THE GOLDEN ROSE

Chapter 16 - From Fear For Their Lives

Caribbean Sea – 1770

The movement of the ship changed and Sebastaio lifted his head. He was sitting in the hold of the ship, his hands tied behind him. His shirt flapped open and there was a slice along his ribcage that was crusted with dried blood, and a knock on the head had left him feeling somewhat addled. He couldn't sort out his thoughts. Where was he? What had just happened?

The door above him suddenly opened, flooding the area with harsh light. He squinted, unable to make out the identity of the figure coming down the ladder until his face came into his field of vision. He looked familiar, but Sebastaio couldn't quite place him. His head throbbed with the exertion.

"Well, well, how the mighty have fallen." It was said in French.

Sebastaio didn't speak it well but he did understand it. He couldn't think of the words in that language to reply but he recognised the voice. It was the surgeon, Baudelaire. He knew he spoke Spanish so he chose that language.

"Have the pirates gone? Untie me."

"Oh yes, the pirates have gone, but it is me who has tied you, and for the moment I think I'll keep you that way."

It didn't make any sense but concentrating too hard hurt so Sebastaio veered away from it.

"The Captain will not think much of you tying up a paying passenger," he said in a weak voice.

"The Captain will not think much of all, Senhor, as his head and body were recently parted and thrown to the sharks," the Frenchman smirked.

A vision assaulted him and Sebastaio groaned. He remembered a tall black-haired pirate slashing at him and then tying him up. He had shoved his face into Sebastaio's and his breath had been fetid with sour wine. "Thank you for your wife, Senhor, I hope you enjoy your new life at the whim of the little Frenchie." He had spoken English, and from his description Sebastaio recognised him as Black Harry, whose real name was Henry Smith. He had then clocked him hard, probably with the pommel of his sword and Sebastaio remembered nothing until he woken a few moments ago.  He began to struggle at his bonds.

"Where is Clara, what have you done with her?"

Baudelaire gave a satisfied smile. "Oh I've got rid of that little harlot, there is nothing standing in our way now, my sweet. She will soon grace the auction block on Hispaniola and you will grace my bed."

Sebastaio struggled harder, kicking his legs out trying to reach the bastard.

"Uh Uh," the man said, shaking his finger. "Now you just sit there quietly until I get everything under control up there, then I'll come down and fetch you." He leaned down and gently kissed the top of Sebastaio's head, then patted the damp curls.

"Au revoir," he smiled and clambered up the ladder. 

Sebastaio was in a fury and frantic with worry for Clara. He had heard stories of the atrocities Smith perpetrated upon his victims, and he knew well the tales of white women being sold as slaves or worse on the islands in this vicinity. A movement out of the corner of his eye had him squinting into the gloom. Another figure was tied up in similar fashion further along and a groan and some muttered curses indicated it was the First Mate, the moor, Farraj.

"Are you hurt?" Sebastaio called.

Farraj groaned. "My pride is injured, but otherwise I am intact."

"Do you know what happened?"

"It was Black Harry, a demon he is, he killed half the crew himself before leaving with your wife."

"He took her onto his ship?"

"Yes Senhor, I am sorry."

"How long do you think it has been?"