Chapter Three
The topsail puffed out like a proud man’s chest, stark white against the clear summer blue sky before being reined in by a sailor in the top rigging.
Laura breathed deep and turned her face to the sun.
It was strange. For the past two years, she had lived in opulence but today she simply enjoyed the luxury of being here. She reveled in the simplicity of enjoying a fine morning knowing she did not need to constantly look over her shoulder, be mindful of the rules, careful not to make eye contact with the wrong person, and fearful that, however hellish her life had already become, there were many, many ways it could become so much worse.
After yesterday’s still conditions, today was exhilaration itself. A wind from the southeast had pushed them away from the African coast – not nearly fast enough in her opinion. But as the morning lengthened, Laura noticed something odd about the crew of the Calliope. On the voyage from England to Sicily, there had been laughter and banter but, today, everyone was subdued. Today, tasks were carried out with little conversation. A pall had been cast on the ship and now they were preparing to stop again.
“Sails furled, Captain!”
“Right-ho! Drop anchor!”
The deck vibrated as the chain and weight succumbed to gravity’s lure and plunged into the water. All hands were on deck. Laura looked around and couldn’t find Sophia among them. The dread of being alone among so many men returned. She retreated below decks.
Laura found Sophia in the captain’s quarters once again, a black lace veil over her hair, silently mouthing a prayer as her fingers worked ebony rosary beads. Laura didn’t understand the ritual herself but it seemed to bring her cousin comfort.
It was hard to believe the elegant woman before her was the same mousy cousin who, in England, was ever the wallflower. How could she have ever thought Sophia was plain-looking? Laura mentally shook her head. Sophia had just lacked confidence, but once she had found it – and the man who recognized her true worth – her half-Spanish cousin had blossomed.
Funny, how their fortunes had turned about.
Once upon a time, she, Laura Cappleman, had been the vivacious and adventurous one, confident and secure, attracting and discarding would-be suitors almost as frequently as her gowns. Now, she jumped at her own shadow, panicked if left on her own with too many strangers.
What she wouldn’t give to be the woman she once was.
Sophia raised her head, apparently finished with her prayer, but her eyes remained closed. Perhaps her cousin didn’t know she was here.
“We’ve stopped in the middle of the sea,” Laura announced.
Sophia opened her eyes. They were full of sorrow. “We’re burying Marco today.”
For a moment, Marco became alive in Laura’s memory – not the lifeless body on the boat, but rather the brave lad who broke his leg in the bad storm on their passage out to Sicily.
She sat down on the leather chair at the captain’s mapping table and rubbed her hands across the oak arm rests, feeling the grain under her palms.
“You were there. What happened…?” she asked.
Sophia brought a kerchief to her eyes and took in a steadying breath to compose herself.
“The man who betrayed us, Ahmed Sharrouf, killed him.”
Ahmed Sharrouf? That was the name that had angered Elias so much at Al-Min.
Her throat was raw. “Who is he?”
“Sharrouf was the man who betrayed all of us. He was the one who told Selim Omar that you and Samuel were taking passage on the Triumphant. He sold out Kit to the Barbary pirate, Kaddouri.” Sophia’s face hardened. “He was the one who arranged my abduction.”
Laura was aware her eyes had widened, her mouth agape. “One man did all of that? Why? What harm did we ever do him?”
Sophia shook her head, apparently having no answer to that question. “All that matters now is he is dead and will never harm us again.”
“Did Kit kill him?”
“No. I did. I stabbed him.”
It was just as well she was seated for Laura was sure she might have fainted right on the spot. She felt the blood fall from her cheeks, painting them white.
Sophia’s expression softened. “I’ve shocked you.”
“When we were at Al-Min, there were times I dreamed of taking a knife to Selim Omar but…” She exhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes, nervously running her hands over the curve of the arm rest once again. “I think if the time came, I wouldn’t have the courage.”
Laura felt the warmth of Sophia’s hands in hers as her cousin knelt at her feet and leaned in close until their foreheads touched.
“You are braver than you know, my dove,” she whispered. “Your courage fueled mine when we were in the harem. When the time comes, you will be just as brave, perhaps even more so.”
Laura squeezed Sophia’s hands back then released them, putting warm palms to clammy cheeks. Sophia stood up and smiled sympathetically.
“You look a little peaky. Did you want to rest? Everyone will understand.”
The thought of listening to the funeral service above while she remained below decks hollowed her out. Was she not wanted there? Did the men of the Calliope blame her for Marco’s death?
“Help me dress.” Laura raised her chin as she took in Sophia’s look. “Marco helped save my life as well as yours. It’s only decent to pay my respects.”
Sophia embraced her.
“Thank you. It means a lot to me, and I know it will to Kit and the rest of the crew.”
Against the sound of the sea, the wind and the creaking of the rigging, the tread of boots marching in step across the deck seemed unnaturally loud.
Kit and the ship’s navigator, a black man called Jonathan, the cook, Giorgio, and another sailor whose name Laura could not recall, carried the body of young Marco on a plank. His corpse was sewn into a shroud of canvas, the foot of which bulged with the shape of what looked like cannon balls.
Ahead of the pallbearers, the rest of the crew had formed a guard of honor, their heads bowed. All except Elias who stood by the ship’s rail, head high. He was in dress uniform, as all the officers were – navy blue jacket and white breeches, their polished black boots shining in the sun. The ship’s Bible was open in Elias’ hands but he kept his gaze heavenward. The breeze ruffled the curl of hair at the nape of his neck.
Laura watched Elias take a deep breath and look down to read aloud from the book as Marco’s body was placed on a trestle table at the gunwale, the foot-end of the board resting on the rail.
“‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you’.”
The pages rustled and rigging creaked as it stretched and strained in the wind. Elias lifted his voice in prayer.
“Oh God, into your hands we commend your child, Marco Giacomo Barraco, in the hope for resurrection unto life eternal. This body we commend to the deep, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord henceforth. ‘Blessed indeed,’ says the Spirit, ‘that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them’.”
Laura worried a kerchief in her hand over and over.
A little voice whispered, “if not for you, Marco would be alive”. These men had lost more than a crewmate; they had lost a friend, a brother-in-arms, and they mourned together.
She stayed close to Sophia’s side.
One by one, the sailors stepped forward to give their last goodbyes. One shared a story of Marco’s misadventure in the ropes high above the deck, and how it had taken three men to get him down safely. Another recalled the first time Marco confidently took the helm in heavy weather.
She jumped at the sound of the first cannon shot, but not so for the second and the third. After the final report, Kit and Jonathan raised the head of the board. Marco’s body slid off and down into the sea below, where he would remain until the end of time, embraced by the deep.
For a brief moment, Laura wondered what it might be like to join him – to have no hurt, no pain, no regrets. She bit back a sob. Then, at catching the first words of The Lord’s Prayer, she joined in.
After a minute’s silence, Kit ordered the anchor raised and the sails reset to catch the afternoon wind.
Everyone went back to work. Even Sophia left her to stand with her husband. The port side rail was now deserted and Laura found herself there, staring down into the green-blue depths, as the wind filled the sails above her.
“I’m sorry,” Laura whispered. “I hardly knew your name, but you died saving me. Thank you. Thank you, Marco. Perhaps in the life hereafter I’ll get to thank you in person.”
She’d had no flowers to bring or wreath to lay, so she released her white lace-trimmed handkerchief and watched it flutter down to the sea below, until it disappeared beneath the wake raised by the Calliope’s hull as she ploughed through the water.
That evening, there was laughter, as well as tears.
Kit announced a sum of five thousand English pounds would be settled on Marco’s widowed mother, as well as a lifetime tenancy on the house she occupied. Marco’s younger brothers would have their education paid for until their twelfth year. The act of generosity was welcomed with three cheers.
Laura let her own tears fall freely at recollections shared.
She looked around the men across from her and found Elias sitting among them. They had not spoken since this morning. He had cradled Marco’s lifeless body in his arms as they fled Al-Min. How did he feel? Did he talk of such things?
After a little while, the conversation ebbed and the mood became somber.
“Marco wouldn’t have wanted this! He’d want music!” Kit announced, punctuating the statement with a rap of an ebony cane on the deck. “Elias, do you have your guitar?”
The Calliope’s first officer reached for the instrument behind him. He strummed once, then fidgeted with the tuning nuts.
“Hey Mr. Nash,” called one man, Gus, Laura’s memory supplied. “What’s that Scotch song tha’ Marco were so fond of? Play that one.”
Elias inclined his head and picked out the opening notes. She didn’t immediately know the tune, yet it touched something deep within her.
Elias kept his head down, concentrating on his playing. About them was silence with the exception of the tune and the sound of the ship as it cut through the waves. Everyone, it seemed, was caught up in the magic of the melody.
He raised his head, eyes glittering silver. He sang:
I dream’d I lay where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam;
List’ning to the wild birds singing,
By a falling crystal stream:
She recognized this! It was a poem by Robbie Burns, the Scottish poet. Laura found herself mouthing the words. Elias looked up at just that moment. His look caught hers and held it. Laura found her voice and sang along with him.
Straight the sky grew black and daring;
Thro’ the woods the whirlwinds rave;
Tress with aged arms were warring,
O’er the swelling drumlie wave.
Elias changed pitch to keep his voice in harmony with hers and she felt a stirring that resonated through to her chest. Warmth filled her spirit for the first time in forever, and soon she saw only the man and his guitar.
Such was my life’s deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoyed:
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
A’ my flowery bliss destroy’d.
Tho’ fickle fortune has deceiv’d me—
She promis’d fair, and perform’d but ill,
Of mony a joy and hope bereav’d me—
I bear a heart shall support me still.
The last of the notes decayed. There was brief silence before a rapturous applause. Laura turned to see tears streaming openly down her cousin’s face. A sweep of her gaze across the deck told her she was not the only one so moved.
Sophia held her tight. Laura returned the embrace.
They were here. This was real and not some wishful dream. The past was behind them.
A moment later, Sophia squeezed and let her go. She watched her cousin enfold herself into her husband’s arms and witness him kiss her hair.
A wave of longing went through her. To be held in the arms of a man who loved her and wanted to protect her.
The lump in her throat hardened. Unable to resist the stab of envy, she glanced away, and found Elias Nash once more.
Did she see an equal look of longing in his eyes? The moment lingered and she held her breath. Could she let any man touch her like that after Selim Omar? Yet her body recalled Elias’ touch – his work-roughened hands in hers; his arms around her as he carried her into the boat.
Almost imperceptibly, they moved toward each other. Then the spell was broken. Giorgio slapped Elias’ shoulder, drawing his attention back to the watch.