that.

I'd be a perfect fool to let the militia get hold of them."

"Hugh, what happened to all your talk of honor?" Katherine drew back.

"I thought you were going to fight to the last."

"I told you . . ." He paused as he gazed into the rain for a long moment. Finally he looked back. "I'd say there is one small chance left. If we went in with a few men, before it gets light, maybe we could spike the cannon in the breastwork. Then at least it would be an even battle."

"Would you try it?"

He took her hand, ignoring Joan's withering glare. "Maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond a little farewell party. In appreciation for his selling this island, and me with it, to the G.o.d d.a.m.ned Roundheads."

"Then you'll come?"

"How about this? If I can manage to get some of my lads over to Oistins before daybreak, we might try paying them a little surprise." He grinned. "It would be good practice for Jamaica."

"Then stay and help us fight. How can we just give up, when there's still a chance? They can't keep up their blockade forever. Then we'll be done with England, have a free nation here. . . ."

He shook his head in resignation, then turned up his face to feel the rain. He stood for a time, the two women watching him as the downpour washed across his cheeks. "There's no freedom on this island anymore.

There may never be again. But maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond and his Windwards a lesson in honor." He looked back. "All right. But go back up to the compound. You'd best stay clear of this."

Before she could respond, he turned and signaled toward Mewes.

"John. Unlock the muskets and call all hands on deck."

Dalby Bedford was standing in the doorway of the makeshift tent, peering into the dark. He spotted Winston, trailed by a crowd of shirtless seamen walking up the road between the rows of rain-whipped palms.

"G.o.d's life. Is that who it looks to be?"

"What the plague! The knave had the bra.s.s to come back?" Colonel George Heathcott pushed his way through the milling crowd of militia officers and moved alongside Bedford to stare. "As though we hadn't enough confusion already."

The governor's plumed hat and doublet were soaked. While the storm had swept the island, he had taken command of the militia, keeping together a remnant of men and officers. But now, only two hours before dawn, the squall still showed no signs of abating. Even with the men who had returned, the ranks of the militia had been diminished to a fraction of its former strength--since many planters were still hunting down runaways, or had barricaded themselves and their families in their homes for safety. Several plantation houses along the west coast had been burned, and through the rain random gunfire could still be heard as slaves were being pursued. Though the rebellion had been routed, a few pockets of Africans, armed with machetes, remained at large.

The recapture of the slaves was now merely a matter of time. But that very time, Bedford realized, might represent the difference between victory and defeat.

"Those men with him are all carrying something." Heathcott squinted through the rain at the line of men trailing after Winston. "By G.o.d, I'd venture those could be muskets. Maybe he's managed to locate a few more matchlocks for us." He heaved a deep breath. "Though they'll be d.a.m.ned useless in this rain."

"Your servant, Captain." Bedford bowed lightly as Winston ducked under the raised flap at the entrance of the lean-to shelter. "Here to join us?"

"I thought we might come back over for a while." He glanced around at the scattering of officers in the tent. "Who wants to help me go down to the breastwork and see if we can spike whatever guns they've got? If we did that, maybe you could muster enough men to try storming the place when it gets light."

"You're apt to be met by five hundred men with pikes, sir, and Anthony Walrond at their head." Heathcott's voice was filled with dismay.

"Three or four for every one we've got. We don't have the men to take and hold that breastwork now, not till some more of the militia get back."

"If those guns aren't spiked by dawn, you'd as well just go ahead and surrender and have done with it." He looked around the tent. "Mind if I let the boys come in out of the rain to prime their muskets?"