Devi's Paradise by Roxane Beaufort Page B

lifted her and thrust her into the longboat that was hanging precariously over the side, the men fighting to lower it. Alvina climbed in, followed by George, Jamie, and their frightened servants. Romilly clung on, closing her eyes against the pounding sea, expecting the boat to be smashed to smithereens at any second. It jerked, the winches squealing as gradually it swung out from the steep sides and reached the ominously treacherous sea. Several sailors had volunteered to man the oars, and in a matter of moments the longboat bounced and jostled but succeeded in keeping afloat, the May Belle retreating into the distance. The last person she saw was Joshua, standing at the prow looking in their direction, before the vessel vanished, overwhelmed by a massive wave.
    ‘My God!’ Jamie exclaimed, holding her tightly, the oarsmen battling to make progress.
    Alvina was ashen-faced but brave, comforting Kitty and Jessica. The valets, Tom Harraway and Gaston Pruet, showed a fresh side to their natures, helping those manning the oars to the best of their limited abilities.
    But the storm had not abated and, although the men pointed to a distant hump on the horizon beyond the turbulent waters, shouting, ‘There’s land ahead!’ it seemed that their chances of making the shore were slim.
    Romilly clung to Jamie. The mountainous waves lifted the boat like a cockleshell, as if using it as a plaything. They were drenched. Some of the oars snapped and the last thing she knew was being flung into the water, sinking down and down, lost in the savage depths of that unrelenting sea.

Chapter IV
    Built by Spanish conquistadors two centuries before, Armand’s fortress was practically impregnable. Not completely so, of course, as the Dons had lost it to the French and the French to the English. Constructed by slaves, it was comprised of stone quarried from the caves and trees felled in the surrounding jungle. Enclosed by a high palisade with a platform for marksmen, it had a huge gate that would have withstood a battering ram. It should never have fallen to an enemy, but on each occasion had been betrayed from within. But no one dared do that to Armand Tertius, the most feared swordsman in the Caribbean.
    He had taken the island from his predecessor five years before, making it his stronghold. It was on the map as San Juliano, but had been dubbed the Devil’s Paradise by those who lived under Armand’s regime, as well as by his enemies. From there he despatched ships to carry out his illegal trade – the Scorpion , the Sirocco , the Golden Queen , all fast, well-armed frigates manned by a fierce band of freebooters, who called themselves The Brethren of the Coast .
    He lounged in a throne-like chair that had been intended for a cardinal. His long legs were stretched out and his booted feet, crossed at the ankle, were resting on the refectory table centred in the Great Hall. This is where he met with his lieutenants and planned enterprises as thoroughly as any admiral. There was nothing slapdash about this organisation. Other pirate leaders might mock, though never in his hearing, but such precision paid off, as that morning’s share out was about to prove.
    Yesterday the Sirocco returned loaded with booty to the snug little inlet below the fort. Fortunately they had weighed anchor before the freak storm struck. Now those who had manned her gathered to receive their dues. Armand cast a cynical eye over them, knowing them for what they were; a polyglot gang of desperadoes. They came from every country in the world, criminals fleeing from justice, outlaws and mercenaries, lured by the dream of wealth and freedom. He never lacked recruits. They admired his success and reputation for fair play. He didn’t cheat his men and whenever he raised his colours mariners rallied round. His nearest port of call was Cayona, capital of Tortuga, a pirate hangout.
    Did any of his men have a shred of loyalty? He doubted it, and never showed a moment’s