Tide of War (11 page)

“And she has taken six prizes?” Nathan mused.

“I did not say prizes. In each case the vessels were burned, after first permitting the crew to take to the boats. I must assume her captain does not wish to reduce his crew.”

So much for that small hope.

“Do we know how many of her victims were Spanish?”

“Four, at the last reckoning.”

“That cannot have pleased the Spanish authorities. Have they taken any action?”

“If they have, I have not been informed of it.”

“Despite the forces at their disposal?”

There was room for above a hundred ships of the line to moor
comfortably in the Havana, it was said, though there was nothing like as many here now. Nathan had counted just two ships of the line, three frigates and a sloop o' war. But why were they not out looking for the
Virginie?

“The Captain-General has other concerns. You are aware of the slave revolts in Hispaniola?” Nathan nodded. “We have had a number of refugees from the island—both French and Spanish—bringing tales of massacre and rape. There is a great fear that the infection will spread to Cuba. I doubt the Captain-General is anxious to reduce his forces in pursuit of a mere commerce raider.”

“Even if she has other duties that are, shall we say, less commercial?”

Imlay spoke lazily, his eyes almost closed. The consul observed him steadily for a moment as a tutor might regard a pupil who might become irritating given time and indulgence.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were not aware that the
Virginie
has a more subversive role than that of a mere predator?”

“I was not so aware. I take it you mean in support of a rising among the slaves?”

“And other disaffected elements of the populace.”

“I see. That is very interesting. Well, I am not in the Captain-General's confidence but I know he has received report of some problems in New Orleans.”

“What problems?” demanded Imlay sharply.

“I imagine among the French settlers, but it is not my province. However …” He paused a moment, considering. “I may be able to introduce you to someone who is better informed. I will enquire if he is prepared to meet you, without revealing your true character of course. In the meantime …” He spread his arms in a gesture of hospitality. “What small comforts I can offer are at your disposal. I hope you will stay here as long as you are in La Habana. Your rooms have been prepared and whatever else you require, please do not hesitate to ask and I will endeavour to obtain it for you. La Habana, as I hope you will discover, has a great deal to offer.”

”Intriguing,” remarked Imlay, as they stepped out into the square. “To what, do you suppose, did he refer?”

“When?”

“When he proposed to obtain ‘whatever
else
we required.'”

“I imagine he meant in the way of home comforts.”

“And yet he mentioned that the city itself has a great deal to offer.”

“ Well, I am told the architecture is very impressive.” Nathan gazed across the square towards the imposing frontage of the Captain-Generals' Palace.

“Bugger the architecture,” Imlay retorted, “have you seen the women?”

Nathan had been trying not to notice the women, though he could no more have succeeded in this lofty ideal than in remaining ignorant of the beggars who had assailed them as soon as they stepped ashore, or the flies or the half-dead donkeys.

“I have not yet been to Asia,” confided Imlay as they followed the consul's directions back to the wharves of San Pedro where they had left the gig. “Nor India, where I am told the houris would have made Alexander the Great reconsider his sexual predilections. Nor have I sampled the delights of China or Japan whose concubines, I am assured, are adept in the arts of pleasuring a man, but for pure physical perfection I do not believe there is a more refined creation than the
mulata
of the Caribbean.”

“I am sure she would be grateful for your approbation,” murmured Nathan but Imlay was in full flow and Imlay in full flow was not to be diverted by any mere murmuring.

“Indeed, one might say that the female form has reached its apogee—or is it apotheosis?” He creased his brow in thought but before Nathan could instruct him, he was off again: “And in so many pleasing shades from pale ochre to ebony, though if I must state a preference it is for the quadroon, whose delicate colouring is complimented by a nature that combines the most seductive qualities of the Latin and the African—and that hint of
hidalgo
blood, do you see?” He touched the brim of his hat to a particular example of the species
who had caught his eye, sauntering by under the shade of a parasol, accompanied by a darker companion who might have been her maid. “The straight nose, the tilt of the chin, the hauteur in the eyes—and the promise of … Oh Lord, when one considers how guarded, how grand, how
unapproachable
is your pure Castilian beauty and yet how
available
those of her descent here in Cuba, where the precious blood of Madrid and Segovia is distilled with that of the Niger and the Bight of Benin and filtered through several generations, why it is as if God had designated these islands as a breeding ground to perfect the Rib of Adam.”

“The Rib of Adam is like to give you the Kick of Venus,” Nathan remarked, “if you are unfortunate in your choice.”

“Upon my word, you are become a dull dog,” retorted Imlay, stepping back a pace and viewing him askance. “Let us admire the architecture, forsooth!”

The criticism was not unjust, yet Nathan could not desire a woman without thinking on Sara and what had happened to her. Besides, even without such horror to distract him, there was his concern for the
Unicorn
and his own anomalous position as a captain without a ship. Thank God he had listened to Imlay and was not now strutting about in his uniform for the entertainment of the populace. They were, in any case, attracting more attention than Nathan desired, a circumstance that he was inclined to blame on Imlay, who was gazing around him with his fatuous smile and touching his hat to every attractive female he saw. Thus far, no-one appeared to have taken exception to this but it was only a matter of time, Nathan considered, before he bestowed his favours upon someone's wife. Or mother.

Fortunately there were other distractions beside Imlay. The street they were in was as crowded and as narrow as an Oriental bazaar with coloured awnings stretched from building to building and all manner of produce displayed for purchase at stalls on either side or on carpets laid upon the ground. After weeks at sea the surprising solidity of the surface made their step unsteady and Nathan's senses were further bemused by a riot of colour and sound and the jostling,
indisciplined crowd that pressed upon him from all sides. A babble of voices in a language he did not understand, a multitude of unfamiliar faces, hands reaching out to pull at his clothes in a bid to make him stop and buy or only look,
señor,
only look. He was in constant danger of knocking his head on a cage of song birds or a dead foul hanging by its legs from a hook or of tripping over the produce at his feet. Exotic fruits and vegetables, fish still in the fishermen's baskets, husks of maize, barrels of meat in brine, strange trinkets, obscure offerings, religious icons, rosaries … Women swayed towards him with great wicker baskets on their heads overflowing with produce. Old crones with toothless gums held out what could be roots or shrivelled foetuses—to be consumed or used in witchcraft?

And glimpsed through dark doorways or sauntering brazenly through the street those other women that so excited Imlay's passions.

“ Well, I grant you there is more to please the eye here than I have seen in Portsmouth or any of our home ports,” Nathan conceded,” but I confess I have never been easy in my mind with a relationship that is based entirely upon lust on the one part and cold commerce on the other.”

“ But why should there be any more disgrace in purchasing a woman than any other commodity necessary to one's comfort? Or composure? Or need?” Imlay leaned towards him almost shouting in his ear, his gait so unsteady he constantly lurched into him. “Besides, I am persuaded that the
commerce
between a man and a woman is more honest than most. The goods are openly displayed for one's inspection, the price is agreed in advance, the job is done in the wink of an eye, or some such, and generally both parties declare themselves satisfied with the result. And there is no continuing bill for maintenance. As there is with a horse, for example, or a house or indeed a wife. You are scandalised.” Nathan had drawn back a little, more to avoid this constant lurching into him than from any moral reserve. “But consider—we both abhor slavery, do we not? But what is marriage? Is it not comparable? At least from the woman's point of
view. And from the man's, how much more satisfying—and simple—it is to pay an honest wage for an honest day's work, or in this case, an hour's intercourse, if not less, than to be burdened with the expense and inconvenience of keeping a slave for life.”

They had finally reached the waterfront of San Pedro where the street was wider and they could move with less constraint, though the bustle here was if anything more industrious. Gangs of sweltering slaves unloading cargoes from the vessels, moored three or four deep against the wharves, a constant procession of carts and mules. A cross hatching of spars and masts against the backdrop of La Cabana and the pelicans gliding above the limpid water and stretching their leathery necks like great lizards that had learned to fly.

“ I say nothing against marriage for those that are inclined to it,” Imlay added after a moment's reflection, possibly recalling that Nathan had seen him in this happy state when they were in Paris. “And indeed it can bring much solace and satisfaction to both parties but I maintain than no educated, intelligent woman can be easy in her mind with an institution so unfairly biased against her.”

Imlay had not mentioned his wife once during the long voyage from England and Nathan, knowing what he did, was too cautious, too polite, to raise the subject. On a previous journey—across France—Imlay had denied that he and Mary were married. He had merely given her the protection of his name and his nationality, he said, when she was in danger of arrest as an Englishwoman living in Paris. But they had lived openly as man and wife in Neuilly and Le Havre—and she had a child by him.

“An educated, intelligent woman,” Imlay mused, apparently lost in thought, “a Portia or an Heloise, the ideal of every thinking man and yet … I confess I am as often attracted to the frivolous in woman. The swish of skirts, the
frou-frou
of silk and satin. I never cease to wonder at the devotion of certain women to their toilet. The exact positioning of a curl, the application of patch and powder, the exposure of an ankle … To wonder and admire. Such artifice. And the intricacies of the wardrobe, the attention lavished upon the purchase
of a hat, a piece of ribbon. The delightful
silliness
of women. And yet,” he sighed, “how swiftly it palls. And how one longs for intelligent conversation, the company of an intellectual equal.”

He lapsed into melancholy, doubtless in the grip of some personal torment or indecision, torn as he was between the author of the Rights of Women and an actress from a strolling theatre company. Not to speak of the several dozen whores he had encountered whilst strolling the streets of the Havana.

The crew of the gig approached along the wharf—swaggering a little, or possibly as dizzied as Nathan by the stability of their new environment. But then he saw that they were drunk. Drunk and reeling, with a levity of manner he would have frowned upon had they been in the King's Navy. But they were not in the King's Navy. Nor were they the King's subjects. They were Americans, free from care and responsibility, with money in their pockets, grins on their faces and rum in their bellies, no longer bound in service to King George or any other power save their own lusts and inclinations and the need for gainful employment. And at that moment Nathan envied them.

“So there it is,” Nathan concluded his narrative to Tully in the privacy of his cabin, or such privacy as existed in a vessel the size of the
Speedwell.
“And we are little better informed than when we left Shoreham.”

“Save that we know the
Virginie
is still at large,” Tully pointed out with a sigh that reflected the impossibility of doing anything about it.

“What I cannot understand is what possessed Lieutenant Pym to take the
Unicorn
into such dangerous waters at a time notorious for hurricanes in search of a missing cutter when his clear duty—his direct order, indeed—was to track down an enemy frigate.”

Tully could offer no explanation and was too conscious of his own duty to offer criticism of a fellow officer other than by a sorrowful shaking of the head.