Betrayal in Tortuga

Chapter 1

 For a French Buccaneer, there is little that is permanent, so personal attachments are rare. But for Captain Barthelemi Daumont, la Miséricorde was one of two exceptions to his autonomous nature. She was a small ship with a crew that had high turnover. Daumont had been sailing her into actions such as this one ever since he left western Hispaniola.

"We've been spotted," Hubert whispered to Daumont, almost accusatory. He was tall but skinny and unintimidating.

"That's fine. This galleon is unarmed and slower than la Miséricorde. Their fear won't fill their sails." Captain Daumont wasn't worried about the galleon's size compared to his own ship; it just meant more goods to steal. But still, Hubert persisted.

"We can't afford to return to Tortuga without wares, and I bit into a worm when eating bread this morning"

Daumont decided not to respond and instead focus his attention on maneuvering closer to the side of their target. Waiting for a response, Hubert stood still a second longer before having to leave and go perform his duties. The crew were running about and preparing for combat all around Daumont, but he was focused only on the water. Better to leave wrangling the crew to Marguerite Godier, his first mate and second exception. Her sickness had left her low on energy as of late, but Daumont trusted that her ability to boss people around was left unhindered.

Despite the noise and movement of the ship, the blanket of late night left the air feeling still and quiet. La Miséricorde cut through the black water as a quill dragged through ink. Only moments were left until Daumont would be climbing over the side of a Spanish ship and fighting for his life. Or rather, he would be fighting for the right to kill the Spaniards. To Daumont, dramatizing the effort on his part was giving the Spaniards too much credit.

By now they were close enough to hear the guards yelling fearfully in a language Daumont and his crew couldn't understand. Daumont saw two guards point at the ship and then run back out of sight. They returned carrying heavy crossbows they trained down toward the deck of la Miséricorde. Within the span of a second, Daumont had his arm pointed toward the sky as his crew looked toward him, by now holding their own weapons, muscles tight and breath bated with anticipation. Without so much as a twitch in his face to betray his emotions, Daumont loosely let his arm fall forward, and as if flipping a switch, chaos erupted. Arrows flew between the two ships.

One of the Spanish guards, Gaspar Aldana, had never hurt another man in his life. He had run back to the shrouds with the other watchman, carrying a crossbow after alerting the rest of their shipmates to the attack. Now, looking down at all the snarling and rabid buccaneers that he'd only heard stories about, he couldn't even fire a single arrow before he made up his mind to run back across the deck the way he came. Gaspar didn't take a single step, however, before the arrow of Captain Barthelemi Daumont buried itself into the gray sticky flesh of his eye and he fell prone at the feet of the other watchman.

"We won't make it to Havana," were the last words of Gaspar Aldana.

Back on la Miséricorde, Daumont smiled at his own marksmanship.

"Excellent shot!" shouted Marguerite as she threw a grapple up where it hooked onto the shrouds. She gestured for Daumont to begin his ascension before more guards could come cut the rope.

Daumont quickly complied and felt her presence behind him, like a bird flying on the updraft of its predecessor. He couldn't stop the spread of a smile across his face. In a few days' time, he would be buying bread that was worm-free.