Pirate Code by Helen Hollick Page A

stinking mess of the cell floor, and then another even longer hour. The church bell struck midday, Jesamiah was frantic. No one listened to his shouts and curses; no one even came to yell at him to be quiet.
    If it were not for his private contact with Tiola he was certain he would have gone mad. She assured him, over and over she was alright, but Jesamiah had seen women flogged, knew exactly what to expect.
    “Soddin’ open this door!” It was futile, but he kicked the cell bars again anyway.
    “Shouting will give you naught but a sore throat.” The outer door opened. Governor Rogers himself stepped through.
    Jesamiah opened his mouth to shrill abuse, was immediately silenced by the Governor’s raised hand, palm held outermost. “If you bawl at me Captain Acorne, I will turn right around and leave you in here for another two days at least.” He approached the cell, fumbled in his coat pocket for a lace-edged kerchief which he held fastidiously to his nose to inhale the cologne sprinkled onto the linen. The place stank abominably of vomit, urine and faeces.
    “Captain Jennings has informed me of your conditions of agreement to serve the Crown, although I put it to you, boy, you are not in a position to bargain.”
    “And I put it to you, Sir, that you want my help, therefore, you also ain’t in a position to bargain. There is a limit to those who can be coerced upon this island; a limit of one. And you are looking at him.”
    Rogers tucked the kerchief away, linked his hands behind his back. He was a tall man, stout, the buttons of his elegant embroidered waistcoat straining over the bulge of his belly. He had once, in his youth, been slender and handsome but years at sea had left their sorry toll. One side of his face had been half shot away, the scars left behind, ragged and ugly.
    “You over-estimate your importance, Acorne. I have several men I am considering to approach for assistance.”
    Fixing the Governor with a condescending stare Jesamiah drawled, “Oh aye? Then why is it you are standing here in this shite-hole talking to me, not to one of those other clodpolls?”
    Governor Woodes Rogers shifted his wig more comfortable. The day was hot, and although the dungeons were cold and damp, sweat was trickling down his brow. His wife insisted he dress correctly in woollen coats and horsehair wigs, items of attire wholly unsuited to the climate of the Caribbean.
    “I have spoken to van Overstratten. He will not agree to an annulment. He is a man of God, and obeys God’s laws…”
    Jesamiah interrupted, furious, “God’s laws? Where in the Bible does it say God permits a husband to flog his wife in public?”
    “I warn you Acorne, I will not be shouted at. I do not have to be here.”
    Choking down his anger and frustration, Jesamiah shut his mouth.
    “I was about to add, however, as there are no children nor any form of dowry to be returned I am willing to intervene on your behalf, plead your case as it were. I cannot guarantee an outcome, but as long as you do not expect anything towards her keep from him, and realise he will not take her back when you find the barrel is empty for breeding.”
    A scathing retort hovered on Jesamiah’s lips but the fight went out of him. He rested his forehead on the cold iron of the bars. Closed his eyes. “Risking my neck to find a lost spy? It stinks and I’m the fool, but if you will stop this punishment of my woman I’ll do it.”
    Nearing the door Rogers shook his head. “Regrettably, I cannot stop it; sentence has been pronounced and recorded.”
    Jesamiah’s anger flooded back with the force of a hurricane wind. “Well then, you can go to Hell on your own for your soddin’ spy! And fuck your bleedin’ rebellion!”
    “I do not know why you are so concerning y’self over this, Acorne. A few lashes soon heal and women are used to pain, they are supposed to be child-bearers after all. I’ll see what I can do about the matter of divorce, however.” He