The days that follow are often somewhat strange. We make love at the slightest opportunity.
The crew takes little notice. And there are very few people left on board. Nick and Léon, the two ship's boys. Bappé and Leng who are as different as chalk and cheese, are absolutely complementary in navigation and in revelry. Rotten Rick's happy mood does not detract from his pestilence. Cook is there and the mate John. And lastly, my eternal defender who does not dare set foot on Tortuga so lasting is the hatred of the Spaniards on the island. Five sailors whose names I do not know also stay on the Anarkhia while the freebooters have gone off in search of another mission with various captains after payment of their services. The most severely injured during the battle received an extra bonus. I suspect some of them cut themselves up purposefully to get more money.
From time to time, the Irishman takes me with him to the island when he does business with his regular clients. For that, I disguise myself in the same manner as the day following my abduction. Man's apparel, a turban around my head to hide my long blond hair and an exaggeratedly masculine air. The captain appreciates this subterfuge. It amuses him. And it also excites him to know that he is the only one to know the truth about my sex. The only one to enjoy my body and my beauty to the full.
I have finally been able to ascertain that this island is not in truth a den of robbers[1]. Bordered by mountains to the North and the large harbour to the South, it is easy to imagine how this island has offered precious safety to the freebooters. The situation changed with the repression of piracy by the French authorities[2]. Trade is flourishing, to judge by the many departures and arrivals of ships of all kinds. There are abundant plantations of sugar cane inland, which explains the presence of the large number of slaves.
Steven speaks French. Well, speaks is an exaggeration. Suffice it to say that he can stumble through a few words. I love watching him doing business. I was right. He can neither read nor write. On the other hand, he counts skilfully and he has a formidable memory. This is fortunate, because there is no lack of swindlers among the merchants. As soon as he smells a rat, Cook comes to his assistance, flexes his big muscles in front of dishonest clients and negotiations then continue quite smoothly.
Our destination, Louisiana, is not a current one for the ships departing Tortuga. Most often, the boats leave for France to deliver the sugar grown on the island. This is a stroke of luck for the Irishman who negotiates dearly the transport of a rich slave trader and his human cargo.
Steven and I do not broach the unwelcome subject of my future delivery to New Orleans. I have high hopes that he will change his mind and that he will spit out the identity of his partner in my abduction. If this person is a monstrous brothel-keeper, I am convinced that Steven will not let me go. The captain's feelings for me are strong. His words and his caresses are proof of this at each embrace.
For the first time since my abduction, I am invited to a game of dice with Nick and Léon. We settle down in the shadow of a torn canvas on the deck. And I learn that they are aged twelve and thirteen. Nick is a street kid from New York. He enlisted on the Anarkhia at the age of ten. Léon is the youngest of a family of fishermen. He was on a small vessel carrying dried fish off the coast of Hudson Bay, when he was attacked by the Irishman and his band. He fought well to protect his wares. Steven offered him a post on his ship. He accepted.
We play right through an afternoon and an evening. The rules are simple. You have to obtain the most points and taunt your beaten adversary with a torrent of abuse. We rival in eccentric word play until the Irishman calls us to order. Our hysterics are, according to him, bad publicity for a merchant ship. Could he be jealous of the two children?
The day of our departure is here at last. It is with a blend of horror and disgust that I watch thirty or so slaves come aboard. Bappé's disgusted air tells me that he feels the same about this human cargo.
"I am sorry that you have to see that, Bappé."
"Humm…" he says. "I'm used to it."
"Not me."
"I acquired my freedom a long time ago," he confides as he leans over my shoulder. "I slit the throat of my guard like a pig."
He illustrates his bloody declaration with a gesture to match his words. He lets his index finger run down my carotid.
"Fine, I understand," I answer indignantly, backing away from him.
My reaction amuses him.
"You will do the same as me, little noblewoman. There are souls that even the devil cannot take."
And he leaves me with a laugh. He does not want to witness this macabre spectacle. I force myself to look. There are times when it is important not to turn away.
Poor slaves… Chained one to another, with tired faces, dried up bodies and flayed skins. Among them, a man and a woman wear iron collars around their necks with points which pierce their muscles[3]. A sorry sight. A weather-beaten old gentleman watches them, armed with a commander's whip. A club and a musket at his belt complete his guard's outfit. The rich owner is the same client I had caught sight of inland. This fat person is himself a caricature. His high-pitched voice rings out like that of a castrato. His mouth smells of putrefaction from several yards away due to his probable phenomenal consumption of sugar. Four new seamen have been enlisted for the voyage and have come to join the fifteen who have decided to stay or return to the Anarkhia.
"Take them down!" John orders. "They can occupy the part of steerage in the stern."
At least, they have escaped the hold.
When the boat is loaded with barrels of drinking water, wine and rice for the trip, the crew of the Anarkhia untie the mooring lines. Slowly, the ship leaves the docks.
I have an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I had not imagined that transporting new souls to New Orleans would have this effect on me. Like myself, not one of them has consented to this voyage. I was lucky enough to have been spared by the pirates. They are molested and undernourished and their little energy is used for vile forced work.
At the château de l'Aigle, our servants were all well-treated. I sometimes would go to the kitchen to steal a loaf of bread. I loved to watch them work. I had a form of admiration for their know-how. I was not even capable of sewing without clumsiness.
I can still see the baker woman's muscular arms as she kneads dough. It seemed so easy. And her poor kitchen help whom she scolded all day long.
I would so much have loved them to teach me. Something as simple as making bread should be taught to all. Of course, this was not at all Mother's opinion. All physical work was to be proscribed. Beneath us. From time to time, I was allowed to go and fetch eggs from the chicken run. And that was the scope of my knowledge where survival was concerned.
Instead of this, we studied Latin and the piano. Mother had us learn to read so that we could master poetry. I understand now. It is very clear. Our education prepared us to depend on men. Why would we have needed to know how to boil an egg? Or make butter? Or do the milking?
Even poetry was one item of education too many. For the destiny she had predetermined for us, three subjects would have sufficed.
To be quiet.
To obey.
To spread our legs.
Contrary to the Blacks transported today on the Anarkhia, I had had access to food and the comfort of a luxury dwelling. For the rest, we are identical.
Captives, submissive and consenting.
"Does it not bother you, Steven, that you are taking these unhappy souls to hell?" I ask of the captain a few days later.
I have laid my head on his chest. My ears delight at the sound of his heartbeats.
"If I do not take the contract, someone else will. Nothing will change for us, but I'd find myself very poor with a half-empty brig."
"You can at least improve their living conditions on board. You must permit one walk a day to these poor unfortunate bastards. They will waste away under there for another ten days."
When it can be avoided, I no longer go down into that part of the ship where the stench is unbearable.
"Not my problem. Monsieur Mustelier would take it extremely badly if I allowed myself to interfere in his affairs. In the same way as he has no word in mine. And John would seize the opportunity to claim loud and clear that I am weak of heart."
"What a wine sack!"
The Irishman cannot help laughing.
"Your language has changed considerably, Mademoiselle des Acres de l'Aigle."
"The influence of my recent acquaintances," I say, teasing him with a kiss on his forehead. "John… I do not trust him."
"He is a good seaman and worker."
"I am sure that it was he who sabotaged what was left of victuals after the attack of the galleon."
"Do you have proof of this?"
"Not the least. But it was him, I am sure."
Silence. I have vexed him.
"Do you have any idea what you are going to do with Jaime when you have taken me ashore?" I ask leaving his arms to sit up and pull the sheet up over my breasts.
At the risk of annoying him, I decide to broach difficult subjects.
"He will go where he wishes. He will find work easily in Louisiana with his muscles. If he is clever, he will manage to go south to find his own. Trade channels are open between New Orleans and the Spanish colonial ports."
"And you? What will you do? Where will you set sail for after that?"
"None of your business."
"You are not considering the possibility of…"
"No."
"Let me finish…"
"No, subject closed."
"Steven…"
"Stop," he orders, standing up.
"Tell me who signed that contract with you. Please."
He turns round, stark naked. I know that he is acting thus so that I cannot see the sadness in his face. I would wager that he is miserably unhappy at the idea of parting with me in a few days.
"I need to know, Irishman. I have to prepare myself."
"For what? You will not be able to do anything there."
Do I hear a hint of guilt in his voice?
"Tell me his name, please."
"It is late, go to sleep. I am going to take over from Leng at the helm tonight."
"Steven…"
It is all to no avail, he is not listening to me. He has shut himself up in his silence and acts as if I no longer exist. This ignorance pains me. When he leaves the cabin, I find myself alone with my melancholy for only companion.
When I was a child, I used to always argue with my sisters and my brother. Sophie was too perfect, she exasperated me. Alexandrine embodied intelligence and gentleness. She annoyed me even more. And the future Marquis des Acres de l'Aigle, my brother Thomas, was protected from the abuse we were subjected to. I was mortified. I never managed to find my place in this family.
Mother did not help me in this.
I should have been a boy. She wanted a son. How I would have loved to be a man! To choose, to decide, to accept. I would have inherited the château. I would have had the privileged relationship that Thomas had with Father. I would certainly have abused of my power and my position, as they all do.
I am infuriated. Whatever my decisions, fate always brings me back to this position. This submission is unbearable to me. I have had my fill of suffering my fate. When will I at last have the opportunity to exist?
I want to burn everything, including my own self. To purge myself by fire, like a phoenix, to rise again from my ashes and be fulfilled in a new life.
Steven and I no longer touch each other. Our bed was the only place where we found a perfect balance.
And I am angry with him. I do not want to pretend or force myself. To deprive him of intimate relationships is the only weapon I have. He claims his freedom loudly and clearly, even though, like all of us, he remains a slave. His master is money and his ambition to make a name for himself in piracy. When will he understand that this all belongs to the past? There are no real pirates left. They have been replaced by banks, Governors and soldiers.
Two days after our argument, John calls muster on deck. There has been another incident. I do not know what this is about, but the captain's icy face bodes ill.
"Sailors!" calls the mate with his nasal voice.
If only I could slip my hands around his neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
"Two kegs of drinking water have disappeared from the hold."
I understand immediately that everything is going to go wrong. It was I who perpetrated this deed. Let us say that I was the instigator. I wanted to teach Steven new ways of taking pleasure with our tongues and this entailed a complete washing of our bodies and our private parts.
We exchange one of our knowing looks. With a blink he tells me that I must keep quiet. He will manage the situation.
"Back to work" he thunders. "It's a mistake. John, come over here so I can explain."
"No need, captain. I know the guilty party. Monsieur Mustelier saw with his own eyes Cook bringing the kegs up from the hold three days ago when he went to carry out his daily check on the state of his goods."
The person in question watches the scene nonchalantly. He does not appear to realize that he has been accused. Steven has the choice: support his friend or bear responsibility for it himself.
"Fuck off, John!" the accused man says shortly before spitting overboard.
"The sentence for thieving is twenty lashes," he mocks.
"Just try it."
"But it is not the first time this has happened on the Anarkhia. You too, stole kegs after the galleon."
"You have proof of what you claim, John?" asks Steven.
What? He does not admit that it was he who ordered Cook to fetch the kegs for his personal use.
"The testimony of Monsieur Mustelier for the second misdeed."
"We filled the hold on Tortuga and there is no lack of victuals, whether water, wine, biscuits or food," explains the captain.
"And that was fortunate," retorts John. "But any crime committed on board must be punished. It is your duty, Irishman, to intervene as appropriate. If you let this pass, I fear that others will commit more serious harmful behaviour. And we have slaves here. All we need is a mutiny."
"I think that it is already under way," rages Steven.
"Would you dare to challenge the Code and the safety of the vessel for your friendship with this sodomite?" the mate answers, losing his temper. "We have followed you for a long time, but now, it is no longer tolerable. I demand punishment."
Cook stands up very straight and puffs out his chest in defiance. He will not lay blame on the captain. It is for Steven to denounce himself. But if he does so, he will put his position in peril. What would become of him? And above all what would become of me without him to protect me?
"It is all my fault," I declare firmly.
I am beginning to get used to those astounded eyes staring at me each time I speak out.
"I fooled Cook when I asked him for those kegs and claimed that the captain had ordered him to bring them."
"I do not believe you, whore!" growls John. "Why should you want to steal water?"
"At the beginning, it was for my personal ablutions," I pretend to admit. "We nobles are used to being spotless. Then, when I saw the disgraceful state in which you leave those captive men and women down there, I shared what was left with them."
The second part is true. The second keg was scarcely started and I had deemed it opportune to give this meagre offering to those poor devils.
"I think that Léon saw me when I took them the water this very morning," I add victoriously.
"Léon? Is that the truth?"
The young ship's boy looks decidedly uncomfortable. He likes me, but he cannot lie before this assembly. He nods unhappily.
"There you are, it is settled" I decide standing in front of John. "You will not touch a hair of Cook's head."
I know that I am dreaming when I hope that the affair will fall apart.
"If you think you're going to get away with it..." yells John, raising his hand.
"No te se ocura tocar a la sirena porque te mato, pirata!" warns Jaime taking a step forward.
The sabres are drawn faster than I coud have imagined. From the moment John had begun his move, Steven, Cook, Jaime and even Nick have withdrawn their weapons from their scabbards.
"Men!" Steven says. "Stay calm. We are not going to harm La Sirena. She must be delivered undamaged or else our contract is broken."
I did not know that I had been given this nickname on board. I like it. Mermaids have the power to take sailors to the deep.
"That is right," murmurs John. "That is what you claim, but it does not stop you from laying her every night."
"Keep your mouth shut, John. It was decided this way from the start, and Marcellin validated the agreement. Now that we have got to the bottom of the story, you can all return to your stations."
"She must be punished," my critic insists. "Or at least not allowed to come and go as she pleases on the ship. She could well do it again."
"Very well, she will remain in my cabin day and night from now on."
What? Stay locked up in a tiny chamber when I could get my fill of the horizon, the gentle South wind and the sea breezes.
"How clement we are!" sneers John. "Men, know that you can steal from the Irishman in all impunity. Your sanction will be a good fuck…"
"John, you old mutton shank! We're not going to chain her up."
"I say that her place is in the cage in the hold. We should never have let her out. This is what happens when you give a privilege to a woman."
The hatred he bears me is beyond imagination. What happened to him that he has such hatred of the fair sex? Everyone awaits the captain's decision.
"Take her down, Nick and that's an end to it," he announces coldly.
Jaime steps up.
"For the soul, there is no prison to retain it, because the only ones to imprison it are those that it invents itrself[4]."
I understood it all. Either I have made great progress in Spanish, or Jaime invoked a very strange magic. No matter.
The result is the same. They are locking me up.
[1] After having served as a meeting place for pirates of all kinds from 1640 to 1684, Tortuga was a stepping stone for the settlers on Santo Domingo, which was to become in 18th century, the richest of the French colonies.
[2] The island served buccaneers up until the repression of piracy by French authorities in 1713.
[3] This equipment was not permanently used during the slave trade, but mostly after the uprisings or when travelling on foot to the ships or the forts.
[4] Poem to the Countess of Galve, Sor Juana Inès de la Cruz (1648-1695), a Mexican nun and poetess, considered to be the first American feminist.