The Butcher's Daughter, page 23
“Kill me you pig and be done with it,” I offered defiantly, mumbling the words through swollen lips.
He laughed. “No, no, no. Kill you? No, I will not kill you. I know you are not afraid to die. Perhaps you even welcome death, eh?”
The rumbling sounds of a Carib war chant began to fill the tent. And as the Carib marshalled their numbers and drew nearer the chant grew louder.
The Twin looked at one of his men holding me and jerked his head around. “We must be quick. Have the men ready the boats and then bring it to me.”
The seaman snickered at me as he disappeared outside. I understood his glee a moment later when he returned with red-hot poker in his hand.
The one-eyed Twin took his dagger and cut through my trousers and undergarments. He ripped off all my clothes until I stood before him completely naked. He grabbed the poker and brought it close to my belly, close enough so I could feel the heat, then slowly moved the poker up along my torso until he reached my face, all the while grinning.
“Now I’ve truly stripped everything from you Mary as you stand before me naked at last. Your body is exquisite. Your beauty is like none other. I dare say Venus would be envious. I should pass you around to my men but, being the diseased, rancid trollop you are, I fear you’ll infect them all with the great pox, or something worse. I wanted to spend more time with you, show you what I can do with a razor, but I’m in a bit of a hurry as you can see and so this will have to do. This is the mark of the sea serpent. It is my mark, Mary.”
I turned my head away and closed my eyes.
But he grabbed me by my chin and yanked my head around. “Look at it damn your soul or I’ll burn out both your eyes! That’s it, that’s my pretty. Look at it. This serpent is the symbol emblazoned on my banner and I expect you to bear it proudly for me until the end of your miserable days. This, you filthy bitch, is for our brother…”
And when the beast pressed the searing, hot metal against my skin, when he pressed the branding iron over my left breast, next to my heart and held it there, my flesh began to sizzle, smoke and burn. I heard myself scream. And then I fainted.
When I came to, I found myself on a strange ship under sail, imprisoned inside a rope locker. The space was cramped, dark, hot and stuffy and when I tried to move my arms a terrible, shooting pain passed through my chest. And then I remembered the red-hot poker with the sea serpent brand. I pulled my blouse back and saw a bloody, round wound over my left breast, next to my heart. The wound looked infected. I couldn’t help myself. I broke down and wept. Why had the pig just not killed me? Of course I knew the answer. He wanted me to suffer pain worse than death. In this the one-eyed Twin was most successful.
I took in my new surroundings and tried to find something I could use as a weapon, not for my jailors, but for myself. With every breath I took death - my own death - ruled my every thought. Death was my passage out.
Time passed by slowly, painfully, in that rope locker as the ship plowed through the rolling sea. After my jailors shut me in that locker they never let me out, not once, not until we reached Waterford one month later. And even then I was only outside long enough to be transferred, bound in chains and shackles, over to another, smaller vessel. All my hard muscles had vanished. My body was frail and stiff. I struggled with even the simple task of walking.
But once this second ship put to sea, my circumstances improved dramatically. The ship’s master was appalled at my condition and had a kind heart. I was thin and pale and dirty. The iron shackles had rubbed the skin around my wrists and ankles raw. The coarse sack I was wearing as a robe was filthy and in tatters. He took pity on me, unshackled me and even had his men make a simple tub for me to bathe in. He gave me fresh clothing to wear and an ointment for my wounds. I ate what the crew ate and I was permitted to roam freely about the deck. My health improved greatly over the next two weeks.
“You are,” the ship’s master asked me as we stood together at the rail midway through our journey, “Bloody Mary, Lady Mary from Westport, are you not?”
“Some call me by those names, aye.”
“Ah.”
“If you know who I am, why have you treated me with such kindness? Many think me treacherous and wicked.”
“I had a younger half-brother once, a fine, fine young man. He sailed on one of your ships a few years back.”
“Oh?”
“Poor lad was lost at sea.”
“I’m sorry to hear of it. What was his name?”
“Benjamin Jones.”
“Benjamin Jones. His name sounds familiar, but I knew him not. If you wish to do me harm, if you wish to exact your revenge on me now, you go about it in a most peculiar way, sir.”
“No. I hold no grudge against you, Madam. The sea takes who she will take. You paid a sizable stipend to his widow after he died. That money was a tremendous godsend to his widow and to their two young daughters, my nieces.”
“I’m glad to hear of it. May I know your name?”
“The name is Crook, Madam. Charles Crook.”
A warm and wonderful peace suddenly, inexplicably, embraced me as I knew, at that very moment, that what I was about to tell the ship’s good master would absolutely come to pass. I blurted out the oddest thing.
“Well Master Charles Crook, when I am free, after I rally all my ships and men, I shall remember your kindness. I shall show you and your men my gracious mercy should our paths ever cross again. Your masters though are doomed.”
Crook stared at me dumbfounded; he didn’t know what to say and so I answered for him. “You must deliver me to the English, I know, but after you complete this task I’d find a new employer if I were you,” I told him. And then I kissed him on the cheek to thank him.
A few days later Crook turned his ship into the Thames. After dropping letters addressed to the Lord Major and High Sheriff of London off with a courier boat, we sailed up river until we reached the docks in London proper where English soldiers armed with long halberds and dressed all in black, mandilions, doublets, leather jerkins, paneled trunk hoses, nether stockings and feathered hats, all black, were waiting for me on the wharf. They blindfolded me and led me away in chains on foot and tossed me into the dark, into the bowels of a most depressing dungeon.
And yet, as I took in my grim surroundings, against all reason, I refused to accept that my life was forfeit. I refused to accept that death swinging from an English gallows - or worse - would be my sad and unfortunate end. I was, I knew with all my heart, born for more.
BOOK II
El Grande y Felicisima Armada
Chapter Eleven
Reading books had become tedious. I rose from my chair next to the window and moved over to the small table in the corner of my cell where I resumed my work sketching things, things that I had seen in the New World. I wasn’t a particularly good artist, but I found drawing with a stylus or with colored chalk a pleasant distraction to while away the hours. My notebook was nearly full with fair renderings of ships under sail, towering Spanish castles and lush Caribbean islands, with splendid conquistadors, noble Africans and with fearsome Indians covered gloriously from head to toe in war paint.
It had been some weeks since her gracious majesty’s last visit. Nonetheless, I was certain the queen would come to see me at least one more time, to discuss, if nothing else, the whereabouts of whatever might be left of Dowlin’s treasure or of buried, Aztec gold.
And after another month of idle waiting the day finally came. The jailor unlocked the door to my cell and commanded me to rise. But I was wrong about my visitor.
A man wearing a dark blue cloak with a hood he used to conceal his face slipped into my cell. I noted the sword and scabbard strapped to his side and the dagger tucked down inside his boot. He was tall and broad across the shoulders. I marked him for a soldier. The jailor locked the door behind him and I prepared myself for the worst. Even little princes can disappear forever in the Tower without a trace they say. And then the man pulled his hood back to reveal his face and I gasped. I stared hard into his eyes too stunned to speak. My body began to tremble. I felt woozy and nearly fainted.
“Mary…”
“My God, my God, how, how?” I asked and started sobbing.
He caught me as I fell into his arms. We embraced and traded fast and furious kisses and then I buried my face in his chest, crying uncontrollably. For long, dark months, heartache, shame and guilt had consumed me, had worn me down until I felt nothing. I had become little more than an empty shell struggling to get through each day. Now a flood of emotions overwhelmed me, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Hunter held me close. He gently stroked my hair and let me weep. After I calmed down he kissed my forehead, raised my chin to look at me and smiled. I took comfort in the warmth, the reassurance and compassion I saw in his eyes. I could feel his love envelope me. He kissed my cheeks. He used his thumbs to brush away my tears.
“Mary, Mary,” he said tenderly.
I stared hard into his eyes, still uncertain. For a fleeting moment I wondered if might be going mad.
“How, James?” I asked again, struggling to understand. “I saw you die!”
Hunter stepped back, put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Did you now? Did you indeed? Odd, I don’t feel dead. It was not my time. I have too much living yet to do! Mary, Mary, Mary, I will die an old man in my own bed with you, I pray, lying at my side.”
“But, I saw the one-eyed Twin shoot you down. I saw his men toss your body into the sea!”
“The Cyclops shot me true enough after I ran his brother through. And his men did indeed toss me overboard, thinking that I was dead.” Hunter paused to unbutton his shirt and showed me a round scar. “I’m no ghost, Mary. The fool should’ve put a lead ball between my eyes, just to make certain that I would never breathe again.”
“My God, the Twin only wounded you.”
“Aye, the ball struck a rib and broke it. Hurt like hell, but the wound was hardly mortal. After they tossed me over the side I held my breath for as long as I could and played dead. Then it was an easy swim to shore in the dark. I ran past the camp and quietly slipped into the jungle unseen.”
“Did any of the lads make it?”
“More than I dared hoped at first.”
“How did you make your way back to England?”
“Ah, our good man Henry helped me out there. The attack infuriated Chief Paka Wokili. A handful of his people were killed I’m sorry to say. The Twins knew better than to linger on his beach for very long and left Guadeloupe without searching the jungle for the rest of us. After my wound healed, the old chief agreed to lend me a pair of war canoes. I took a handful of men with me, about twenty in all, and left the rest behind under MacGyver’s charge. We rowed for the Port of Spain and there we parted ways. Some of the lads stayed in Trinidad. Some signed on with ships sailing east for Europa as I did.”
“How amazing. I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry for what I’ve done, James. You must loathe me. How, how will you, how can you ever forgive me?”
Hunter shook his head. “Loathe you? Forgive you? For what you’ve done? Oh no, no, no, Mary. You did no wrong. This wrong was done to you. This evil was done to all of us. And that twin-headed monster shall pay dearly for it with their miserable lives - I swear it.”
“I was arrogant and careless. I was a fool.”
Hunter gently placed his hands on my shoulders. “No I tell you Mary, no. You were bold and fearless. And we were betrayed.”
“I let them shoot you down.”
“No, no. Not so my darling girl. Stop this now. You are punishing yourself unfairly. There was nothing you could have done for me or me for you. I saw the men holding you down on the Star as the taller brother and I dueled. The Twins concocted a nearly flawless plan to destroy us. And yet here we are. We are alive. We are reunited. God favors you, Mary.”
“I don’t think God favors any of us, James. But tell me now, and be quick about it too before the jailor returns to take you away from me. What are you doing here? Have they arrested you? On what charge?”
Hunter chuckled. “No arrest, no charges that I know of. The High Sheriff of Dublin and his men found me wandering about Waterford asking questions about you. I knew you were alive. Carib warriors saw the Twins bring you ashore, take you inside a tent for a time and then row you back out to one of Twins’ ships. Waterford is where I learned the Twins had served you up to the English. The queen’s men insisted I accompany them to London. But they informed me of no charges. They placed no irons on me and as you can see, I have my sword and dagger and carry two pistols stashed against the small of my back. In truth, these men treated me with great deference. They were most cordial.”
“What then?”
“I know not. What I do know is that the Constable of the Tower promised me that no one would disturb us until the morning.”
“The queen’s work,” I said.
“You’ve acquired some interesting new friends, Mary.”
“Friends? No, James. Though the queen has treated me most kindly, she will turn me over to her royal prosecutor after I no longer amuse her. And once her prosecutor is finished with me at trial, he’ll introduce me to the queen’s royal executioner. Of this I have no doubt.”
“Let’s not worry about such matters now. I’m hardly privy to the queen’s thoughts or designs. But I doubt your purpose here is to amuse her. They say she is most wise. They say she is quite clever. Hmmm, I wonder?”
“Wonder? Wonder about what, James?”
Hunter grabbed me by the arms and smiled. “‘Tis a mystery to me, my dearest Mary. But be of good cheer. The queen would hardly show this much interest in you today only to hand you over to her headsman tomorrow.”
Hunter then reached for the buttons on my blouse and started to undo them.
I placed my hands over his and stopped him. “No, James.”
“Hush now, I know what he did,” Hunter said softly and gently brushed my hands aside. He opened my blouse and glanced down at my breast. “Ah, well now, we’ve both been scarred. This is a mark you should take pride in.”
“What?” I asked dumbfounded. “I shall carve this hideous scar, this ugly abomination, out of my flesh if I happen upon a knife or piece of broken glass.”
“You see an ugly scar? No, Mary, no. You are wrong, so very wrong. I see a badge of great courage. You should embrace this mark as your own and be proud.”
“Courage?” I asked, confused. I broke down and started sobbing all over again. “The one-eyed pi-pi-pig killed Gil-Gilley and all the others. He took, took, everything from me and then, then, he dis-disfigured me with his, his mark to, to, to complete my, my humiliation. This scar is meant to, to remind me to, to show all others that I’m, I’m, his prop-property.”
“Aye, Tom, Ben, Alby, Hadley and many good lads are dead and our ships and wealth were taken. We grieve for the loss of our fallen brothers. But here I stand and you have men who will rally to your side and fight for you! Aye, the one-eyed pig left his mark on you. So take it for your own! Raise it on your banner when you shout your battle cry! Where’s the mighty lioness who led us from the Old World into the New, who bested pirates and took us through swamps and jungle, never wavering, not once, to find lost, Aztec gold? Where’s the lioness who stole my heart and fused it with her own?”
His eyes turned misty. He seized me in his arms with mad passion and kissed me hard. I yielded to his lust. I surrendered to my own burning desires. We furiously stripped off our clothes and tumbled into my bed. We shamelessly made love ruckus and sweet, again and again. We giggled like adolescents discovering love for the first time. And when our ardor became too loud the jailer rapped his knuckles on the door; he asked us if all was well and we laughed. But once we had satisfied our cravings of the flesh, after our bodies were spent and could do no more, we held each other quietly, silently, for a long while, savoring our exquisite moment together in love’s afterglow. And then we talked. We talked all through the night - a night I feared might be our last together.
In the morning, as shafts of golden light poured in through my cell’s small window and settled on my pillow, the jailer came as promised to take Hunter away from me. I marshalled every ounce of strength I had as Hunter dressed and kissed me farewell. I watched in silence as he walked off with the jailor. I refused to shed even a single tear. But when the jailer closed and bolted the door to shut me in, I felt alone and empty.
The days passed into weeks and I grew more despondent, worse than before. Hunter had given me hope and hope is a dangerous thing in a place like the Tower, especially when both mind and heart are fragile. One day a voice in my head said to me: Mary, to win everything, you must lose everything first. This voice repeated these same words to me over and over again. I could not shake them. At times I wondered if I was delusional with the fever again, or perhaps I was going mad.
And then the day arrived when her august majesty, the Queen of England, returned to the Tower to visit me. I stood and curtsied with sincere respect. She took a seat across from me as she always did and Wexford, her faithful consort, took his place at the small desk in the corner of my cell to record my words with pen and paper. She looked at me dispassionately and began our conversation by asking me to clarify certain portions of my story here and there. I obliged her gladly. But after I had finished answering all her questions, a great silence fell between us. The queen seemed distracted by other, weightier matters. Or perhaps she was considering all that I had said and was having doubts about my story. There was no sweetness in her manner. I began to fret.
“What,” the queen finally asked me, “are we to do with you, Mary?”
