Chapter 9 : Tortuga

My Spanish servant works hard on the brig. Despite the fact that he is clearly exhausted, Jaime looks after me well. He is careful to make sure that I lack for nothing and even offers to share his meagre ration of sea biscuits with me. His thoughtfulness is touching.

Although the Irishman claims the contrary, the kindness shown to me by this stranger is highly irritating to him.

This amuses me.

How comfortable I have made myself since I was kidnapped! Confronting the galleon was a blessing. I can move around more freely on deck. I give help right and left (or rather to starboard and to port), and do my best to memorise the way in which a 60-foot long ship is steered. Learning gives me enormous pleasure. It opens up a wonderful world to me, made of intricate rope knots and astronomical information that I was convinced I would never be able to master.

The Chinaman, whose name is Leng, is teaching me the rudiments of navigation. I learn fast. I enjoy it. I feel useful. My hands become calloused. The muscles in my body are getting stronger. The axe, which I wear in my belt, never leaves me.

"It does not worry you to talk to me?" I joke as Leng shows me how to tie complicated knots with ropes.

­He shakes his head.

"So, you are not as superstitious as the rest of the crew" I add to start a conversation.

He gives me a half-smile. Shall I manage to get him to speak of anything besides sea currents?

"Are you from China?" I insist.

He shakes his head again from left to right. I am just about to abandon the idea of any form of conversation when Leng says in a soft voice.

"I am not superstitious, but I fear the captain's jealousy. My parents are Chinese. Alas, I was born in America. My father was the captain of a merchant ship and my mother… a prostitute. In my country, it is customary to take consenting female companions on board to appease the sailors' desires. I stayed just long enough for her to teach me that I had nothing to fear from women. You are the Water that Flows. It cannot be seen, it is transparent, odourless, shapeless and nevertheless, it is the source of life. For me, to have you on board is a blessing."

"Thank you, Leng, that means a lot to me."

"When men understand that we are complementary, perhaps all the violence in the world will come to an end."

"A beautiful idea."

"The principle of Yin and Yang," he explains, and he shows me the jewel he wears around his neck. "Dualism is at the heart of the rule of life. If there is only Yang, everything dries up. If there is only Yin, everything rots."

"Magnificent."

"If I do not kill the Spaniard in his sleep, it is for you," he declares outright.

"Um, thanks…" I mumble. "May I ask why you hate him so?"

"Violence, kidnapping, murder. You too know this! Now, finish off that knot and get up to the crow's nest. A sailor is above all a good lookout."

I obey him. Climbing the rigging is difficult. I reach the top out of breath, but I am as proud as a peacock. The view is magnificent from up here. I could gaze at the horizon for hours.

Leng is the closest I have to a friend on the Anarkhia. He shares his knowledge of navigation a little more all the time. His candour is very moving.

Steven is slowly healing. I keep a close eye on his stitches every evening and continue to put alcohol on them. He is a lucky man. He is healing safely. Others would have died of less.

At last, after four days of sailing under a light West wind, we spy an archipelago.

"Land!" cries Bappé from the crow's nest.

We are there: Tortuga.

The island of the turtle.

All the sailors assemble on deck before my incredulous eyes. The captain fills glasses from his personal flask. He hands one to me.

I shall not be taken in twice: I now sniff all liquids before drinking them. Rum.

"What is this for?" I ask with a nod of thanks.

"Haul aft the mizzen sheet[1] ! An old tradition on board the Anarkhia. Hush. Listen."

Without another word, he continues to serve the crew. Even Jaime has his swig of liquor.

My curiosity is aroused.

Behind me, Rotten Rick (yes, that is his name) drums on an empty keg with an iron bar. Another sailor does the same to my left, using his hands as an instrument.

It was not rare that a few sailors would sing one or two songs to pass the time during the voyage. This time, it is different. Everyone joins in.

Steven begins to sing. His voice is deep. Strong. It is as if it were carried on the trade wind to ring out in the hearts of the members of the crew.

I lost my heart on the island of Tortuga

A worthless girl took it and threw it away.

And in my chest, there's nowt but a bad draught,

I cough my heart out and I'm as cold as in winter. 

For the refrain, all the sailors joined in:

Oh pirate, your freedom!

Means lose all or gain all.

It's gold or it's lead,

And that is how we live!

I lost my eye when I attacked a galleon,

A keg of powder, a great explosion.

I hide the horror beneath a silk patch.

Half the world is now closed to me.

I lost my fist in the middle of a carnage.

It was clutching a cutlass.

All I have now is a measly hook,

Which only serves to flay the backbone of unlucky sailors.

I lost my conscience and I lost my soul

Killing poor fellows by fire and flames.

And all I have left in my head is a dirty old ghost

Who claims it is for good, when he drives me to evil.

Lost my honour in a mutiny,

Set ashore like a pauper on a rotten island.

I didn't even have the guts

To send my carcass to Satan's side

Oh pirate, your freedom!

Means losing all or gaining all.

It's gold or it's lead,

And that is how we live! [2]

I shudder. Not with fear, but with emotion. This band of brutes in search of gold and rubies is capable of some poetry.

"And let's drink to the health of the whores who will greet us this evening!" triumphs the Irishman, lifting his glass and frantically beating the wooden bulwark.

Agreed, it is limited as poetry goes. I astound myself as I burst out laughing and toss back the brew which burns my gullet.

Children. That's what they are. Abandoned, lonely babes, who are trying to make a place for themselves in a cruel world; an imaginary country. Their laws and rules are just illusion. They are sailing blind. They are wandering in search of a treasure they will never find. I am beginning to suspect that they themselves know it.

What other choice do they have? To enlist as sailors on a vessel accredited by kings? To live on meagre rations and work like slaves for a few rupees?

No. They are right to choose freedom. It is exactly what I intend to do.

I too, believe that I shall lose everything on Tortuga.

Or gain everything.

Steering the boat into the harbour is hard work. Steven issues orders left, right and centre.

"Haul in the sheets, Leng to the bow. Nick, if I see you hanging about once more, I will throw you overboard!"

My heart is beating wildly in my breast. I duck back down to my chamber, to make ready for my escape.

My trembling fingers have trouble opening the lock on the window.

Suddenly, I freeze. My ears are well-attuned to the captain's firm step. He is coming down the cabin stairway. I throw myself on the bed, trying to look detached.

Why? Why leave the helm just when we are entering the harbour?

He comes in and stares at me for a long time. Is he aware of my little subterfuge?

"I almost forgot you," he says with a bored look. "While we are docking, you're to go in the hold. And before you start to parley, know that it is for your safety."

"Ah?"

"Yes, Tortuga harbour is not safe for girls like you. I prefer not to show your pretty face on deck and risk someone coming to trade something other than good rum with me. And I'm going to be busy with my clients for a while."

So, there we are; my escape plan has fallen apart. All the strategies I have been devising for days were just smoke and mirrors. Mirages I was holding on to. But all is not lost.

"My pretty face," I snicker with my head on one side.

The captain snorts with laughter. It is the first time I have seen him thus; he looks almost innocent.

"Come. Make haste," he says with a certain courtesy, leaving me room to pass. "Cook will take you there. It won't be long."

Not long. Not long! The idea of length of time has yet to be defined in a dictionary of piracy.

I stay several hours in this hellhole. Admittedly, this time, Cook has left me food and drink. The darkness is oppressive. And also the fact that I missed the opportunity to escape.

Really?

No, perhaps not really. The island of Tortuga is teeming with pirates and mercenaries. The crew of the Anarkhia treat me well. Do I really wish to expose myself to danger once more and find myself with even more terrible men?

At last there is movement. They are getting ready to empty the hold. I would like to have seen the goods being unloaded. From where I am, I can only see Nick and another ship's boy called Léon striving to get the kegs up through the hatch onto the top deck.

A while later, the silhouette of the captain comes down through the scuppers. He is easily recognizable with his three-cornered hat[3].

"About time too," I grumble as I rise. "It is not that I do not appreciate the company of rats, but…"

"Quiet, I am not in a laughing mood."

Indeed, the tone of his voice is irrevocable. In the half-light, I cannot not make out his features, but I suspect they are fixed and tense.

"Very well, I shall not bother you this evening. I shall stay in the cabin."

"No, you're coming with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

One of the brethren has heard of your presence on board. He wants to make sure that the contract will be honoured.

This is it. I am frightened. Damn. I had not imagined myself wandering around this island with its shifty population to meet obscure illegal traffickers of all kinds. I had heard on the Septon that Tortuga had for a long time been the stronghold of piracy. Lately, the island has become more subdued. It is now the sugar granary of Europe although it appears to still be filled to the brim with crooks.

"Am I in danger?" I ask swallowing hard.

"Not if you keep quiet. Agree to all I say, it should be fine. And don't do anything stupid."

"But, can I…"

"Silence. Leave your weapons here, you won't need them."

The stiffness I can see in his neck discourages me from continuing my interrogation. The Irishman will say no more and I could only annoy him. Hating myself for being so submissive, I follow him up to the upper deck. The sun has just set. It is shining its last rays on the Fort of Tortuga, perched on the edge of a cliff above the harbour.

I have always loved these twilight hours. They remind me of the summers when Sophie and I were allowed to stay up late. The Château de l'Aigle was a playground in itself. My grandfather, Louis des Acres[4], had started a series of improvements so that the des Acres family could live in this sumptuous abode.

What we loved best, my elder sister and I, was to thread our way north to a building which served the purpose of both storeroom and stables. Sophie would stroke the horses. I would invent stories of knights in shining armour at the service of their beloved. Armed with a blunt scythe, I amused myself fighting imaginary monsters. Yes, I already sought to be the warrior and not the damsel in distress.

I have forgotten those games; I finally accepted my condition. That I belonged to the weaker sex. Thank you, Mother.

After having put away my axe and my knife in the captain's cabin, I join him on the bridge. He holds out his arm to help me go down. In other circumstances, this would have made me smile. Apprehension prevents me from appreciating the situation appropriately. I know not what fate awaits me.

At least, I am not wearing the vermilion dress that Steven gave me after my abduction. I hope to go unnoticed. I do not want to feel like a piece of meat. Like fresh flesh for these foul smugglers.

Me and my illusions... My fine, delicate face stands out among the pockmarked mugs. And even if they are not all marked by smallpox or all manner of scars, not one mouth is devoid of rotten stubs. Keeping all one's teeth on this island is a miracle, it seems.

Tortuga is nothing like what I had imagined; what madness to have wanted to escape on my own! When I think of Versailles and the Château de l'Aigle, I find it difficult to believe that I am in the same world in this accursed place. Steven is not taking me through the nicer neighbourhoods, that is for sure. The stench is vile. Filth covers streets walked by drunken or shabby men.

And slaves! There are slaves everywhere. Tied to one another, or following their masters docilely. Slavery is officially prohibited on French territory. I had never seen as many in the New World. There were countless salves in Charleston, which is hardly surprising, knowing the English. Unfortunately, the French contribute to this ignominy, and not in a small way. Jérémiah had told me about Code Noir[5]. Had it been of any use?

My arms and legs move stiffly after all the hours spent in the bottom of the hold. Steven matches my pace. He stays near me. I appreciate this. I feel protected. At the same time, I feel like pushing him into the stinking gutter. I must be bad.

"Why do you speak of brethren?" I question him, worried.

"Some tradesmen call themselves thus, in memory of the island's glorious past, when it was governed by the Brethren of the Coast."

"Ah, and what happened to them?"

"Hush!" he growls, gripping my arm. "Can you not see that this is not the best moment for a history lesson?"

The fool. He is terrified of the meeting to come. And I do not find this reassuring. We do not walk for long. It is all for the better, because I have a strange feeling under my feet; a feeling that the earth is too hard. When all is said and done, perhaps I prefer the sea. The silence. The horizon as far as the eye can see.

We stand for a few seconds in front of a closed door. A tavern. Again. The door opens. Bare-breasted prostitutes dancing on the tables. No. Not an inn: a brothel. My naivety will be the death of me.

I have already come across this sort of establishment. I am not talking about the infamous inn in the town where I was taken after my abduction. No, it was another place. Besides, Jérémiah had called it a "Pleasure Residence." It was so exciting. It was exhilarating to flee my gilded cage in the middle of the night and meet my lover in the kitchen. It aroused all my senses when I got into his cart and we headed straight for that worldly place. That evening, I felt free. I almost wanted my deception to be discovered. I wanted the whole world to know how strong I was. Free from the sanctimonious lessons of my entourage and the prayers in Latin that I was made to recite every day.

The colours. I remember their shades. Curtains. Skin shining with sweat. Jérémiah promptly left me to commit acts of sodomy with a tall, blond, bearded man. I did not do a thing. I did not dare. I contemplated the women's bodies. Their muscles taut under the thrusts of their partners. They were so beautiful. I envied them. Their lack of modesty was ravishing. One of them stared straight at me. I recognized the brightness in her eyes. The brightness that appears just before orgasm. She came with her eyes anchored in mine. Oh, how good it was!

All were consenting, libertine and bold. Assuaging their slightest desires. It was beautiful sex. An ode to pleasure. An ode to life and the gifts that it offers us.

Nothing like what is happening here. The tavern is full of hollow-eyed prostitutes. The laughs are forced. The intercourse is violent. Vicious. John the mate would be at home in this kingdom of Hades. The pirates relieve their urges and then take to the sea again, abandoning the purplish bodies of women who have nothing left, bodies that no longer belong to them. And their minds? Where are their dreams? Can they escape from these walls? From these odours of urine and seed?

"Is that her?" an old man behind the counter asks.

Steven just nods. I move nearer him so that I can take his arm. It is instinctive. I do not want to be contaminated by the poisons of this dreadful place. I am worth more than this. The human race is worth more than this.

"Back room," says the bartender.

Steven and I walk forward side by side towards the back of the building. A couple in action jostle us. This is too much for me. My hands grip the captain's wrist. I plant my nails in the moist palm of his hand. He too is afraid, but his expression gives nothing away. His hand cups mine. We are together and he lets me know this with a light squeeze.

"Thank you," I whisper between my dry lips.

A look. A look is all it takes to be blown away. This is the look. To say that it reached my heart would be false sentimentality. No, it has unsettled my soul. Yes, I know it is childish. But it is really what I feel.

We recognize each other, it is almost as if a veil has been lifted.

"Come along in, Kelly!" shouts a moustachioed giant seated at a round table. "Come and show us this beautiful French harlot. You could have dressed her appropriately for the occasion. She might be your Chinaman with those garments."

Two men that I had not yet noticed guffaw in a corner of the room. One is blond, small, skinny, and the other fat and bald. His forehead is bathed in sweat. A drunken girl is asleep at the back. What sadness!

"Good evening Marcellin," declares the Irishman with a firm voice. "Yes, this is my eighteen thousand piastre contract. In the flesh, as I said. Thanks to her, I will be able to reimburse the lost kegs."

"I expect nothing less of you, my good fellow."

"With your agreement, we will set sail again as soon as we have filled the hold for the voyage."

"Why the haste my friend? Come and sit down so that he can discuss this."

Steven lets go of me. He sits down, spreads his legs and throws his hat on the table. A falsely relaxed attitude which only fools the gentlemen opposite us. Or at least, this is what I hope. Standing behind him, I hold on tightly to the back of his chair as if it could save me.

A woman can feel lustful looks. It is like a sixth sense. They are gnawing at my skin.

"But how impolite I am, I have not introduced myself," spouts the moustachioed man as he stands up. "Brother Marcellin. Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle…"

"Florence des Acres," I retort haughtily.

"A noblewoman can be recognized straight away. On that score, you did not lie to me, Kelly."

"And for the rest neither," he answers putting a hand inside his shirt. "I have proof of it."

The paper is not creased and the seal has not been broken. I do not have time to see the mark. The document changes hands. Marcellin opens it roughly, destroying the knob of wax. What a masquerade! I am sure that he cannot read. But I can. Please let the contract come back my way so that I can at last know the name of the person who ordered me to be kidnapped.

To no avail. He folds it before giving it back to Steven.

"What does intact mean?"

Ah, so he can read.

"She must not be assaulted or the agreement will be broken."

"And I suppose that another alliance will be negotiated so that the cosignatory will have your head on a platter as payment if you do not respect this particular clause," coldly declares the brother.

Steven does not move a hair.

"So now you know that you will have your gold, Marcellin. I have business to attend to before leaving Tortuga."

The captain starts to get up. The bald man comes up to him and places his hairy hand on his shoulder.

"You are in a hurry, Kelly, but we are not yet finished. Your goods have a value."

Everything is going wrong. Marcellin comes towards me. Without more ado, he tears my shirt and exposes my breasts. He touches me. It is horrible. His sticky hand smells of rum and faeces. He disgusts me. I clench my teeth. I want to hit him. I have to restrain myself. Steven told me not to be stupid. This horrendous man will not hesitate to kill me if I retaliate. I endure it. Patiently. I tell myself that it is just a body that he is touching. The same body that I will take leave of in a few score years if I survive this evening. My mind and my spirit will be out of reach for ever.

"Imagine how much I could get for such a wonder here," he blurts out turning towards Steven.

Steven's face has lost all colour. He clenches his jaw, almost breaking his teeth.

"No more than what I will obtain if I deliver her to the continent."

"I don't know. I don't know," the brother pretends to hesitate as he rolls my right nipple between his fingers. "There are many who would be ready to pay a high price for an upper-class Frenchwoman. Besides, this would rid me of a transporter who serves himself from my wares instead of procuring goods for me."

"Marcellin, that will not happen again," Steven assures him as he stands up. "After that, I agree to sell her to you, my friend. But if it means losing my head for a woman, let me be the first to fuck her before your accursed buccaneers have her[6]!"

Laughter. I am stupefied. I do not dare make the slightest movement. The general hilarity has at least caused the brother's disgusting hand to leave my body. At last I can close my shirt.

"Oh, Kelly! You're a real clown. You almost had me there."

Silence falls again. I have an idea. A strategy which will not meet with the captain's approval. And I have doubts about his desire to rape me before the good-for-nothings of this infernal inn have their way.

"Your clients like to fuck dead bodies?" I ask quite naturally, as if I had been part of the conversation since the start.

They all look me up and down. And it is not because I have spoken out. I think that no-one expected such vulgarity from me. Not even me.

"Repeat that, woman!" shouts Brother Marcellin, threatening me with his hand.

"I ask whether your clients like to fornicate with the dead. It is a genuine question. I do not wish to lack respect, Sir. Brother," I add, uncertain of how I should address him.

"Of course not!" he says, offended.

A blueish vein starts to throb high up in his forehead. His face has turned an angry red.

"In that case, it is in your interest that I leave on the Anarkhia to be delivered as stipulated in this contract. I am a noblewoman. I will not survive three tricks with your clients. And three leasings of my person to rich pirates on this island will not suffice to compensate for the potential loss of several thousands of pieces of eight."

Marcellin slowly lowers the hand which was preparing to strike me. He turns around lazily on his chair, ready to start a new negotiation.

"And there is another thing…"

To bargain well, I must be at the same level as him. I pull up a chair and seat myself on it, careful to avoid the murderous look of the Irishman.

"He who has purchased me is immensely rich. Otherwise, why spend as much for a simple woman? My family name is not worth this sum. So, I have something to propose."

"Spit it out," he fumes before releasing a disgusting gob of spittle on the floor.

"You know that young ladies are good at whispering just words in the ears of the men for whom they work."

"Too true," he asserts raising his glass.

"Brother Marcellin, of the island of Tortuga, you are first and foremost a trader. My... new friend... will know that you have protected his wares. More than this: that you have contributed to them arriving safe and sound. I will make sure that he shows his gratitude. I believe that Basse-Louisiane has many plantations of corn, wheat and tobacco. It might be interesting for you to open a new channel, might it not?"

Silence. Interspersed with the snores of the drunken prostitute. I have put all my cards on the table. I have asserted that I would not survive three. False.

Just one would destroy me forever.

[1] Consists of distributing a glass of liquor to the crew. Rum is purely sweet liquor. The recipe was invented by father Labat at the beginning of 18th century. "Guildive" then became with a few adjustments, the emblematic alcohol of the West Indies.

[2] Song belonging to the artist Auregan entitled "Rideau sur Tortuga" in the Rock Movie album, 2015 (www.auregan.net)

[3] A triangular hat in fashion in 18th century and used at the time by pirates.

[4] Louis des Acres actually existed. The des Acres family was an old family of Norman nobles.

[5] First known as the Edict of 1685, it mainly served to reassert royal power over the colonies to the detriment of the masters.

[6] Buccaneers were pirates who were rampant in the Caribbean Sea. Their job was mainly to deal with provisions of smoked meat (from the French word "boucanée"), which gave them their name. They had their trading post on Tortuga.