Pirate Blood. Eugenio Pochini

friend, he was constantly present at the Pàssaro do Mar. Nevertheless, his stories had always something which didn’t fit. He even seemed to avoid some details willingly.

      “Come closer”, Avery called him, handing a bucket of water to him, “and wash yourself, to begin with”.

      Johnny obeyed, without uttering any single word. He placed the basin on a barrel and put his head inside. The fresh water gave him a light thrill. He held his breath for a short while. He then came out, breathing the fresh air deeply. His fingers went up unintentionally to touch the top of his nose.

      “So?”, the old man spurred him.

      “The pain has decreased”, Johnny answered. He could hardly believe it.

      “If it was broken, you would cry as the snotty kid you are. You were lucky.”

      “Luckier than them”, he replied, showing the flat-top knife. He turned it in his hands. The blade was stained with coagulated blood.

      Avery stared at him with a satisfied smile. “Stop boasting, boy. Try to tidy yourself up. Work is waiting for you.”

      ***

      At the very moment when Johnny was wrestling with Alejandro, captain Woodes Rogers was thoughtfully scanning the horizon from one of the windows of the governor’s villa. His blurred shape was reflecting on the glass like a ghost’s one, his short, brown hair and his large forehead were giving him a look of solemn austerity, softened by his short height. His mouth, reduced to an almost invisible cut, showed up a feeling of uncertainty. But maybe the feature which made him look more strict was the thick cobweb of scars disfiguring the left part of his face.

      He wished heartily that his meeting with Henry Morgan would be as short as possible. He had never accepted his political success willingly, especially after his lucky attack to Panama. He was jealous of him, at least. He had always said there was nothing trustworthy in a pirate who had been chasing his fellow men, just to please the royal family. Ceremonies and banquets were part of a lifestyle he wished he could have too, even if the most important thing for him was to find out why Morgan had summoned him again.

      “Your task is simple”, he had told him during a previous meeting. “You have to catch monsieur Wynne. He’s a pirate, so any other reason is useless. He won’t be able to escape being hanged forever. As governor of Jamaica and spokesman of king George’s will, we are morally obliged to give this order to you. We wish you will understand.”

      Of course, he had thought. Damned pompous idiot.

      And he was still thinking the same, when a soldier walked into the room. He stopped at the door and stood at attention.

      “Captain Rogers”, he addressed him. “His Excellency sir Henry Morgan is waiting for you.”

      He waved absent-mindedly to him and let himself be driven into the narrow corridor taking to the anteroom, made even narrower by the host of works of art crowding there, a clear sign of the wealth the governor liked to be surrounded with.

      “The execution will be held tomorrow morning, captain.” The soldier had stopped in front of a door strengthened by iron bars. “The governor wishes to curb piracy strongly. He hopes you will be there too.”

      Your hypocrisy is astonishing, Henry, Rogers wondered. You found a more decent mask to put on. You would have ended up hanged too, if your friend hadn’t helped you.

      Meanwhile the soldier was knocking on the planks with a resolute air. Morgan’s voice echoed on the other side, inviting them to come in and followed by a baritone voice which made Roger feel a new wave of scorn.

      “He still laughs as a pirate”, he muttered to himself. He grasped the door handle and close it behind his back, leaving the soldier alone. He was immediately assailed by an intense smell of burning incense, a penetrating fragrance of dried herbs. The light was filtering through the windows and the velvet curtains were trembling in a breath of sea wind. Yet there was no sign of the governor. Neither of him nor of anyone else. He went on suspiciously till he got to a big table covered with maps.

      “Is there anything wrong?”, Morgan suddenly asked him.

      Woodes Rogers turned on his heels and feared to stumble on his feet. He was feeling terribly vulnerable. And slow. When his bewilderment vanished, he found himself facing a well-built man with a prominent belly. He had come out from a private room, wearing a showy light blue dress with large lace lapels. He was wearing on his head a long powdered wig, matching very badly with his red and bushy moustache.

      “You’re too nervous, captain”, Morgan laughed again. “In our opinion you should learn to enjoy the pleasures of life better.”

      “Pleasures are a luxury I can’t afford”, Rogers replied.

      “It’s a real pity, then.”

      “Why have you sent for me, Your Excellency?”

      Morgan looked him up and down. He then stretched his face muscles, with a clearly amused air. “We wish to discuss a very important matter with you. We know your inclination very well. We know you aren’t a man who likes wasting his time.”

      “So we can get to the point at once”, the pirate cut it short. “More than twenty days ago you sent me in search for Emanuel Wynne, a cheap pirate who…”

      “Rather by chance”, the governor interrupted him. He kept smiling. “Finding him floating off, not far from Nassau was really providential. It turned your hunt into a rescue mission.”

      “That was just good luck, in fact.”

      “And is that what you’re worrying about?”

      “Absolutely”, Rogers lied. He had to strive to stay easy. Henry Morgan had hit the point. He had left on board the Delicia to go hunting a pirate, but he had found him just a few miles from the port. “I’m trying to get the positive side of the situation. I avoided useless days of sailing. But you haven’t answered my question yet. Why did you send for me?”

      Morgan approached. He put both his hands on his shoulders and grasped them with a slight pressure. Rogers considered the possibility of being strangled. As if he had read into his thoughts, the other man let him go and moved a few steps away from him. He took one of the maps from the table and started studying it.

      “I think you’re a careful man”, he said sharply. “So you’re deceiving us, captain. The answer is just under your eyes.”

      Rogers raised his brows. He didn’t seem to understand. Then a memory flashed suddenly in his mind, cold and merciless like lightning. He turned his eyes to the object Morgan was keeping in his hands.

      “It’s just a map, your Excellency”, he commented.

      “You’re right”, the other one agreed and handed the roll to the pirate. “I suggest you to observe it better, by the way. It’s the only thing Wynne had with him when he was rescued. He didn’t care about it. He should have. Why should a dying man worry about protecting a map?”

      He unfolded it in front of himself. He could feel the mouldy cracking of the paper under his fingertips.

      Straight and curving lines were crossing each other, making definite and linear signs. They became then more and more indefinite, chaotic. Besides, there was no course to follow, as if Wynne had got lost.

      “He was heading to this island”, Rogers claimed, plunging into the drawing. “But I can’t understand which sea he was sailing.” He turned his eyes to the lower corner of the map. Then he raised his brows. A series of words had been written on that side. He read them and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Anger came later.

      “Do you think I’m a fool?”, he burst out. “Was it all just a joke?”

      Henry Morgan held his glance with a harshness which didn’t let any emotion come out.

      “No joke”, he replied.

      “That’s