Pirate Blood. Eugenio Pochini

the moment.”

      Rogers didn’t gave up. He studied the map once more, his eyes flashing frantically into their orbs. “I’ll tell you again: he can’t have drawn it, simply because this place doesn’t exist!”

      “The Devil’s Triangle exists, really!”, Morgan exclaimed. He looked breathless. “Wynne has been there, no doubts. And not only the piece of paper you’re holding shows it, but also the fact we knew he was preparing to sail those seas.”

      ***

      When they came out of the villa, some soldiers approached them, ready to escort them to the coach. Roger had wanted Morgan to let him meet the prisoner. He still couldn’t believe the story he had told him.

      “Please, Excellency”, one of the guards suddenly said, opening the door of the coach which would drive them to the jail.

      The coach turned into a strip of land bordering the beach. Morgan caught the opportunity of greeting the colons. Many of them bowed. A bit farther the coast made a small inlet, which was considered the real heart of the bay. There were a dozen ships at anchor there.

      “Here we are, Excellency”, the coachman shouted after a while.

      The road they were driving through was scattered with stones everywhere, becoming closer and closer till they formed a pavement ending in front of the fortress entrance. The access was composed of a brick arch obtained in the main wall. The grey mouths of the cannons came out of the upper cornice, surmounted by imposing battlements.

      Once inside Fort Charles, they got off the coach in the middle of an octagonal square. Afterwards, they were led to the jails through a stone corridor, on whose walls some torches were flaring. A well-built man with a scornful air came through the dim light. He was panting and his face was wet with sweat. He was wearing a plain dress with dirty spots everywhere. Rogers could see blood trails both on his sleeves and on his collar. He then had the unpleasant feeling of facing the hangman.

      “Excellency”, the last one greeted Morgan respectfully.

      “Best greetings, master Kane”, Morgan replied. “This is captain Woodes Rogers, a corsair at His Majesty’s service.”

      “How can I help you?”

      “We’re here to meet Emanuel Wynne.”

      The hangman nodded decidedly, he caught one of the torches hanging on the walls and took them to another corridor, where some cells were alternating. When they got to the end, they walked down a flight of stairs. The slope became steeper halfway so they had to bend, as the ceiling was gradually stooping. They would find themselves underground soon.

      “Before we go in, I wish to ask you a question”, Rogers told the governor. “You’ve prepared the execution for tomorrow. Why such a hurry?”

      “Wynne is a pirate, so he must pay for his crimes”, the other man replied.

      Without a fair trial? Those thoughts flashed in the corsair’s mind with a disarming easiness. Do you really consider me such a fool, Henry? You’ve dragged me here for a much more important reason. Why are you spinning out? Lost in those thoughts, he got in front of a cell, without even being aware of it. The interior, which had been enveloped in darkness till then, was lighted by Kane’s torch. He saw him fumbling about a heavy brass ring enclosing a dozen keys. He put one of them into the keyhole and made it turn, producing a resounding creaking. The bars opened on a poor, bare room, whose only furniture was a bedstraw. Being underground, there wasn’t any kind of window, neither simple slits. A heavy smell of mould, excrements and urine was hovering all around.

      Morgan was very interested in the shape lying on the bedstraw. It was still, covered in a filthy blanket. “Are you sure you didn’t go too far, master Kane? We want this man to be hanged before a jubilant crowd, not to die here like a rat.”

      “Don’t worry”, the hangman assured him and moved towards Wynne. He then kicked his ribs. The pirate got up in a hurry, squealing. He looked like a ghost in the dim light. His thin face was marked by a bristly beard surrounding his cheeks in a mess. His long oily hair was falling on his eyes and behind his shoulders.

      The governor showed a very false grin. “ Monsieur Wynne is very worn out by what happened to him. We don’t need to treat him like this. We are among gentlemen. Now, please, leave us alone. We can manage by ourselves.”

      “Really…”, Kane tried to disagree.

      Morgan’s face became gloomy at once.

      “You can go”, he repeated slowly.

      The hangman left his torch on the cell wall and disappeared.

      “Wynne”, Rogers called him. “Can you hear me?”

      The corsair waited, hoping the other man would answer. But when he realized he would have to wait forever, he knelt down, a few inches from the prisoner. “My ship found you off Nassau, do you remember? I’m here to talk about the map. What happened to you?”

      Wynne lifted his head, staring at his interlocutor, but it looked as if he couldn’t see him. Rogers thought he saw a greenish glare coming from one of his eyes. He held his breath. He wasn’t sure, as the pirate had his hair stuck on his face. He then was persuaded that was just the reflex of the torch hanging on the wall.

      “The Devil’s Triangle”, Wynne croaked after a while.

      “Did you really sail those seas?”, Rogers questioned him.

      “I shouldn’t have left my place. The captain’s orders. He will be furious.”

      “He keeps telling the same story again and again”, Morgan said in an irritated tone. “He wants to go back to Bellamy. Even Kane’s whip strokes couldn’t make him change his mind.”

      When he heard those words, the pirate started, gasping like a fish out of water and letting deep rattles come out of the bottom of his throat.

      “Were you at Samuel Bellamy’s orders?” Rogers moved his fingers cautiously, catching his arm softly. Wynne was clearly made shy by Morgan’s presence. If Rogers couldn’t make him calm down, he would withdraw into numbness again.

      The small man let out a surprised gasp. “We got lost.”

      “Explain it better.”

      “The fog… was everywhere.”

      “Which fog?” Rogers spurred him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

      “I must keep on watch”, Wynne changed his voice. It sounded like the one of a man looking for confidence. “The captain’s orders.”

      Rogers kept silent, waiting again.

      “There’s nothing to do”, Morgan asserted. “We are wasting our time. You have been able to learn something more, captain. We’ll grant it. However…”

      “That’s just what you don’t understand!”, the pirate burst out. A spark of consciousness seemed to light again into his brain. “There’s a price to be paid by those who are looking for the treasure. A treasure which can change the destiny of the man who will find it.”

      “Which treasure?”, the governor suddenly asked.

      Wynne started. He got free from the corsair’s grip and crouched back on the bedstraw, in a foetal position. From that angle, Rogers could see the fresh whip signs.

      “Wynne!”, Morgan exclaimed in a threatening voice. “What treasure are you talking about? Answer, God damn!”

      The pirate burst into a series of moans and stopped talking. The governor’s insults couldn’t stir him anymore.

      “Was that all you wanted to know, Excellency?” That sounded more like a bare statement than like a question on Roger’s part. “You’ve used me to find out the possible existence of a treasure?”

      Henry Morgan’s face turned gloomy. “I didn’t use