“They must be whipped at least!” someone shouted.
Someone else cried, “Give ’em Moses’s Law!”
“Vote on it!” Jules thundered above all other voices.
Stede looked at the captain. He nodded. “Vote on it, we will!” said Stede. “All those who’ll call Cat and Anne mutineers and see them be hanged or marooned, say so now!” A wave of relief washed over Cat and Anne—and Declan Ross too—for no one, not even Drake, raised a hand.
Stede went on. “Those in favor of letting them off altogether, cast yer vote now.”
Red Eye’s hand shot into the air. Midge’s came next, followed by Jules and Cromwell. It was the first time the two of them had agreed on anything. Anne and Cat looked around, but no other hands went into the air.
Stede sighed. He knew already what the crew had decided.
“Moses’s Law?”
One by one, hands went up, until it became clear that a majority had been reached. “Moses’s Law it b’,” whispered Stede.
Stede went to the mainmast. The canvas bag bound there was hung high to make it very visible at all times. In this way, men knew what punishment awaited if they failed in their duties. Stede reached in and pulled out a thick wooden handle covered in a coarse leather sheath. From one end of this thick segment slithered a long tapering strand of braided leather.
“Moses’s Law,” said Stede, holding up the whip so all could see.
“That be forty lashes lacking one. I choose to divide it twenty lashes for Anne. Nineteen for Cat.” Alarm bright and urgent in her eyes, Anne looked at Cat.
“You can’t do that!” Nubby burst out of the crowd. “You saw the condition Cat was in when we got ’im. The wounds are just now beginning to heal. You start whipping ’im again with that torturous weapon, and . . . you’ll kill ’im!”
“I’ll take his lashes,” came Anne’s quiet voice.
Padre Dominguez looked up. He nodded.
Cat turned and scowled at Anne as if she couldn’t possibly have uttered anything more horrible. “Anne, no! I must take the punishment due to me.”
“You wouldn’t be due any punishment at all if I hadn’t put the idea in your head and led you overboard!” Anne’s face reddened.
Her eyes pleaded. “Please . . . ,” she said. “I am to blame for this.”
For Declan Ross, the misery that pounded his heart like storm waves on a sandy shore abated suddenly—replaced by an altogether different feeling. Anne seemed to change right before him. The willowy little girl, all dimples and attitude, a mischievous pixie with red pigtails—she was still there. But now there was also a steadfast young woman. Ross looked away and nodded to his quartermaster.
“Very well, then,” said Stede. He went to Anne, took her hand, and led her to the starboard rail. He gently placed her hands upon the rail. Then he whispered something in her ear.
She looked back suddenly. “Do you think he’ll allow it?” she asked.
“He’ll have to,” Stede replied. He turned away and marched ten paces across the deck. He looked one last time up to Declan Ross.
Stede silently willed his captain to put a stop to all this. But he knew Ross couldn’t. To go against the vote of the crew, to show favoritism to his own kin, and to ignore the ship’s articles would invite irreparable problems and perhaps . . . real mutiny.
Stede turned and faced Anne’s back. He lifted the flail weapon and drew back his arm. Knowing that this whip would fall thirty-eight more times, he let fly his first stroke with much less force than he would have normally. Still the whip snapped upon Anne’s back, and she let out a sharp cry. It had not cut through the material of her shirt, but Anne felt the warm sting of a new welt across her shoulder blades. Stede aimed the second stroke much lower. Anne arched her back and swallowed the pain.
“This isn’t right!” Cat yelled. “I am just as much at fault.” He took a step forward but was hauled back in by Jules’s iron grip. Cat struggled, but it was no use. The third whip stroke fell. Anne grunted.
“Let it be, son,” Jules said. “For just a moment more.”
Cat relented, and Jules released him. Cat turned and looked up at the gigantic pirate. What did he mean, ‘for just a moment more’?
Jules glared at Red Eye as the fourth stroke fell. A thin red trail spread across Anne’s shirt. Red Eye’s mouth hung open—his face betraying an unspoken question. Stede nodded, and Red Eye ran forward into the center of the circle.
“Hold that whip, Quartermaster!” he commanded. A mixture of puzzlement and anger on his brow, Ross looked at Red Eye. Stede turned around.
“Don’t ya b’ interrupting the discipline, mon,” Stede said.
“Unless ya wish to earn some lashes for yerself.”
“That is exactly what I mean to do,” said Red Eye. “Anne’s felt the sting, she’s paid her debt, but we have not paid ours!”
“What are you talking about?” the captain called down.
“Anne was wrong to leave the ship,” Red Eye explained. “But if it wasn’t for her and Cat, we might all be shackled guests in the hull of a British brig.” The crew murmured.
“I’m listening,” said Ross.
Red Eye smiled mischievously. “When Anne and Cat got themselves captured,” he continued, “they acted as spies, really. Found out Commodore Blake’s plan, they did. Blast! We didn’t even know the British were on the island! If we hadn’t heard it from Anne, hadn’t moved the ship round east when we did, we’d have been cut off.”
“That doesn’t change a thing,” Drake said. He approached Red Eye. “The crew voted Moses’s Law—that’s got to be paid!”
“And paid it shall be,” said Red Eye. “Thirty-five lashes left, by my count. I for one will gladly take a lash or two to show gratitude for our freedom—which we owe to Anne and Cat. Now, which of you will share in the pain?”
One by one, crewmen came forward. Even Drake himself volunteered. He walked slowly by Cat and whispered in his gravelly voice, “The law is the law. No hard feelings.”
“What do you say, Captain?” asked Red Eye. “We’ll take the remainin’ strokes and consider the debt paid?”
“Put it to the vote,” Ross said, trying to keep his relief from being obvious.
“Wait!” Stede exclaimed. “B’fore we vote, I think we should add something to make sure there b’ no more confusion over their punishment in the future. After the whipping’s done, let Anne and Cat sign the register.”
Ross felt like he’d been hit in the gut by a cannonball. The eyes of all the crew were on him, but none weighed more heavily than Anne’s. He knew she was old enough, and he couldn’t deny Anne’s recent display of responsibility. Still . . .
“Shall we put it to a vote?” Stede asked. Reluctantly, Declan Ross nodded. “What b’ the will of the crew? Shall we accept thirty-five strokes of the whip on our own backs to pay Anne and Cat’s debt?
And shall we swear them in as full members of the crew of the Wallace?”
Hands went up—almost all. Drake wanted it made clear that he would accept the lashes, but had no desire for Anne to sign the register. “Bad luck,” he muttered over and over. But in spite of his misgivings, it was decided.
Red Eye went first. Gritting his teeth, he took two strokes. Jules went next. The first lash hit his broad back with a strange muffled snick. “Too weak, Stede!” Jules complained. “You can do better than that!”
Stede shook his head and let fly. The braided leather cracked in the air and snapped upon the massive pirate’s bare flesh. Jules grunted satisfaction and rolled his shoulders backward. “Ah, that’s real, now,” said Jules.
Some taking a pair of lashes, others just one, the crew went to the rail. Anne stood by Jules and buried her head on his shoulder.
For Cat, it was a misery to endure. Not only had Anne and the others been disciplined in his place, but there was something else. Cat watched the whip stream through the air over Stede’s head, watched it curl like a snake behind him, an
d then suddenly reverse course, snapping violently forward. Cat’s head began to throb. A muffled buzzing came to his ears. He blinked. He saw a flash of another place—definitely not the deck of the Wallace.
Cat turned and stumble-stepped through the crewmen. He disappeared around a bulkhead and leaned on the portside rail. Take this, my son, came a voice, feminine and deep. Tender like before, but with a trace of urgency or . . . alarm. An image flashed into Cat’s mind—the leather satchel held out by a slender hand. Another hand receiving it. Within this pouch, you will find help for your journey out of this life. It is everything that I can give you. Wait! One more thing.
The flash of a dagger, and she dropped a two-inch lock of her hair into the pouch. Keep it safe, and when the time is right, get away and never look back. Cat couldn’t see her face, just a glimpse of a smile— loving and yet somehow full of sorrow. She turned suddenly. Her luxurious red hair swung round. A door opened. A scream. Then a loud crack of the whip. Where is it, boy? A different voice, harsh and angry, more like a feral growl. I know she told you. Out with it!
Another crack of the whip, and Cat fell to his knees and wretched.
“Cat?” Anne came around the bulkhead. “Cat!” She ran to him, saw that he had been sick. “It’s over,” she said. “The whipping . . . it’s done.” She put her arms around his shoulders and helped him stand. “Cat, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not that,” he whispered. His hand went to the leather pouch that hung from his belt. “I heard the voices again.”
Anne took in a sharp breath. “Did you know them? Do you . . . remember?”
Cat shook his head. “I . . . I think one of them was my mother,” he said. “She called me son.”
“There were others?”
“One other,” he said, his words barely audible. “I don’t know . . . he frightens me.”
Led by their captain and Stede, a number of crewmen came around the corner and found Cat and Anne. “Cat!” Ross exclaimed.
“Are you all right?”
Nubby barged in. “No, he’s not all right,” he barked. “Can’t you see?”
“Nubby, take Cat below,” Ross ordered. “Give him fresh water.
He looks pale.”
“It’s the whippin’, isn’t it, lad?” said Nubby, leading Cat away.
“It brought something back.”
Cat woke up with a start, rocking his hammock. How long was I asleep? he wondered. He remembered Nubby giving him three mugs of water, some fresh biscuits, and a plantain. But that had been in the broad afternoon sun. Now it was dark. An oil lantern hung near the door. Its flame was turned way down low.
Cat untied the leather pouch, reached in, and removed the lock of red hair. He smoothed it with his finger and wondered about his mother. He still could not picture her whole face. Just the sad smile and her hair. But somehow, he knew she had loved him. That brought Cat a mixture of comfort and pain. He wondered what had happened to her. He reached into the pouch and withdrew the cross. He’d managed to brush away most of the tarnish. The silver reflected back the orange lantern’s light.
“Why did you give me this?” he thought aloud.
He reached once more into the pouch and removed the green jewel. He heard the echo of the other voice, hard and terrible.
Where is it, boy? Cat held the cross in one hand, the jewel in the other. He wondered which one the hideous man from his memory was after.
28
THE ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT
The sun was bright overhead, but not as hot as the previous day. The crew of the Wallace enjoyed the stiff wind as they continued their voyage to the Caicos Islands. They gathered again near the mainmast. A black flag with the white silhouette of a prowling wolf above a Scottish claymore sword, the flag of the Wallace, flew high overhead. Jacques St. Pierre, Cat, and Anne stood in the midst of them. They listened as Drake continued the ceremonial reading of the Articles of Agreement. Drake held up the large parchment and read in a loud voice, “Article Seven. If any man shall not keep his arms clean and fit for engagement, or neglect his business, he shall be cut off from his share and suffer such additional punishment as the crew shall think fit.”
Cat felt a little poke from behind. “I’ll help you with that,” said Red Eye.
“Article Eight. He that shall be found guilty of cowardly deeds in a time of engagement, that same man shall be marooned or hanged.” At the mention of marooned, Drake made momentary eye contact with Cat. “And lastly, Article Nine. If any man shall lose a hand or foot in time of engagement, he shall have four hundred pieces of eight. If he shall lose an entire limb, that same man shall gain eight hundred pieces of eight.”
“What’d ya do with all that money, Nubs?” cracked Midge to the general merriment of all. Nubby, on the other hand, wasn’t very amused.
“I spent most of it on pots, pans, and knives,” he said. “But I held back a wee bit of silver and bought a special poison that dissolves in food. You know, for a special occasion.”
The crew roared at that, but Midge’s laughter was nervous at best. All eyes then turned to the quarterdeck where their captain had just appeared. “Why is he wearing a dress?” Cat whispered.
“It’s not a dress,” Anne said, giggling even though she was trying to sound angry. “It’s a kilt.”
“It looks like a dress.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Anne warned. “You’ll be scraping the whole deck by yourself. My family is very proud of its Scottish roots. The Clan Ross is very powerful in Scotland.”
“Do they all wear dresses?”
Anne slapped him on the shoulder. “Just stop. Father only wears it for special occasions like this. I think it makes him look heroic.”
She had a point there, Cat thought. In spite of his dress jokes, Cat actually liked the way it looked on the captain. The kilt was hunter green crisscrossed diagonally with bands of red and two lighter shades of green. It hung down to his knees and just above the top of his boots. He wore a belt with a dark leather satchel on one hip and a sword and sheath on the other. Ross’s white shirt was open at the neck and billowed in the breeze.
The captain descended to the main deck and stood beside the quartermaster. “Mister Stede,” he said, “it is time to add to our ranks.”
“Aye, sir,” said Stede. He took the articles from Drake and spread them across the tops of a couple of barrels. He dipped a quill pen into a dark bottle of ink and handed the pen to the Frenchman.
“Do you, Jacques Saint Pierre, now swear an oath to—”
“Wait, Stede,” said Ross. “Where’s my Bible?”
“I don’t know,” replied Stede. “I figured since ya didn’t bring it, ya didn’t want it.”
Ross frowned. “It doesn’t seem right without it.” With that, Ross went belowdecks. He emerged a few seconds later carrying a small Bible with a cracked and faded cover of brown leather. “Here we are,” said Ross, handing the book to Stede.
“A Bible, Declan Ross?” said Padre Dominguez. “I did not know you were a believing man.”
The captain felt suddenly as if the only beam of sunlight on the whole deck shone down directly on him alone. “Don’t read too much into it,” he replied, more bitterly than he meant to. “It’s just custom.” He nodded at Stede.
The quartermaster held out the Bible, and St. Pierre put his hand on top of it. “Do ya, Jacques Saint Pierre, swear an oath to obey and uphold the articles of theWilliam Wallace? If that b’ yer wish, so say ya, ‘aye.’”
St. Pierre delighted in the whole ceremony. A successful businessman, he missed the adventure of life at sea. As he scanned the ship’s articles, he lingered most longingly on Article Three: Of any prize by us taken, the captain is to have two full shares; the quartermaster one share and a half; the bosun, carpenter, first mate, doctor, and chief gunner will have one share and a quarter. Due to St. Pierre’s obvious skill with cannons and explosives, Captain Ross had offered to make Jacques the chief gunner of the Wallac
e. A share and a quarter of every prize sounded very good to Jacques St. Pierre.
“Aye!” Jacques declared. He took the quill from the bottle of ink and signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of the parchment.
The crew cheered, “Hurrah!!”
Cat came forward next. He wore dark blue breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt. The leather pouch hung from a cord around his neck. He placed his hand over the Bible and swallowed. He’d spoken to Captain Ross earlier, and he had assured Cat that should he discover his identity and desire to go and resume his former life, Ross would release him from his duties aboard the William Wallace. Still, Cat felt reluctant. The crew had been so welcoming of him, had gone to great lengths more than once to rescue him, and he was grateful. But he couldn’t get over the feeling that there was still something very wrong here. Pirates were notorious scoundrels, after all.
“Do ya, uh . . . Cat, swear an oath to obey and uphold the articles of the William Wallace? If that b’ yer wish, so say ya, ‘aye.’”
Cat looked around. Red Eye winked. Seeing that bloody eye wasn’t the encouragement Cat was seeking. But then Captain Ross smiled at him approvingly. Anne’s face was lit with joy, and she nodded at him as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”
Like St. Pierre before him, Cat studied the articles, and above all the others, one stood out. Article Two: “The crew of the Wallace in a time of engagement shall willingly offer just quarter to any who request it. We shall not needlessly murder or do bodily harm to our foe. Neither shall we impress men into service. We shall not torture prisoners. Nor shall we mistreat women or meddle with them without consent. Any man who does violate this article shall suffer swift death.”
Pirates abiding by such a code seemed unbelievable to Cat. They were killers, weren’t they? But perhaps Captain Ross was different.
Cat found himself saying, “Aye!” He picked up the quill pen and found the feel of it vaguely familiar. He dipped the tip into the ink and began to sign his name to the articles. Only when he did, the first letter was not a “C.” He stared at the parchment and the ornate letter “G” he had just written. It was as if his hand had done reflexively what it always had done, but try as he might, Cat could not remember what came next. He looked up from face to face. Stede’s was a study of confusion. Captain Ross’s eyes were thoughtful. But Anne wore a different expression. Her mouth dropped open in sudden discovery. And Cat remembered the initials they’d found in the cottage on Dominica. GLT.