Was that, he wondered, the dungeon Bartholomew called Purgatory?

Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of anger and betrayal at what Jacques had become. Whatever else he might have been, this was the man whose name once stood for freedom. And now . . .

He was turning to head down and inspect Purgatory first-hand when a welcome sounded from the platform above.

"_Mon ami! Bienvenue_, Anglais. _Mon Dieu, il y a tres long-temps!_ A good ten years, _n 'est-ce pas_?" A bearded face peered down, while a deep voice roared with pleasure. "Perhaps you've finally learned something about how to shoot after all this time. Come up and let me have a look at you."

"And maybe you've improved your aim, Jacques. Your last pistol ball didn't get you a hide." Winston turned back and reached for the ladder.

"_Oui_, truly it did not, Anglais. How near did I come?" He extended a rough hand as Winston emerged.

"Close enough." Winston stepped onto the platform of the citadel.

In the flickering torchlight he recognized the old leader of the _boucaniers_, now grown noticeably heavier; his thick beard, once black as onyx, was liberally threaded with white. He sported a ruffled doublet of red silk and had stuffed his dark calico breeches into bucket-top sea boots of fine Spanish leather. The gold rings on several fingers glistened with jewels, and the squint in his eyes was deep and malevolent.

Le Basque embraced Winston, then drew back and studied his scar. "_Mon Dieu_, so I came closer than I thought. _Mes condoleances_. I must have been sleepy that morning. I'd fully intended to take your head."

"How about some of your French brandy, you old _batard_? For me and my friend. By the look of things, I'd say you can afford it."

"_Vraiment_. Brandy for the Anglais . . . and his friend." The boucanier nodded warily as he saw Atiba appear at the top of the ladder. After a moment's pause, he laughed again, throatily. "Truly I can afford anything. The old days are over. I'm rich. Many a Spaniard has paid for what they did to us back then."

He turned and barked an order to de Fontenay. The young man bowed, then moved smoothly through the heavy oak doors leading into Jacques's residence. "You know, I still hear of you from time to time, Anglais.

But never before have we seen you here, _n 'est-ce pas_? How have you been?"

"Well enough. I see you've been busy yourself." Winston glanced up at the brickwork house Jacques had erected above the center of the rock.

It was a true citadel. Along the edge of the platform, looking out, a row of nine-pound demi-culverin had been installed. "But what's this talk you chased off the English planters?"

"They annoyed me. You know that never was wise. So I decided to be rid of them. Besides, it's better this way. A few were permitted to stay on and sail for me, but La Tortue must be French." He reached for a tankard from the tray de Fontenay was offering. "I persuaded our _gouverneur_ up on St. Christophe to send down a few frigates to help me secure this place."

"Is that why you keep men in a dungeon up here? We never had such things in the old days."

"My little Purgatory?" He handed the tankard to Winston, then offered one to Atiba. The Yoruba eyed him coldly and waved it away. Jacques shrugged, taking a sip himself before continuing. "Surely you understand the need for discipline. If these men disobey me, they must be dealt with. Otherwise, no one remembers who is in charge of this place."

"I thought we'd planned to just punish the Spaniards, not each other."

"But we are, Anglais, we are. Remember when I declared they would someday soil their breeches whenever they heard the word '_boucanier'_?

Well, it's come true. They swear using my name. Half the time the craven b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are too terrified to c.o.c.k a musket when my men board one of their merchant frigates." He smiled. "Everything we wanted back then has come to pa.s.s. Sweet revenge." He reached and absently drew a finger down de Fontenay's arm. "But tell me, Anglais, have you got a woman these days? Or a _matelot_?" He studied Atiba.

"An Englishwoman is sailing with me. She's down on the _Defiance_."

"The _Defiance_?"

"My Spanish brig."

"_Oui_, but of course. I heard how you acquired it." He laughed and stroked his beard. "_Alors_, tomorrow you must bring this Anglaise of yours up and let me meet her. Show her how your old friend has made his way in the world."

"That depends. I thought we'd empty a tankard or two tonight and talk a bit."

"_Bon_. Nothing better." He signaled to de Fontenay for a refill, and the young man quickly stepped forward with the flask. "Tonight we remember old times."

Winston laughed. "Could be there're a few things about the old days we'd best let be. So maybe I'll just work on this fine brandy of yours and hear how you're getting along these days with our good friends the Spaniards."

"Ah, Anglais, we get on very well. I have garroted easily a hundred of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for every one of ours they killed back then, and taken enough cargo to buy a kingdom. You know, if their Nuevo Espana Armada, the one that ships home silver from their mines in Mexico, is a week overdue making the Canary Islands, the King of Spain and all his creditors from Italy to France cannot s.h.i.t for worrying I might have taken it. Someday, my friend, I will."

"Good. I'll drink to it." Winston lifted his tankard. "To the Spaniards."

Jacques laughed. "_Oui_. And may they always be around to keep me rich."

"On that subject, old friend, I had a little project in mind. I was thinking maybe I'd borrow a few of your lads and stage a raid on a certain Spanish settlement."

"Anglais, why would you want to bother? Believe me when I tell you there's not a town on the Main I could not take tomorrow if I choose.

But they're mostly worthless." He drank again, then rose and strolled over to the edge of the platform. Below, mast lights were speckled across the harbor, and music drifted up from the glowing tavern windows. "By the time you get into one, the Spaniards have carried everything they own into the forest and emptied the place."

"I'll grant you that. But did you ever consider taking one of their islands? Say . . . Jamaica?"

"_Mon ami_, the rewards of an endeavor must justify the risk." Jacques strolled back and settled heavily into a deep leather chair. "What's over there? Besides their militia?"

"They've got a fortress and a town, Villa de la Vega, and there's bound to be a bit of coin, maybe even some plate. But the harbor's the real .

"_Oui, peut-etre_. Perhaps there's a sou or two to be had there somewhere. But why trouble yourself with a d.a.m.ned militia when there're merchantmen plying the Windward Pa.s.sage day in and day out, up to their gunwales with plate, pearls from their oyster beds down at Margarita, even silks shipped overland from those Manila galleons that put in at Acapulco . . .?"

"You know an English captain named Jackson took that fortress a few years back, and ransomed it for twenty thousand pieces-of-eight? That's a hundred and sixty thousand _reals_. "

"Anglais, I also know very well they have a battery of guns in that fort, covering the harbor. It wouldn't be all that simple to storm."

"As it happens, I've taken on a pilot who knows that harbor better than you know the one right down below, and I'm thinking I might sail over and see it." Winston took another swallow. "You're welcome to send along some men if you like. I'll split any metal money and plate with them."

"Forget it. Anglais. None of these men will . . ."

"Wait a minute, Jacques. You don't own them. That was never the way. So if some of these lads decide to sail with me, that's their own affair."

"My friend, why do you think I am the _commandant de place_ if I do not command? Have you seen those culverin just below us, trained on the bay? No frigate enters Ba.s.se Terre--or leaves it--against my will. Even yours, _mon ami_. Don't lose sight of that."

"I thought you were getting smarter than you used to be, Jacques."

"Don't try and challenge me again, Anglais." Jacques's hand had edged slowly toward the pistol in his belt, but then he glanced at Atiba and hesitated. "Though it's not my habit to kill a man while he's drinking my brandy." He smiled suddenly, breaking the tension, and leaned back.

"It might injure my reputation for hospitality."

"When I'm in the fortress overlooking Jamaica Bay one day soon, I'll try and remember to drink your health."

"You really think you can do it, don't you?" He sobered and studied Winston.

"It's too easy not to. But I told you we could take it as partners, together."

"Anglais, I'm not a fool. You don't have the men to manage it alone. So you're hoping I'll give you some of mine."

"I don't want you to 'give' me anything, you old wh.o.r.emaster. I said we would take it together.