Corbeau's smile faded into a frown. 'You refuse to retire with your own husband?'

'I ... yes, in those circumstances. What do you take me for?'

'A woman,' he said. 'Who will obey me. Oh, I recognize that in many ways you are still a child, Georgy. It will be my pleasure, and Gislane's, too, I have no doubt, to make you into a woman. Will you assist madame, Gislane.'

Georgiana stared from him to the mustee, who moved forward, her face still impassive. 'You ... you will not do this,' she shouted. 'You will not. You ...' she swung her hand, and Gislane leaned backwards to avoid the blow. Then her arms were caught by Corbeau, and pulled behind her body.

He laughed in her ear. 'See how she flutters, Gislane. Do you remember fluttering like that, only a short while ago?' 'Yes, Louis.'

'You ...' Georgiana gasped for breath and kicked. But the mustee remained out of reach.

'I think I am going to be very happy,' Corbeau said, perhaps to himself. 'And do you know, I had wondered if a girl like this could ever truly make me happy. I told you to assist madame, Gislane.'

At last the black eyes moved, from Georgiana's face to Corbeau's, questioning, and receiving a nod of confirmation. Gislane came forward again, and Georgiana panted, and kicked again. But now she moaned with pain as well, as Corbeau twisted her arms, and there was no strength in her frantic movements. Gislane seized the thin material and pulled, and again. It ripped at the shoulders, slid down Georgiana's body, hung around her thighs for a moment, and then settled in a white mound on the floor.

'Bastard,' Georgiana screamed. 'Nigger lover. I hate you. By God, but Robert will kill you for this. Robert will...' she drummed her heels on the floor as she was dragged across it by her husband. Gislane was behind her now, and a moment later she was in the bed, and held there in turn while the mosquito netting was released to unfold, and leave the three of them confined and concealed within. Still she fought, twisting her body to and fro, kicking with her legs, but slowly the futility of it was reaching her, as Corbeau continued to smile down at her, and continued to hold her arms above her head.

And as Gislane slowly undressed, kneeling at the foot of the bed.

‘It occurred to me, this morning,' Corbeau said, 'that you had taken quite a liking to Gislane, Georgy. Or did you merely seek to humiliate her?'

'Bastard,' she shouted again. 'Wretch. Foul thing from the pit of hell.'

'But even wishing to humiliate someone reveals a considerable feeling for them,' he pointed out. 'Had that not been so, I would hardly be wishing to humiliate you now. And I do not, really mean to humiliate you, Georgy. Only the part of you that does not yet recognize that you are a Corbeau, and not a Hilton. Georgiana Hilton must be buried forever, together with her Hilton arrogance and her Hilton dignity and her Hilton prurience. I wish to replace all of those things with a Corbeau arrogance, with a Corbeau dignity, with a Corbeau ability to understand pleasure, and to take it. Only thus can we truly be man and wife. Only thus can you truly hope to attain, and hold my love.'

Georgiana panted, and heaved her body a last time, for Gislane was naked and kneeling beside her.

'You may kiss madame,' Corbeau said.

Gislane hesitated. 'Will she not bite me?'

Georgiana heaved and kicked; her legs were free. But they could not reach anyone.

'No.' Corbeau's face came lower, hovered over his wife's. 'You will not harm Gislane, Georgy. I made that plain earlier today. Do you remember?'

Georgiana sucked saliva into her mouth, pursed her lips to spit at him, and had her throat seized. She nearly choked.

'You will submit,' Corbeau said. 'To her, and to me. As we shall no doubt submit to you, my sweet. And besides, you do not want to fail yourself, do you? The ultimate reward, of possessing me, will go to the one of you who pleases me best. It would be a sad thing if, on your first night in your new home, you were bested by a cafe-au-lait:

Georgiana discovered that her arms were free. Slowly, painfully, she brought them down from above her head, and found them around Gislane's shoulders.

Dawn, and the sounds of an awakening sugar estate. For a moment Georgiana supposed that she was still on Hilltop. There was the same stealthy rustle throughout the house, the same muted bustle from the distance, where the slave gangs were beginning their task of weeding the fields, the same distant clangs from the blacksmith's shop and from the factory.

But there were other sounds as well, and these were unfamiliar to her: the constant rustle of trees by the river, the constant low rumble of surf, only a mile away on the beach where the Atlantic rollers came to a throbbing rest, and with these unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar smells; where Jamaica had smelt hot, and at times even parched, here the sea-breeze wafted gently through the bedchamber, and carried with it the accumulated moisture of the ocean. It was a clean smell, a healthy smell; it made her awake with a curiously clear head, a feeling that this day much could be accomplished.

And in a few moments it also brought memory. She sat up, her entire body clammy with sweat, her heart pounding, her cheeks burning. But she was alone in the bed. Although there could be no doubt, from these tumbled sheets, these body-scented pillows, that this bed had been shared, and shared, and shared.

Cautiously she stroked her lips, which were sore, and felt slightly swollen. Thoughtfully she pulled her fingers through her hair, which was tangled, and lay in a mass on her shoulders. Tentatively she rolled the sheet back from her waist, and the flesh on her left thigh seemed to turn blue as she looked at it. She could not remember receiving the bruise. But it could have been caused by any one of a number of embraces, of sudden movements, of passion-filled undulations. Because in time she had been as passion-filled as they. 'Oh, God,' she whispered. How could she ever look at them again? How could she ever look at anyone, again?

How could she ever look at herself, again?

The crisis was closer than she had suspected. Strong white fingers were reaching through the mosquito netting, to gather it into a cloud, and whisk it away from the bed, in the same movement securing it with its cord. The room ceased to be a mist and became startlingly clear, and almost cool. And the mustee stood by her bed, dressed in a blue gown, black hair severely restricted to the top of her head, magnificent face etched across the morning, unbruised and unmarked, black eyes as impassive as ever.

'Good morning, madame,' she said. 'I am afraid that I quite forgot to ascertain whether you preferred chocolate or coffee, and so I have had both prepared.'

Georgiana stared at her. Should I then, take your hand, and kiss it, she wondered? Or should I instead kiss your lips, your body, hold you once again in my arms, as you held me last night?

'Madame?' Gislane repeated, patiently.

'Coffee,' she said. 'I will have coffee. And a mirror.'

'Of course, madame.' Gislane fetched the mirror from the dressing-table, handed it to her mistress, then returned to the table for the cup of coffee. Georgiana found her hands trembling; she had to hold the glass in both hands to see herself. Georgiana Hilton. Oh, no, no, no, no. Georgiana Corbeau. Now, and forever more.

The coffee waited by her shoulder. She laid down the mirror and took the cup, and her fingers brushed the other's. She would not look at them, buried her nose in the cup as she sipped.

'It is ten o'clock, madame,' Gislane said. 'And your bath is waiting. The master went aback some hours ago, but he invariably returns at eleven, for breakfast. He has invited you to join him there.'

The master. Oh, God Almighty, the master. She had quite forgotten his existence. Because he had been the least important of the three of them. Until the very end. The very end, when she had been defeated and yet been allowed to possess the fruits of victory.

'It is her first night,' Corbeau had said, gently, smiling at her. 'We will allow her the honour.'

And Gislane had also smiled. Contemptuously? But then she had not cared.

Yet must she now ape the mustee's calm, her self-possession. 'And do you also attend breakfast, Gislane?'

'No, madame.' Gislane held up the undressing robe, and waited.

'But you have, before.'

'Yes, madame. For my first three months on Rio Blanco I was permitted to play the lady of the house. The master found it amusing.'

'And the master must always be amused. Does he ever punish you?'

'To punish me would be to destroy me, madame. The master is a very sensible man.'

'But he knows, your hatred. Does he not fear that you might poison him?'

'Of course not, madame. Should I poison the master, I would be executed, by the government. Had I not a strong desire to live, I could easily have found many less painful or humiliating ways of dying, during the past five years.'

Georgiana smiled at her. 'So, you are a coward, and a woman of no moral stature whatsoever. As I always suspected.' She got out of bed, turned her back to allow the undressing robe to be draped around her shoulders, and felt the fingers again. This time they rested on her flesh for a moment. No doubt deliberately.

'Indeed, madame. It has occurred to me that moral virtues have little to do with survival. The two things are incompatible.'

'And a philosopher,' Georgiana declared. 'But then, I have observed that philosophers are invariably also cowards. They prefer to meditate than to do. Yes, I am ready for my bath.'

Was she acting? She could not be sure. She sat in her tub, and this time the girls were allowed to remain, and assist Gislane in her ministrations. Because she was sated? Or because she was afraid that otherwise she might not be able to contain herself? Was she then realizing that her life on Hilltop had been no more than a primitive existence, magnificent as she thought it at the time? How Louis must have smiled, at their simplicity, their inadequacy.

How he must have wondered, if his chosen bride could possibly rise to the heights of opulent omnipotence, in thought and word and deed, which was his privilege.

A knock sounded on the door as she was being dried. Gislane glanced at her, and received a nod. The towel was wrapped around her shoulders, to hang down to the floor about her, while one of the maids hurried forward to open the pink and white satin.

'Madame de Morain, wishes to call upon Madame Corbeau.'

Gislane's glance was this time surprised. Georgiana smiled. 'Come in, Angelique. Come in.' She crossed the bedchamber, Gislane hurrying behind her to keep the towel in place. 'How good of you to call.'

Angelique de Morain swept into the room in a flurry of rustling skirts, looked around her for a moment, as if she was a stranger to this part of the chateau - which was something to know, at any rate, Georgiana decided - and then held out her arms to envelop the young woman. And kiss her on the cheek. Now, Georgiana thought, what would she say were I to kiss her on the mouth, seek out her tongue, allow my hands to stray from her shoulders. How long would it take that scandal to travel from one end of St. Domingue to the other.

'Oh, my dear,' Angelique cried. 'I just had to come and see if you were all right.'

She stepped back, and seemed to notice Gislane for the first time.

'But of course I am all right,' Georgiana declared. 'Did you suppose Louis had flogged me? You may see for yourself.' She shrugged herself free of the towel. 'Those marks are several days old.'

'Oh, my dear,' Angelique cried, and glanced anxiously at the servants.

'They are about to dress me.' Georgiana walked across the room to stand before the mirror, raising her arms to allow Gislane to spread the powder. 'You'll stay to breakfast, of course.'

'My dear,' Angelique said. But she advanced farther into the room. 'I should adore it, but I am on my way to Cap Francois. I but stopped ...'

'To make sure I was all right,' Georgiana said. 'I hope you are reassured.' She bobbed her head as Gislane dropped the shift over her shoulders.

'Oh, indeed I am reassured.' Angelique was frowning. 'You have not introduced me to your friend.'

'Friend?' Georgiana stared at them in the mirror, puckering her mouth in delicious bewilderment. 'I have no friends here, Angelique. Saving you, of course, my dear.' Once again she stared at the face behind her. 'Oh, you mean Gislane. Gislane is not a friend, my dear Angelique. She is my maid.'

'Your ...' Angelique de Morain's mouth made a perfect O.

'Her name is Gislane Nicholson. Of course, she is not only my maid. She is also Louis's housekeeper.' Angelique's mouth snapped shut.

'And she is not white, you know,' Georgiana said. 'She only appears to be white. She is ... what are you, exactly. Gislane?'

Was the girl angry? It was difficult to tell. There was not even colour in her cheeks. No doubt, during her years as a slave, she had heard herself discussed like a cow sufficiently often to become used to it.

'I am a mustee, madame,' Gislane said, quietly.

'Who hates me, and would kill me, had she the courage,' Georgiana said happily, nibbling Gislane's ear as her gown was settled in place and her sash secured.

'Good heavens,' remarked Angelique de Morain. 'I wonder you bear the creature's presence.'

'I do not know how I could exist without her,' Georgiana remarked, and wondered if she was not, on a sudden, telling the truth. 'Besides, you know, she makes Louis so very happy. Now come, Angelique. You'll at least take a cup of coffee?'

'No. No, I simply must rush. Isn't the news terrible?'

'News? What news?' It was Georgiana's turn to frown.

'The news from Paris, of course. There have been bread riots. Can you believe it? Rioting for bread? And then, that horrible business with the necklace.'

'What horrible business with the necklace? I must confess that I have never been to Paris.'

'Never been to Paris?' Angelique de Morain stared at her. 'My God.'

‘I have no doubt that Louis and I will be visiting Europe before very long,' Georgiana remarked. 'And of course then we shall go to Court.'

‘If it is still there,' said Angelique de Morain, in sepulchral tones. 'Well, I must be on my way.'

'Oh, you must at least explain your remark, madame. Tell me about this necklace.'

'It is obviously nothing you would understand, my dear child,' Angelique said. 'His Majesty, God bless him, was constrained to marry an Austrian woman, a most tactless and thoughtless princess, if I do speak treason. Her extravagance is incalculable, her ability to become involved in scandal limitless. And now, it seems, she has managed to become associated with certain known criminals, in the stealing of a diamond necklace she would wish to possess. Be sure it will but make the task of governing France that much more difficult. Ah, well, we must put our faith in Monsieur de Calonne. I was at school with his daughter, you know. A charming family. And a most competent man. I will bid you good-day, dear Georgiana. I look forward to seeing you at Morains.'

Gislane hurried forward to hold the door for her, but she only checked for a moment, to glance at the mustee. 'Have her whipped,' she said, half over her shoulder. 'Believe me, Louis will love you the more for a touch of spirit.'

The door closed behind her, but Gislane remained standing beside them.

'Pompous bitch,' Georgiana remarked.

'You matched her, madame. In spirit.'

'Yes, I did,' Georgiana agreed. 'Will my husband have returned yet?'

'No, madame. The clock has not yet struck the hour.'

Georgiana nodded, and seated herself at her escritoire. 'Did you enjoy last night, Gislane?'

'I am here to give pleasure, madame. Not receive it.'

'What nonsense. I have decided to be your friend. I think Louis is probably right, and your repeated avowal of hate is no more than a plan to preserve your identity. You see, I am quite as capable as he of thinking deeply. I think you well know that even had I not sent you back to the West Indies, and instead you had married some humdrum Englishman, or even Matt, indeed, you could never have enjoyed such luxury as you do now. He would certainly have lost his inheritance.'

Gislane remained standing by the door.

'So from this moment,' Georgiana said happily, 'you will indeed be my constant companion. My constant support. My constant love. Does that please you?'

'Of course, madame,' Gislane said.

'Because you never wish to forget, my sweet, that if Louis will presently not punish you, because, as you say, that would be to destroy you, there will certainly come a time when he will no longer care whether he destroys you or not. Have you thought of that?'

'Yes, madame.'

'And who will protect you then, but I, Gislane? All I ask in return is that you transfer your every allegiance, from Louis to me.' Georgiana began to write.

'Of course, madame.' Gislane left the door, stood by the desk.

'Good.' Georgiana finished her letter. 'Are you ever allowed to leave the plantation?' 'Of course, madame.'

Georgiana nodded. 'Then you will deliver this to the captain of a ship trading with Jamaica. Pay him well, and ask him to deliver it in Kingston. It is to my sister. You do not know her.'

Gislane took the letter. The master would prefer to know what you are writing to your family, madame.'

'Which is why I am giving the letter to you. Because be sure that if you betray me, he will tell me, and I will have you punished. I think that Madame de Morain is probably quite right, and were I to assert myself in Louis's absence, and have you whipped, he would be less angry with me for marking your skin than proud of me for my spirit. I wonder, indeed, if he does not merely seek to awaken more spirit in me. You would do well to remember that.'

Gislane gazed at her.

'Besides, I am inquiring after Matt's health. He was wounded, you know, in a duel, on my wedding day.'

Gislane's expression did not change.

'Badly wounded, I imagine,' Georgiana said. ‘I really must discover if he has recovered. So you will not betray me, Gislane. Will you?'

Gislane took the letter.

At midnight there was no sound but the whisper of the wind and the unceasing rumble of the surf. Even the mosquitoes were muted, and humanity slept. Where it could. And where it had no more urgent requirement.

There was no drum. There was never any drum, on Rio Blanco, at least never any drum audible from the house. The plantation was too enormous, the sea-breeze too unchanging. And soon there would be rain, as the clouds were swept out of the Atlantic; the night was already damp.

Gislane hurried along by the river, lost beneath the swaying shade trees. Behind her the chateau had faded into darkness, denoted by nothing more than the ever guttering lanterns on the verandahs. This night she had not been required. Almost she found it difficult to remember when last she had not been required, at once as a weapon between them and as a plaything for them both. But now at last Georgiana was pregnant, and Louis had taken himself to Cap Francois, in search of other pleasures. And she had been able to call for the drum.

She could hear it now, as she reached the limits of the canefields themselves. But now it was time to be herself, for a night. She knew where she was, exactly, standing by the last of the trees. She stopped, and waited for her breathing to settle. She had walked through the trees with her skirt held high to avoid the snagging branches. Now she lifted the gown over her head, carefully folded it, and placed it on the ground. She wore no shift, and for some moments stood there in the darkness and the gathering damp, naked, arms spread wide, mouth open and nostrils dilating as she breathed, hair tickling her back in the breeze, feeling the moisture gathering on her skin, raising nipple and pore, accumulating desire in her mind.

After some minutes she knelt by the tree and located the box, hidden beneath the great roots. No doubt many people knew it was there, but no one would tamper with the wardrobe of a mamaloi, and especially such a mamaloi. She opened the box, took out the blood-red robe, the blood-red turban for her head. The clothes smelt of damp and of earth, and of blood, too. It was an odour winch, inhaled in the refinement of her drawing-room in the chateau, would have made her retch. But it was an odour which belonged here in the darkness and the damp, which seemed to seep down her nostrils and into the very pit of her lungs, which alerted her every sense.

And now the drum was approaching, but a single beat, this, an almost military cadence, thrilling across the night. Gislane settled the robe on her shoulders, gathered her hair in a series of thick black coils on top of her head, concealed it with the turban. In the box she placed her gown, and then restored the box itself beneath the tree. Then she stepped away from the shade, and took her place in the centre of the path.

For the drum was close, and with it the people. They came up to her, and they bowed, and then reared upright again, and clapped their hands, once, twice as they passed her, and then went on their way, behind the drummer. All save one, who walked erect in their midst, lungs swelling as he breathed, height enhanced by the posturing about him, head turning neither to left nor right, drawn onwards by the throb of the drum, by the embracing power of the drug he had been fed.

There were no other animals, this night.

But now the column was all but past her, saving only those who walked behind. Here were two men, much of a size, tall and strong, so similar in build and in demeanour they might have been brothers. Gislane frowned at them, and stepped between them, joining in the chant as she did so, arching her back to bring her body forward, then rearing back and throwing her arms high into the air above her, joining their movements exactly.

'Do they come?' she whispered, even as she chanted.

'They say the time is not yet,' Boukman replied.

'Then who is this one?'

'His name is Henry. He comes from Toussaint. He bids us be patient.'

'Henri?' Gislane said.

'Henry,' said the tall young man. 'The name was given to me by my first master, in St. Kitts.'

Gislane looked at him more closely. Here was power, only thinly disguised beneath his so obvious youth; she doubted he was any older than she. And he was also English?

'Our people will not wait,' she said. 'You have heard?'

'Of your master's sport,' Henry said. 'We have heard. But the time is not yet. The prophecy has not yet been fulfilled.'

'Prophecy?' she asked.

'It was given on this very plantation,' Henry said.

'By Celeste,' Gislane said. 'But Celeste is dead. How may a mamaloi truly die? Where is the value of this prophecy?'

'Yet will our friends wait upon it,' Henry insisted.

'And our people?' Gislane demanded. They will not wait forever, while they are slaughtered to suit the whim of a madman. Nor will they listen to an Englishman.'

'Then call me Christophe,' Henry said. 'It is the name given to me by my new master. Yet must it be your responsibility to have them wait. If they do not, they will have us all slaughtered, and by the soldiers.'

The drummer had reached the appointed place, a clearing in the canefield, and here he halted, without ceasing his rhythmical beat. The devotees, every man and every woman a person of note in the Negro community, walked round the clearing, to form a wall of humanity, much as the Negroes in Nevis had formed a wall around the clearing on the first occasion she had attended a voodoo ceremony, and thought that she had discovered the secret of all secrets, without understanding that the slaves of Nevis, in their poverty of mind no less than imagination, had no more than aped a memory. But that was an eternity ago, and now she must persuade these people that they obeyed the dictates of their god, by patiently waiting for the day of blood. She knew how she would do this, as she had arranged this evening, the moment she had learned of Corbeau's determination to visit Cap Francois. She knew, but she was not sure she believed.

And the moment was at hand. The drugged Negro had taken his place in the centre of the clearing, sitting cross-legged immediately in the centre of a shaft of moonlight, shoulders square and head erect, body a gleaming testimony to the magnificence that can be man. On either side of him waited a young woman, each holding a palm leaf, bodies rigid with tense expectation. And the drum-beat had altered, perhaps insensibly, reaching ever deeper into the senses, summoning all the powers of belief it possessed.

So then, did she believe? Would she be able to fulfil her sacred mission, as taught her by Boukman?

She walked away from the men, and into the centre of the circle, stood next to the young man. Her head spun with the rhythm of the drum; she knew the frenzied tearing at her self-control which was coming ever closer to the surface. And the drum was getting louder.

She threw her arms to heaven, and shouted. 'Hear me, O mighty one. Hear me, O Serpent, Damballah Oueddo. Hear my prayer, and promise me deliverance for my people.' She paused, and breathed, and listened to the moaning chant which arose from around her. She filled her lungs with air. 'How long, great Agone, Master of all the Oceans of the World, must we wait? Hear me, O mighty lord. Speak to me, great Loco, Lord of the Trees. Grant me and my people thy sign of deliverance. Come to me, Gentle Ezilee, sweet maitresse, and take from my mind, from my body, the very last weakness.' Once again she paused, and now the chant had grown louder. And now sweat ran down her arms and body and legs as if it were raining. And once again her lungs were full. 'Come to me, O mighty Ogone Badagris. Come to my people, O Dreadful One. Lead us to war, as is thy purpose. Grant us an end to all white people. Grant us the mood of hate and cruelty, that their destruction may be known throughout the world, and forever. Grant us revenge, O Dreadful One, for the wrongs that are daily committed upon us. Grant us now a sign, my lords, that our prayers are heeded.'

She gasped, and fell to her knees, exhausted. She felt rather than saw Boukman leave the circle of devotees, knew rather than observed the machete he carried, blade honed to a razor-sharp perfection. She wanted to get up again. She wanted to scream, no, no, no, I did not mean a word of it, I do not understand what power I set in motion here, I do not know ... and now I am afraid, O Mighty Serpent. But she moved nothing, save her head, which slowly came upright, to watch Boukman before the young man, neither man even blinking his eyes, as the hougan threw back his head and screamed to his gods in an unknown tongue, and then whirled the cutlass around his own head, and with a single unbelievable sweep of the razor-sharp sword swept through the neck of the victim.

The head fell forward, and the machete had been dropped. Boukman caught the head, his great hands immediately smeared with blood, while the two girls hastily fanned the still upright, blood-spouting neck with vigorous anxiety; should but a speck of dirt, a single insect, settle on the tortured flesh, the sacrifice would be a failure.

She forced herself to watch. Because I am not seeing, she told herself. I am dreaming, as I surely dreamed that first night on Hodges, as I have surely dreamed ever since. But the blood spurting from the severed arteries held her spellbound.

And now Boukman was advancing again, having held the dripping head high to present it to the worshippers. Slowly he advanced, and slowly he replaced the head, carefully, exactly, while in that moment another young woman threw a large piece of red cloth over the dead man.

The dead man? Within seconds his feet began to move, and then his arms, and the throbbing of the drum had resumed command over all their senses. The young man's mask was taken away, and he was unchanged, but shuffling and posturing immediately in front of her, calling her to her feet, calling her to discard her gown, calling her to take his sex as he would take hers. And the drum was reaching a crescendo, even as she was impaled. By a dead man? She clung to his shoulders, nails tight in his flesh, as he whirled her round and round, her feet also lost from the ground, and thrust himself against her, time and again. But she scarce felt him, now, so persistent, so irresistible, was the beat of the drum. And of course it was no more than an illusion, a gigantic trick, perpetrated by the rhythm of the drum, by the mood of the worshippers. A trick in which she had been a willing assistant, their mamaloi. For certainly it could not be real. This thought swung through her mind time and again, as the dancing grew more frenzied, as she lost her young man and found herself with others, and in time as the drummers themselves grew exhausted and she lay beneath the trees, cradled in Boukman's arms, weeping like a babe from overstretched desire and overstretched fear. A trick, an illusion, necessary to bring these people to the pitch where they would kill, and die, and suffer, for their freedom.

Her head was on Boukman's chest, and his chest was wet. She raised a hand, and stroked her chin, and held the finger in front of her eyes, in the moonlight, and looked at the blood. And shuddered.

His hands were on her shoulders. 'It is said how you are the white woman's friend,' he whispered. ‘Nay, her inseparable companion. It is said that you share her bed, and her body.'

'It is the wish of Corbeau,' Gislane whispered. 'And you do not love her?'

Gislane looked at her finger. 'When the time comes,' she whispered, 'I have changed my mind. You may give Corbeau to his people. Give me the woman. Oh, Boukman, grant me that, and they will hear her scream in Africa.'

Boukman's lips brushed hers. 'It shall be. You shall have them both, my woman.'

Movement, and she rolled on her back, her head still resting on her lover's chest. Christophe stood above them.

‘It is good,' he said. 'Ogone Badagris has sent his sign, that he is there, and will listen. Toussaint will be pleased.'

'But still we must wait,' Boukman said.

'It is the prophecy.' Christophe knelt beside them, and slowly reached out. He had not touched her during the dance, and she had wished for it. He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen, saving only Boukman himself. But now he touched her, taking first her hair, and then lifting her hand, to look at the white skin, to hold it for a moment against his own. Then he released her, and stood up again. 'Toussaint will be pleased,' he said again, and vanished into the night.

chapter fifteen

THE PROSECUTOR

Bang, bang, bang, went the shutters, each crash accompanied by the rasp of the steel bolts being dropped into place to hold the greenheart timbers against the strongest gusts. And with each bang the house grew darker. Matt could hear the men on the roof, hastily placing boards across the skylights, thudding their nails into the shingles to protect the glass. Christ, how inadequate he felt, when there was so much to be done.

'Papa. There is to be a storm.' Tony raced into the room, as he raced everywhere. 'Maurice says the sky is black.'

Behind him crawled his brother Richard, hardly more than a year old, determinedly following his guide and mentor wherever he could. Both boys were clearly Hiltons, as much in their fair hair as in their features. But then, how could they be anything else?

'Aye.' Matt sank back on the cushions. 'But we will be safe in here. Hilltop has stood up to enough hurricanes in the past.'

Tony crawled on to the couch, leaving poor Dick to scrabble at the legs. 'Were you in them, Papa? Were you? Tell us.'

'I remember one, when I was scarce older than you,' Matt said. 'But that was on Green Grove.' He scratched his son's head, and wondered what the little fellow thought of a father who could hardly move, whom the effort of crawling down a flight of stairs left utterly exhausted. And it was more than twelve months since Mounter had cut the bullet from his chest; the pain remained. He looked at his hands, so thin and wasted. Those hands had once upon a time been able to fell a man like a blow from an axe. Would they ever do so again?

Richard started to cry, a high-pitched wail, as he realized he was not going to be able to reach his brother.

‘You'd best help him,' Matt suggested. He could not even lift his own babe, in safety.

But the wail brought Sue hurrying up the stairs. Her hair was wrapped in a bandanna, and her gown was untidy and stained; she had been working as hard as anyone to prepare the house for the shock of the wind. 'He's not hurt?'

'Just impatient,' Matt said. 'I can hardly blame him for that.'

She scooped the boy from the floor, set him on the couch, stooped to kiss her lover; the divorce was still pending, although there could be no doubt of it now. On the other hand, could he really permit her to marry a cripple?

'You are hot,' she said. "You've not been fretting again?'

'And should I not?' he demanded. 'To lie here, every breath a painful memory, with no news ...'

'Well calm yourself,' she recommended. 'Because today there is news. We have a visitor.'

'Tom.' He sat up, looking past her at the always plump figure in the doorway.

'Matt. You're looking well.'

'Don't lie to me, old friend.'

'But you are. I swear it. Much improved on the last time.'

‘I wish you'd be convinced of that, Matt,' Sue said, and sat beside him. 'It is a miracle you are not dead. How can you expect to snap your fingers and be again the man you were? These things take time.'

'Time. The world does not stand still. Does the chapel prosper, Tom?'

'In its small way. I have a congregation, of sorts. And Manton is a tower of strength.'

'And no assaults?'

'Oh, they have forgotten my existence, with you absent. Although I doubt things will remain that way for long.'

'News?' Matt sat up, and Sue threw her arm around his shoulders.

'These sudden movements are not good for you, sweetheart.' She rang the little brass bell on the table. 'Maurice. We will have some punch.'

'News.' Coke sat on the far end of the couch, removed Richard from around his ankles, and opened his satchel. 'Have you ever heard of a fellow called Clarkson?'

Matt shook his head.

'He cannot be much older than yourself,' Coke said. 'From Cambridge. I thought perhaps you'd have met.' ‘I attended Oxford.'

'All. Well, he has written a pamphlet concerning the ills of slavery. Essay on the Slavery and Commerce of the Human Species, he has called it.'

'And that is news? Some undergraduate has thoughts on slavery?'

'Ah, but he is no longer an undergraduate. And his pamphlet has caused a stir. Questions are being asked in the House of Commons not the Assembly. There is talk of a Parliamentary inquiry into the conditions in the West Indies. Of a society to promote the Abolition of the Trade, at the very least. And not just churchmen, this time.'

Matt took his glass from the tray held by the butler. 'They will talk, and talk, and talk. But they will not do.'

'Now that I cannot say. But I have here a letter from Nevis, for you.'

'Nevis?' Matt snatched at the envelope.

'Dearest,' Sue begged. 'You must control yourself.'

Matt slit the envelope, glanced at the contents. His friends watched the animation drain from his face.

'Well?' Coke demanded.

'It is from Captain Nelson.'

'And is that not good news?'

'Not entirely. He invites us to his wedding, Sue. Should it ever take place.'

'They have not quarrelled?'

'Not they. But he has managed to antagonize every planter in Nevis, and not merely by taking my side in the slavery matter. There is also a small matter of his seizing four American vessels out of Charleston Harbour, for contravening the Navigation Acts. Well, 'tis certain they were breaking the law. But I do not recall even Rodney being so bold in time of peace.'

'And the other business?' Sue asked. 'The indictment of Hodge?'

'Nothing. Loman had of course to refer the matter to his Governor, in Antigua, and Shirley sits, and waits. Nelson says, "the rumour is that he waits for you to be strong enough to take the stand." Then will he wait forever, no doubt. But he says more. "To be frank with you, Matt, I cannot pretend to be sorry that your cause, and more especially Fanny's testimony, has come to rest in a pigeon-hole. It will certainly cause some tumult here. And Nevis is at last promised prosperity. A hot spring has been discovered, bubbling out of the mountain, with the most marvellous health-giving qualities, it is said. People are already speaking of Fanny's little island as the Bath of the West Indies." There speaks a friend.'

'You cannot blame him,' Sue said, 'As he would seem to have problems enough. But Shirley ... there is the worst of colonial governors. He fears for his place, for his salary, should he antagonize the planters.'

'Yet did I have Loman's word.'

'Oh, indeed. But without the Governor's aid you can do nothing.' She sucked her lower hp beneath her teeth in a peculiarly thoughtful gesture, and glanced at Coke, almost apologetically. 'Sweetheart,' she said. 'If you will forgive me, do you not think that you have done all you can in this matter? That you have indeed all but given your life in this entirely futile cause? Do you not suppose that you might owe it to me, and to your sons, to make a life for yourself? Especially if Tom is right, and Parliament itself is taking an interest in our affairs. Can you not now rest on your laurels, and leave the burden to more powerful backs?'

Matt stared at her, and in despair she turned to Coke. 'Can you not persuade him, Tom? Even you must see that ours is a forlorn hope.'

Coke licked his lips. 'Well, I ... Sue, it is I must beg your forgiveness. But once you told me that you would not have Matt as otherwise than a man who did, rather than inherited.'

'Once,' she said. 'Perhaps I did not know then what I said.

'Sue ...' Matt protested.

'He can keep on trying, and we can keep on supporting him,' Coke said, with unusual vehemence. 'All is not dark. The real reason for my visit is that I also have some news, from St. John's, of which perhaps your friend Horatio is unaware.'

Matt frowned at him. 'Good news?'

‘I think so. It is that Shirley has been recalled. His term of office has expired, certainly.'

'And his successor will be of a different stamp?' Sue demanded.

'I think there is a chance. His name is Hugh Elliott. You've heard it, I imagine. He is a brother of Lord Minto, and is thus scarce dependent on his salary, like Shirley. You'll be sure of a disinterested hearing, at the very least, Matt.'

'By heaven,' Matt shouted. 'You are right. I will to Nevis once again, and ...'

'You'll wait until you are fully restored to health, I hope,' Suzanne said. 'And in any event, where is the point until the new man actually takes up his office? And this time, I will accompany you. Robert can play the good uncle, for once in a while. Am I not right darling brother?' For they could hear the stamping feet and the barking terriers, and a moment later Robert was in the room.

'What? What? Here again?' he shouted at Coke. 'Are we to become a meeting place for revolutionaries?'

'Oh, take a glass of punch, Robert,' Sue suggested. 'Dr. Coke has merely brought letters, and risked the wind to do so.'

'Wind?' Robert demanded. 'It is not here, yet.'

'It will be here soon enough. Listen,' she said. 'There is the first of the rain. You'll spend the night, Tom. It will scarce be safe to return to Kingston.'

'Why, I... I doubt Mr. Hilton will second that idea.'

'Of course he will,' Sue said. 'Robert?'

'By God,' Robert declared. 'By God. You'll not credit this, Coke, but I doubt I am still master in my own house. Thanks to this... pair of scoundrels, I am quite cut off from polite conversation. Even the governor is afraid to have me to cards of a Saturday night, for fear there is a challenge. The presence of Matt under my roof suggests to all my erstwhile friends that I am a supporter of these ridiculous ideas. His living here in open immorality with my own sister is brought against me even in church, so that I never attend the thing any more ...'

Sue burst out laughing. 'Oh, really, Robert. When did you last attend church, save for a wedding or a funeral?'

'And my other sister,' he continued, as if she had not spoken, 'has disappeared into the arms of foreigners. A year now, she has been married, and not a letter. Not a line. Not a message, save her affection. And she is a mother.'

'Then how ...' Coke inquired.

'Louis writes,' Sue said. 'Constantly. Oh, he makes his excuses for Georgy, says she is far too busy. The fact is she was ever a poor correspondent. During her two years in England we never heard from her once.'

'At least she is in an honourable state,' Robert grumbled. 'But truth to say ... I think you should pay her a visit, Sue. She may need your support. Surrounded by foreigners. And that Corbeau ...'

'Oh, I agree,' Sue said. 'But there you have the very reason I will stay in Jamaica, if you do not mind. He looks at a woman as if he is stripping her naked with his eyes. I have no doubt that in the privacy of his own home he goes further than that. Georgy chose to marry him, not

'Jealous,' Robert bawled. 'That's what you are, jealous. She has married a man, not a puling preacher who cannot hold a pistol.'

'By Christ,' Matt said, attempting to get up.

'Oh, hush, sweetheart,' Sue said, both arms round his shoulders. 'He must babble, like a stream. He means no harm.'

'By God,' Robert shouted. 'By God.'

'Ahem,' Coke said. ^‘I think I should endeavour to return to Kingston before the storm breaks. I doubt that my presence really is of use here.'

'You'll stay the night,' Sue said. 'Robert?'

'Oh, sit you down, Coke,' Robert shouted. 'Sit you down. What, man, would you know us if we did not fight amongst ourselves? Our name is Hilton, Dr. Coke. You'll not forget that.'

With the following spring, Matt found himself able to leave the house, although he could sit a horse for no more than a few minutes, and Sue invariably insisted that he be driven in the trap, either by her or by one of the footmen. She continued to profess herself satisfied with his progress, as was Dr. Mounter.

'What?' the surgeon would demand. 'A bullet through the chest? The odds on your survival at all were at least a hundred to one. Had you not possessed the constitution of an ox you would have died in a week.'

'And what of my constitution now, do you think?' Matt would ask.

'These things take time, Matt. Time. How long has it been? Scarce two years? But now it is all upwards, boy. You have but to take care, and you can count the months, rather than the years.'

To mend his shattered muscles, his cracked bones. Not to assuage his spirit, which caused them far more concern. As if time mattered, now. Once he had supposed that to wait four months, in Statia, for the arrival of Gislane in Nevis, was quite impossible. And so he had found a sweeter solace than he had had any right to expect. Now the solace was there, all the time, caring for him, keeping him company, mothering his children, with the utmost patience and good humour, while he could not but wonder what went on behind those steady blue eyes, as he had wondered from the very beginning, whether she understood that she might have made a dreadful mistake in leaving the solid comfort and support of Dirk Huys to follow a boy who seemed destined to flounder through a morass for all of his life, and who for some time now had scarce been able to pay her a man's attention.

The matter came to a head with the formal pronouncement of the ending of her marriage to Dirk, in the summer of 1788. The morning after the letter arrived they clung to each other with more than usual vehemence. 'You are still beautiful, Sue,' Matt said. ‘You must be the most beautiful thirty-year-old in all the world.'

She kissed him on the chin. 'Save that I am not yet thirty, sweetheart. You do me an injustice.'

'And will a few months change you?' Christ, how he loved to touch that velvet flesh, caress those swelling breasts, feel the power in those long legs.

'And do you then, love only my body?' she asked, biting his chin. 'And are therefore preparing to tire of me and discard me?'

'I could not love you more, sweetheart, were our positions reversed, and you lying here unable to do more than twitch. I love the very thought of you. I am ready to weep when I consider your unending support of me. I shudder to consider the boredom you must experience, with no company other than Robert. As for desertion, I was considering requesting you to abandon so lost a cause in your own favour.'

'I am your wife,' she said. 'In intent, if not yet in law.' And then flushed.

'It is because I love you so much that I hesitate to face you to that irrevocable step,' he said. 'I am a wretched fellow, dependent upon my cousin's charity, bound to cause trouble wherever I go ...'

'You are a Hilton.'

'Yet you know as well as I our marriage should wait, until I have finished with this business.'

'Until you can forget Gislane, you mean,' she said quietly. 'Sue ...'

'Sweetheart, let us at the least always be honest with each other. You love me. I know that, in your gaze, in your touch. But you cannot be sure you would not love her more, should she reappear in your life.'

'You can say that, so calmly?'

'I can wait, too, until we neither of us have any more doubts. As for Robert, he is as glad to have us here as we are to be here, I am sure. He is a lonely man, and you must have seen enough of him these past years to know that he is only half the tyrant he pretends. Were you but to make the slightest effort, you and he could be the best of friends. You'll not have forgotten this is a matter which could be of some importance to Dick and Tony.'

‘It is a matter which has long been settled, and there's an end to it.' Matt got out of bed and began to dress, how slowly, how awkwardly, afraid to exert the slightest effort that might revive the breath-taking agony in his chest. 'In any event, for me to play the planter now would be hypocrisy.'

'Yet can you be his friend,' she insisted, drawing up her knees and resting her chin. Tour problem is one of boredom. You sit here, and brood, and imagine. So you'd not return to planting. I would not have you perjure your every ideal. It is not the only occupation a gentleman may follow.'

'In Jamaica?'

'Well ... you could write.'

'You jest.'

'I see no reason why not. If Billy Beckford's son could compose a novel, surely Ned Hilton's son could so as well. Have you read Vathek?’

'Now really ,sweetheart, when have I had the time to read?'

'I am just pointing out that your problem is too much time. And you might enjoy it. It is an utter fable, and quite indecent. But I actually did not think of novel writing. You claim to be a leader in the field of abolition, and Tom says it is the coming thing in England, and you know with what undisciplined zeal the English literati throw themselves upon any new ideas, any new person they might suitably devour. At the least devouring you will be difficult at a distance of four thousand miles. But you can scarce do less than help your cause.'

She was right, as always. He knew that, and followed her suggestion. He wrote long letters to Mr. Wilberforce and Tom Clarkson, to Mr. Fox and Lady Montagu, and was encouraged by their answers. He outlined the situation in the West Indies, and pointed to the increasing moral degeneracy of the plantocracy, as sons born to wealth and unlimited power too often gave in to that power. As he grew stronger, he took to riding, into town, to assist Coke and Manton with their services, at which growing numbers of Negroes attended every week, as the word got around that there would be no more midnight visitations to the Wesleyan Chapel. For indeed the Jamaica plantocracy, following the strange events of the Corbeau wedding, seemed determined to kill the Methodists by ignoring them, rather than by directly opposing them. Or more likely, Matt thought, now that Robert had been forced, however unwillingly, into taking the side of his sister and her lover, they just lacked a capable leader. He could not help but wonder what might be achieved could Robert, by some means, be forced into lending them his active rather than his passive support. But Robert forbade the discussion of slavery or religion inside Hilltop, and would stamp from the room should anyone defy him.

And for all his endless activity, his surge of growing strength, his delight in his sons as they left babyhood behind, and his even greater delight in the unchanging splendour of Suzanne's love, he continued to fret. The pending case against Hodge was more even than a crusade of vengeance for the supposed fate of Gislane Nicholson; it was all that had kept him alive after his wound. But now the months became years, and indeed it was already several years since the date of Manton's deposition and Fanny Nisbet's supporting testimony. She would have to be called Fanny Nelson, now. It had been decided that in view of his health and his unpopularity amongst the whites, it would be unwise for him to visit Nevis for the wedding; but apparently the occasion had been splendid enough as the planters, on learning that Prince William would himself give the bride away, had decided to let bygones be bygones, at least as regards Nelson. Soon enough the entire business would fall under the statute of limitations, and the campaign would have to begin again.

Supposing it ever could. His hopes rose and fell, as they had bounded when Coke had told him of Shirley's imminent departure, and fallen as the word imminent, when applied to a governor, had seemed to be a matter of two years, and rose again when Shirley did indeed retire, and fell again as Hugh Elliott's arrival was delayed, and rose again when the new lieutenant governor was finally installed. Then he would have gone to Nevis on the instant, but Suzanne and Tom persuaded him at least to write first, to discover if the new governor was of a more definite stamp than Shirley. This he did, as usual obeying her suggestion, and once again was delighted to receive an early reply. But the envelope contained nothing more than an acknowledgement of his letter, and a promise that the matter would be investigated. Then there was silence, as the months stretched into another year, until Matt almost determined to have done with it, and being obviously unable to obtain the slightest justice in the West Indies, to return to England, where the Anti-Slavery Movement was gaining adherents every day.

To his surprise, this was opposed by Sue. 'I am selfish, I know,' she said. 'But I belong here, on Jamaica, in the heat and the peace of Hilltop. Everything Georgy ever told me about London is a criticism.'

'Yet will Tony at the least soon be going,' he pointed out.

'What rubbish.'

'All the Hiltons attend Eton,' Matt said. 'Robert has already spoken to me on the matter. It would seem that he is well on the way to becoming reconciled, at least with his bastard nephews. You are in favour of that, judging by your ideas for myself.'

'It cannot possibly take place for another five years, at the earliest,' she insisted. 'Why, Robert? Whatever is the matter?'

Her brother stamped into the room, as usual. In the past three years he had strangely aged, Matt thought, his hair becoming increasingly grey at the temples, and his limp more pronounced. No doubt all his erring family had a share in that responsibility, but Georgy had ever been his favourite.

'There are letters,' he shouted. 'Letters. One from Rio Blanco. From Georgy, if you please. Oh, Corbeau penned it, but she appended her signature. Quite the grand lady she is become.'

'And what does she say?' Sue inquired.

'Why, very little. Francis is doing well, and Oriole is as pretty as a picture. Mother talk. She is going to visit Paris as soon as the present troubles are over, to see about the boy's education. It would be a good idea for you to take Tony over as well, Sue. Then the two boys can get to know each other; there is hardly more than a year between them. And you can tell me something more of Georgy.'

'When the present troubles are over,' Sue reiterated. 'The nation is bankrupt. How do you cure that especial trouble?'

'Aye,' Robert said, sitting down with a sigh. ‘I cannot say Corbeau's letter - he has written as well - is any more cheerful. He says that by all accounts since the fall of the Bastille the nation is quite undisciplined. And worse, he says that the irresponsible pronunciamentos of this National Assembly they have got themselves is causing unrest amongst the mulattoes in St. Domingue. Damned French. They'd better not export any of their wild ideas to Jamaica.'

'And are there no other letters?' Sue inquired.

'Eh? Oh, from Barton, of course. Prices are falling. There is no news like bad news, what? Oh, and there is one for you, Matt, from that madman Elliott.'

'Antigua?' Matt snatched at the envelope, broke the seal, his heart pounding.

'Well?' Sue cried. 'What does he say?'

'Listen,' Matt shouted. 'Listen. He begs my indulgence for the length of time it has taken him to reply to my letter. But then he writes, "as soon as I was permitted time from my official functions, you may be sure I had a search made of the archives here, and indeed found not only your deposition, but the man Manton's statement and Mrs. Nisbet's confirmation of much of his evidence. However, I am sure you will understand, Mr. Hilton, that this being a matter of such gravity, and likely to cause such a disturbance in West Indian opinion, as well as to create a precedent of incalculable effect were the case ever to come to court, that I deemed it my duty to refer the testimonies and the whole matter to their Lords of Trade and Plantations, who are all of our masters. My Lords, again with some reason, considered it necessary to refer the whole business to the Chancellor, and these matters, you will appreciate, Mr. Hilton, take time." '

'Time,' Sue said. 'A century, no doubt.'

'Bah,' Robert said. 'The fellow acted sensibly, for once. They'll never indict Hodge.'

'Well, then, listen,' Matt said. ' "You will no doubt be pleased to learn that I have now heard from their Lordships, to the effect that they have received learned opinion that Mr. Hodge has far exceeded his authority over his slaves in his unwarranted and unchristian mistreatment of them, and that, should I proceed against him at law, I will receive their full support."'

'By God,' Robert said.

'Oh, Matt,' Sue cried, throwing both arms around his neck. 'You've won.'

'Not yet. The case must still be heard, and the jury will be planters,' Matt said, continuing to scan the letter. 'Indeed, he begs my continued patience, as there is much to be done and to be arranged. But the indictment has gone ahead, and indeed he says, "By the time you read this letter, James Hodge, and his wife, if I can manage it, will be in gaol awaiting trial for murder."'

'By God,' Robert said again.

'And you?' Sue asked.

'I am to hold myself, and Manton, in readiness to take ship for Nevis to give evidence. Mistress Nelson, alas, is now living in England, and the governor would prefer not to recall her on so long and dangerous a voyage to testify, but he feels sure that it will not be necessary, in view of the position of her uncle, and her own known character. Her deposition should be sufficient.' He put down the letter. 'At last.'

'At last,' Sue said.

'By God,' Robert said. 'You'll be stoned in the street, when this gets about.'

'Well, then,' Sue said. 'They'd best throw straight, because I will be at his side. You can play the father for a season, Robert dear.'

Robert elected to accompany them, with the boys, at least as far as Kingston.' 'Twill be the last time I shall see you,' he declared, 'for at least a year. And perhaps longer. You have no idea how drawn out can be a trial. And a trial of this nature, without precedent ... why, judging by the list of names Elliott supplies in his last letter, he is calling almost every person in Nevis, other than the slaves themselves, who can possibly have ever visited Hodges.'

'No doubt it is the prosecutor's business to make the case as certain as possible,' Sue suggested.

'Oh, it is. Although I wonder if he will not be concealing the wood with an overabundance of trees. There is no man here, I'd wager ..:' he waved the letter, 'who can testify to having seen the crimes of which Hodge stands accused. It is all hearsay evidence. Without Manton the case would very likely fall to the ground. And many a heart would beat the more pleasantly should it do so.'

'Yours also, cousin?' Matt demanded.

'Aye, by God,' Robert growled. 'We'll not keep planting what it is by prosecuting every planter who strikes a slave.'

'Strikes a slave,' Matt shouted. 'Why, by heaven ..

'Oh, cease your perpetual quarrelling,' Sue cried, and hugged the two boys closer, one on each side. 'The matter will be resolved close enough.'

The carriage rumbled down the road into Kingston itself, taking the way by the Wesleyan Chapel, where they were to be joined by Coke and Manton. And indeed the chapel was already in sight, and surrounded by a considerable number of people, mostly black. Paul, the coachman, dragged on the reins, as the crowd spread across the road.

'What's this?' Robert shouted. 'What's this, by God?' He spied Coke, having his hand wrung time and again. 'What's this, doctor? A riot?'

'On the contrary, Mr. Hilton; these good people have come to wish us God speed. It is their battle we fight no less than any slave's, you know. Good morning to you, Sue. Matt. I have never seen you looking better.'

'I have never felt better,' Matt said. 'The summons to Nevis was just what my health needed, I suspect. Manton, why so pale?'

The erstwhile overseer climbed into the carriage behind Coke. ' 'Tis the world we are about to shake, Mr. Hilton. Good morning Mr. Hilton. Mistress Huys.'

'By God,' Robert growled, as the carriage once again slowly moved forward, and the Negroes gave a cheer. 'You mean they know where you are going, what you are about?'

'Why, sir,' Coke declared, 'the news is all over Kingston. Has been for some time, indeed. What, Hodge arrested? There can have been no other topic of conversation this last month.'

'Only Hodge,' Matt muttered. 'This Elliott perhaps lacks the backbone we had hoped. Did you not estimate she is by far the worst of the pair, Manton?'

'In my time, she was, Mr. Hilton.'

'Still, it is hard to see any white jury condemning a white woman for ill-treating a black,' Sue pointed out. 'Perhaps the governor acted wisely, after all. Whatever is that racket?'

'By God,' Robert said, and pushed his head out of the window. 'Paul?'

'A lot of people, Mr. Robert,' Paul said.

'Shouting, and waving sticks,' Coke remarked, also looking out of the window. 'There is your riot, Mr. Hilton.'

'By God,' Robert said. 'Drive through them, Paul. Drive through them. They'll know who it is, by God.'

'Them's white people, Mr. Robert,' the coachman protested.

'Scum,' Robert bellowed. 'The sweepings of Kingston, I'll be bound. Charge them, Paul. Charge them. Gad that I had my pistols.'

'No violence, sir, I beg of you,' Coke protested.

'Mama?' Tony asked. 'What can all those people want?'

Sue's face was pale. 'I imagine they disapprove of your father's point of view,' she said.

The noise grew louder. Now they all looked out of the windows at the mass, gathered in the main square before the harbour. Almost all the faces were white, and there were women as well as men in the mob. And while Robert was right in supposing that the main part were poorly dressed, there were a few on horseback, and wearing decent clothing. And all were brandishing at the least fists, with several sticks to be seen waving in the air. What they were saying was mainly a confused babble, but now someone seemed to have obtained a speaking horn.

'The Hilton coach,' he bellowed. 'The Hilton coach.

'My God,' Manton said. 'They mean violence.' 'Spill me out?' Robert shouted. 'Spill me out, by God?' Sue opened the speaking hatch. 'Turn off, Paul,' she shouted. 'There must be a side street. Turn off.' 'Run from a mob?' Robert bawled. 'I have my children,' she insisted.

Matt took Manton's place by the window; the overseer was trembling. The coach began to bear to the right, where the crowd was thinnest, and where there was a side street leading parallel with the harbour. But at the sight of Matt's face a stone struck the coach beside him. Hastily he withdrew, but now the people were massed in front of the vehicle, having run across the square to do so, and Paul was dragging on the reins and on the brake, causing the horses to rear and squeal.

‘Keep down,' Sue snapped at her sons. 'Keep down.'

'By God,' Robert shouted, as the carriage was surrounded by yelling humanity, and swung to and fro by hands on the body as well as on the wheels.

'My good people,' Coke shouted, but his voice was lost in the din.

Sue screamed, and the right side of the carriage was lifted bodily from the cobbles. For a moment it hung there, teetering on its left-hand wheels, while the people on that side ran in every direction, and those inside went tumbling across, desperately trying to save themselves. Then the entire vehicle fell over with a tremendous crash, and Paul jumped from the box with a wail of terror.

The interior was filled with dust, but from the shouts and curses Matt estimated no harm was done to any of them. He groped for Sue, found her, and squeezed her hand. 'We'd best get the boys out,' he said.

'Into that crowd?' She coughed and spat dust.

'They'll not harm you, Sue. Nor the boys. Give me a hand, Manton. Are you all right, Robert?'

'By God,' Robert said. 'By God. I'll have my whip to that scum if it is the last thing I do, by God. Couldn't they see the crest? Didn't they know it is the Hilton coach?'

Coke was also coughing. 'I'm afraid they knew that best of all.'

'Up you go, Manton,' Matt said, shouting to make himself heard above the din for the mob had once again gathered around the overturned equipage, and the frightened horses, still in the traces, were screaming with terror. 'I will pass up Mistress Huys.'

Manton hesitated for just a moment, and then grasped the window and pulled himself up. Instantly there was an even louder howl of execration from the crowd, and stones started to fly. 'Quickly,' he begged.

Sue reached her hands up for him to grasp the wrists; she had lost her hat and her hair was slowly untwining around her shoulders. The overseer seized her arms, and Matt held her round the thighs to lift her up. A moment later she sat beside the overseer, to be greeted by fresh shrieks of anger.

'Tis the whore,' they bellowed. 'The Hilton whore.'

'Stone the bitch,' came a woman's voice.

'Keep the boys,' Sue shouted. 'We'll not get through.'

Manton half turned, and thrust down a man who was trying to climb up the back of the coach.

'Let me up there,' Robert shouted. 'By God, let me up.'

There was a muffled explosion, and a cry from the overseer.

'Got the bastard,' yelled a voice from the crowd. 'Now, for the woman.'

'Oh, my God,' Sue cried, as Manton's head fell across her lap. She slipped from her perch, and Matt had to catch her as she tumbled into the coach. The sound of the second shot boomed across the morning.

But now there came also the trill of a bugle call; the militia cavalry had turned out. With continued shouts of anger and disgust the mob started to disperse, hurling last stones at the carriage, but doing no damage to those within.

'My God,' Sue gasped. 'They wanted to kill me.'

'And Manton ... ?' Matt asked, still holding her close.

'Is dead,' Coke said. 'May God rest his soul.'

'By God,' Robert said. 'The scum. The unutterable scum. Hargrove,' he shouted at the lieutenant commanding the horse, who now appeared on the top of the coach, looking down at them. 'Did you ride them down?'

'No, Mr. Hilton. But I dispersed them.'

'We've a man murdered down here. And I shall bring charges of attempted murder against the scoundrel who fired on my sister.'

The militia men put their shoulders against the coach and restored it to its wheels. Paul pulled the door open. 'You'll identify him?' asked the officer.

Robert stepped down, glared at the empty, litter strewn square; there were loungers on each street corner, obviously recent members of the mob, but not identifiable. 'There must have been witnesses.'

'None who'll testify,' Hargrove said. 'Why do you think we were available in force, Mr. Hilton? Kingston has been in a turmoil since the news of Hodge's arrest was received. The governor feared there'd be a riot.'

'And when there was one, you were late in arriving.'

'You asked for no escort, sir,' the officer insisted. 'And it was felt that to patrol the streets in force might have provoked the very strife we had hoped to avoid.'

'They shot at me,' Sue said, stepping down, accompanied by her sons. Neither boy looked particularly afraid of their narrow escape.

'My most humble apologies, Mistress Huys,' Hargrove said, raising his hat. 'But there is a deal of feeling about this matter. And look there.'

They stared over the rooftops, at the smoke rising into the sky.

'The chapel,' Coke cried. 'They have burned the chapel.'

Now the crowd was again gathering on the far side of the square, hooting at the soldiery, but not at the moment using more than words as missiles.

‘I think we should seek shelter,' Hargrove suggested. 'The church is well gone. You'll not save it now. I will arrange to have Manton's body removed.'

'What, run before that pack of rascals?' Robert demanded. 'You'll furnish me with a sword and a horse, Hargrove. I have no doubt Matt will also use one on such an occasion.'

Hargrove shook his head. 'I cannot permit it, Mr. Hilton. My orders are to prevent strife, not encourage it. In this regard I must insist that you remove yourselves to the City Club, and I will discover when your vessel is ready to sail, and arrange you an escort. Supposing you still intend to travel.'

'What do you mean?' Matt demanded, assisting Paul to regain their boxes from the ground.

'Well, sir, as I understand it, your case is now lacking its principal witness. Some would say its only witness. And be sure your reception in Nevis will be hardly more friendly.'

Matt glanced at Robert.

'Be sure he is right,' Robert said. 'I'll not permit Sue to go, Matt. Nor should you even consider it.'

'You'll not permit?' Sue demanded. 'And do you suppose I'll be in less danger here, seeing what happened today?'

'Aye,' Robert said. 'You're right. You'll go to Rio Blanco for the duration of this trial. Don't argue with me, girl. I have long felt it was important for you and Georgy to get together again, or she will become a totally Frenchified madame. And I want a report from you on those children of hers. You'll take these two brats. On Rio Blanco you'll be safe enough, and once this business is concluded the furore will rapidly settle.'

'I'll do no such thing. Rio Blanco? Why, that would be ...' she hesitated, and bit her lip.

'Matt?' Robert asked.

Matt sighed. 'Robert is right, sweetheart. As is Hargrove. There will be continued strife and insults in Nevis, and how can I do my best against Hodge when I shall always be worrying about your safety?'

Still Sue hesitated.

'Or is Mr. Hargrove not even more right than that,' Coke said dismally, still watching the drifting smoke. 'Will there be any cause for strife, with Manton dead?'

'To be sure,' Robert said. 'Your own case is hardly better, doctor. You'll leave Jamaica.'

'What? What, sir? Desert my friends, my cause, in their most difficult hour?'

'Aye, sir, you will, for the sake of those friends,' Robert said. "You can accomplish nothing here now. These people will fight you with more force than you can muster. But do I not hear all the time of how your friends in England are growing? Go home, sir. I will finance your passage. Go home, and tell Mr. Fox and Mr. Wilberforce of what has happened here, of what is happening here, of what will happen here in the future, should men like Hodge be permitted to rampage unchecked. There is your best aid, sir.'

Coke stared at him, and slowly scratched his head. 'Your advice, sir? Mr. Robert Hilton's?'

'My advice,' Robert said.

'Again sound,' Matt said, and sighed. 'Be sure that we shall accomplish nothing now without real support from Whitehall.'

'What?' Robert shouted. 'What?'

'Hargrove is right again,' Matt said. 'With Manton dead, and Fanny Nelson in England, our evidence is all hearsay.'

'That I would argue,' Robert declared. ‘I have been to Hodges and seen enough.'

'You?' Matt cried.

‘You?' Sue asked.

'My word,' Coke remarked. "You, Mr. Hilton?'

‘I,' Robert said. 'Shoot at my sister, would they, by God. Overturn my coach, would they, by God. Seek to trample me would they, by God. Oh, aye, if Hodge's people are responsible for this, I'll give them the pleasure of watching him swing for it.'

'You'll raise your right hand, Mr. Hilton, and repeat after me,' said the clerk of the court.

Matt obeyed, uttered the words as instructed, ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.' And while he spoke he surveyed the crowded courtroom, the endless rows of hostile faces from the visitors' benches, the brooding gaze of Janet Hodge, seated close to the defending counsel, and the contemptuous smile on the thin-moustached face of the defendant himself. It came as some surprise for him to realize that this was the first time they had ever seen each other, after all but ten years of unmitigated hostility, at least on his part.

But then, he had seen hardly any of these people before. Since their arrival in Charleston, some weeks ago now, he and Robert had been kept in such seclusion they had occasionally wondered whether they were not actually the prisoners. And even within the walled and sentried privacy of the Administrator's House, they had heard the chanting of the crowds in the streets, whipped up by the plantocracy, who had indeed closed ranks behind the member of their privileged order who was being assailed, marching back and forth denouncing the abolitionists and emancipators as enemies to order and prosperity, and crying out the name of Hodge. Why, should he be acquitted here, the man would be an immediate hero. As he was no doubt well aware, Matt thought.

But now Mr. Malahine was waiting for him, willing him to concentrate. They were in a unique position. Matt could add nothing to what had already been said, but he had brought the original indictment, and everyone in the room had heard of Gislane; was he not being called by the prosecution, he would certainly have been called as a witness for the defence. 'Would you state your full name, and present address, please.'

'Matthew George Hilton, of Plantation Hilltop, in Jamaica.'

'Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Are you known to the defendant?'

'I have never met the defendant,' Matt said. 'I know of him. I imagine he knows of me.'

'Thank you, Mr. Hilton. You are, however, aware that the defendant stands charged with several monstrous crimes?'

'I am.'

'Would you tell us how you became aware of them?'

He had already been warned to keep his answer precise. 'I was approached by Mr. Charles Manton, a gentleman who had previously worked as an overseer on Hodges.'

'Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Now, of course, you are not in a position to give this court any testimony regarding these alleged crimes.' Mr. Malahine smiled at Mr. Corder, the Defence Counsel, who was poised to stand at the hint of an incorrect question. ^‘We have, indeed, already heard a considerable recital of the miserable occurrences on Hodges, not only through the depositions of Mr. Manton, who is now unhappily deceased, and of Mistress Nelson, who is unable to be present, but also of various other witnesses. Yet it is of Mr. Manton that I would have you speak. You say he approached you. May I ask why?'

'With a view to having the defendant prosecuted.'

'Indeed sir. But why you, in particular?'

'Because my opposition to the very idea of slavery is well known I would say.'

'Ah. You were the champion he sought. Yes, indeed, and the result was that you approached the authorities and persuaded them to indict Mr. Hodge. Now, sir, would you tell us how Mr. Manton died.'

'He was murdered by a mob, in Kingston, but two months ago.'

'Murdered, you say. Struck down, by a blackguard. Have you an opinion as to what this mob was about?'

'Their intention appeared to be to prevent Mr. Manton and myself from travelling to Nevis to give evidence in this case.'

'Ah. A very one-sided mob. Would you suppose they had been instigated to this act?'

Mr. Corder was on his feet. ‘I must protest, Your Lordship.'

Sir Ralph Payne scratched his wig with the tip of his quill; burly and red-faced, the Chief Justice was as much a planter as anyone in the room.

‘I am but asking witness for an opinion, Your Lordship.' Mr. Malahine protested in turn. 'Which he is surely qualified to give, as he was one of the objectives of this very mob, and was indeed only rescued by a regiment of cavalry.'

‘Is that so?' asked Sir Ralph. 'None the less, I think you have made the point that the mob intended to prevent Mr. Hilton's departure. To investigate the causes of the crowd gathering would be to embark upon an entirely irrelevant course. Objection sustained.'

'Very good, My Lord. I have but one more question to ask of you, Mr. Hilton. Your opinion of the man Manton. He had been an overseer, on Hodges, for some time. Until at last events there grew too strong for his stomach. Or so he claims in his deposition. Was he an honest man?' 'In my opinion, yes,' Matt said.

'Would you have any reason to suppose that Mr. Manton should lie about his former employer?'

'No,' Matt said. 'In the four years I knew Mr. Manton, I always found him a very reliable fellow.'

'Thank you, Mr. Hilton.' Mr. Malahine sat down, but immediately took out a large pocket handkerchief to mop his brow. As Mr. Corder rose to his feet an immense rustie went right round the courtroom. Everyone was aware that here was the true crisis of the trial. As indeed Mr. Malahine had warned Matt in advance. And as Mr. Corder clearly intended to illustrate to the jury.

For the moment he was smiling, if a trifle sadly. He read from his notes. 'Matthew George Hilton,' he remarked. 'Yours is a famous name in these islands, sir.'

Matt did not consider this to be a question.

'Indeed,' said Mr. Corder, 'were a roll call to be taken of every family which has ever planted cane here in the Carribean, the name Hilton would occur very near the top. But more, are you not related to the Warners?'

'Distantly.'

'Oh, indeed. Your great-grandmother was a Warner. And that family was the very first to plant cane in the British Islands. One could almost say that cane juice might run in your veins instead of blood, Mr. Hilton.' He smiled, and the court smiled with him.

'One might,' Matt agreed.

'But you, the very last of this long and famous and indeed glorious line of planters and leaders of planters, have lost interest in the ancient and profitable art.'

‘I would prefer to say that my interest has been redirected,' Matt said.

'Oh, indeed. How stupid of me. Because if you refuse to manage a sugar plantation yourself, you yet enjoy the luxury offered by your cousin's plantation, which you give as your address.'

‘I live there, yes,' Matt said.

'Of course. It is your home. And believe me, sir, I have nothing but sympathy for a man who must continually be undergoing the most frightful pangs of conscience. But now, Mr. Hilton, I am going to ask you for your assistance. Oh, I am well aware that you are a prosecution witness. But then, sir, you see, this is an unusual, indeed, a unique case. What normally happens in the case of a murder? Suppose a man kills his wife. She is missed, perhaps, or the neighbours hear screams, and they hurry along to the magistrates who in turn instruct the constables, who descend upon the criminal's house with a warrant and search it, and either fail to find the wife altogether, in which case a more general search may be inaugurated, supposing the accused cannot provide them with a satisfactory account of her disappearance, or they find traces of the unhappy woman, perhaps even a body, and thus take the husband into custody. And the conduct of thus straightforward a case is even so a long and difficult business. Mr. Hilton, I must confess myself to be entirely in a fog in this present instance.' Mr. Corder continued to smile as if to indicate he enjoyed fogs. 'Because here, sir, we have a man accused of a crime, not against his wife, or some stranger, but against his own chattels. I was quite unaware that such a crime was possible.'

He paused for breath, and Mr. Malahine was on his feet. 'Is my learned friend addressing the jury, Your Lordship?' he inquired. 'Or is he in fact asking witness a question?'

Sir Reginald snorted. 'Mr. Corder?'

'My apologies, Your Lordship. I was but endeavouring to make witness understand my questions better. Surely I cannot be accused of leading a prosecution witness?'

'Hm,' remarked the Chief Justice. 'Well, I suppose you cannot. But make it brief, man. Make it brief.'

'I was merely going to point out, Mr. Hilton,' said Mr. Corder, 'that supposing such a crime were possible, in this case we have no bodies, nor any search for bodies, as I understand it. We have in fact, a single accuser, the late Charles Manton. Oh, I am well aware that my learned friend has introduced a whole host of evidence consisting entirely of suggestion and innuendo. It has been suggested, time and again, that there was an atmosphere of terror on Hodges Plantation. This is not a criminal matter. We have had the admirably written testimony of Mistress Nelson that her first husband, Dr. Nisbet, told her of treating the most frightful injuries on Hodges Plantation, but there has been not one jot of evidence to indicate that those injuries were received as other than normal punishment for insubordination, for stealing, or for downright mutiny. There is no crime. No, sir, Mr. Hilton, the prosecution case, your case, rests entirely on the testimony sworn by the late Charles Manton. I must therefore cross-examine you, sir, as if you were indeed that gentleman, as it is you who introduced his evidence in the first place, as I understand it.'

'That is correct,' Matt agreed.

'Well, sir, still is my difficulty not resolved. I cannot ask you questions of fact, as you were not present at any of the incidents described by Mr. Manton. I can only attempt to arrive at a valuation of the truth of these accusations, at the truth, indeed, of the entire statement. For instance, sir, you have testified that you never knew Charles Manton before he appeared in Kingston and offered this testimony. May I ask why he selected you?'

'I have already answered that question.'

'I would like you to do so again, if you would be so kind.'

'My opposition to the ill-treatment of slaves, and indeed of the concept of slavery, and my Wesleyan principles, were well known,' Matt said.

'That is equally true of Dr. Coke, surely. But Manton approached you:

'Well, sir, he approached us jointly,' Matt said. 'Dr. Coke felt, equally with Manton, that the matter would best be left to me.'

'Because you are a Hilton? Or because you might have some ulterior motive, some much stronger motive, for wishing to see James Hodge reduced?'

Matt silently cursed the heat he could feel gathering in his cheeks.

'Perhaps you knew her better than we suppose, Mr. Hilton. Did you ever, perhaps, propose marriage to the young lady?'

There was a murmur around the court; here was a decade of rumour being turned into crystal hard fact. 'Yes, I did,' Matt said.

'But she was a lady of colour, and a slave, to boot, absconded from Hodges, and before you could proceed with your plans she was returned to Hodge, to be punished, quite justifiably as a runaway slave. Mr. Manton says that on one occasion it was commanded by Mrs. Hodge that she be flogged, as he puts it, to death. This we may dismiss as an exaggeration, a remark of temper, as the girl was by all accounts quite incorrigible, so incorrigible, indeed, that shortly afterwards she was sold by James Hodge.' Mr. Corder allowed himself another smile. 'No doubt this was after she had been flogged to death, Mr. Hilton.'

The court tittered.

‘I would presume that Mr. Hodge intervened,' Matt said.

'What, this black-hearted murderer who is on trial here today? I find that difficult to believe. But alas, you cannot tell me, Mr. Hilton. You can tell me, however, whether I am right in supposing that it was the fact that this girl, this Gislane Nicholson, had been a slave on Hodges and the other fact that she was the same girl with whom you had planned marriage, that first encouraged Mr. Manton to bring his tale of imagined ills to you.'

'I cannot answer for Mr. Manton's motives,' Matt said.

Corder's smile disappeared, and his face grew red with passion. 'But you can answer for your own, sir,' he shouted. 'Come, sir, be honest with us. Tell this court, sir, whether or not you would have been prepared to indict any planter save James Hodge, whether you are not entirely driven in this matter by a desire to avenge yourself on a man who never did you any harm, sir, who but owned a slave girl to whom you had taken a fancy. Come, sir, you are under oath to speak the truth.'

Matt stared at the lawyer.

'Well, sir?' demanded Corder. 'Well, sir?'

'I am trying to decide,' Matt said, speaking very carefully. 'As you say, I am under oath. Mr. Hodge's reputation for harshness is well known, and I was determined to bring the worst usages of slavery before the public notice. I think I would have proceeded against him in any event. But I would be dishonest were I not to admit there was personal feeling involved.'

Again the rustle round the court, but now Corder was smiling once more.

'My thanks, Mr. Hilton. You may step down.' But he remained standing, facing Payne. 'Your Lordship,' he said, 'I understand that Mr. Hilton is the last prosecution witness, and I feel that at this stage I can do nothing better than repeat the plea I made at the very beginning of this trial. I wish to save the court's time, sir, and the public money. Your Lordship, I submit there is no case here for my client to answer. The prosecudon has submitted a written testimony charging my client with the most horrific crimes, but I fail to see that they have substantiated a single one of them, that they have indeed done anything more than prove that the gentleman who instigated this accusation, Mr. Matthew Hilton, was motivated by a very personal hatred for James Hodge, which I submit must at the least have coloured his attitude towards Manton, and may sir, it is no more than a suggestion, have caused him to influence what Manton had to say. My Lord, James Hodge has committed no crime. I ask that he be dismissed.'

'Hm,' said Sir Reginald. 'Hm.' He looked at Mr Malahine. 'There is much in what Mr. Corder says. It occurs to me that Mr. Hodge is being accused of being a planter, not a murderer. Well, then, Mr. Malahine, where would we all stand then, eh?'

Mr. Malahine did not look particularly troubled. 'My learned friend is in error, Your Lordship, in supposing that I have finished presenting my case. I have another witness, and can only offer my apologies that I did not make this clear. But as he has deprecated the lack of any evidence against his client from planting sources, he will welcome my last testimony. Call Mr. Robert Hilton to the stand.'

There was a moment of utterly shocked silence in the crowded courtroom which ended in a hum of muttered comment as Robert limped up the stairs and into the witness-box, and took the oath. Sir Reginald banged his desk with his gavel, and gradually the noise subsided.

'Your full name, please, sir,' invited Mr. Malahine.

'Robert Anthony Hilton, of Plantation Hilltop, in Jamaica.'

'Your occupation. Mr. Hilton?' 'Planter.'

'Have you ever met the accused, Mr. Hilton?' 'Three times. On the occasion of visits to Hodges Plantation.'

'And will you tell the court if you ever saw any ill-treatment of the slaves, beyond what you as a planter, would consider necessary discipline?'

'On the occasion of my first visit,' Robert said, his voice expressionless, 'I saw a young woman of mixed blood, a house slave, I believe, suspended from a triangle under sentence of death by the whip.'

'For what offence, Mr. Hilton? Had she struck her mistress?'

'She had attended a voodoo ceremony, I believe,' Robert said.

'And for this she was to be flogged to death. What of your second visit?'

'I should prefer to discuss my third. My second visit was extremely brief.' 'Yes?'

'On this third occasion, I saw nothing myself, but I was told of events on Hodges which seemed to me to be unnecessarily harsh.'

Corder, hitherto leaning forward with a frown, gave a short laugh and leaned back in his seat. Clearly he apprehended no danger from evidence which was but a recital of what the court had already been told, of second and third-hand rumours.

'Will you tell the court, Mr. Hilton, who it was told you of these events?'

Robert looked at Hodge for the first time, and almost smiled; his expression was quite terrible. 'It was Janet Hodge.'

Corder sat bolt upright, and once again there was a complete silence in the courtroom. But heads turned, to look at Janet Hodge. She stared at them for a moment, then rose and left the room.

'You are speaking of the defendant's wife,' Mr. Malahine said.

'I am.'

'Will you relate the circumstances to the court?'

'I happened to be in Nevis on business some years after the incident I described before, and visited Hodges. I should say that I was on bad terms with Mr. and Mrs. Hodge, in that I had prevented the ill-treatment of the young woman I have spoken of, and on this occasion Mrs. Hodge took some pleasure in giving me examples, as she put it, "of her way with the blacks". She showed me a girl whose ears had been split, and a man whose member had been beaten with a stick until it was quite unable to perform its proper function.'

'Did she mention a slave named Jeremiah?'

'Indeed she did. Jeremiah was quite a joke with the Hodges. He had been thrown into a vat of molten molasses and there drowned. They supposed, as the molasses were later refiltered and reprocessed, that Jeremiah was now sweetening coffee throughout Great Britain. They found this very amusing.'

'Mr. Hilton, in your judgement, having regard to what you saw and what you were told on Hodges, is the testimony offered by Mr. Charles Manton in this statement substantially true?'

The paper was passed up to Robert, who read it slowly and carefully, aware that every eye in the courtroom was upon him. 'I see no reason to suppose that there is any exaggeration in this statement,' he said at last.

'I thank you, Mr. Hilton.' Mr. Malahine sat down.

Corder stood up, moving slowly. He had in fact been whispering over the edge of the dock with his client, but clearly he did not like his situation. 'Mr. Hilton,' he said. 'Surely, sir, you do not expect this court to accept in evidence the memory of a conversation with the defendant's wife?'

'I hold no brief for this court,' Robert said. 'I was asked a question and I answered it.'

'And suppose I told you that I shall put Mrs. Hodge in that box to refute your statement?'

'Do you presume to call me a liar, sir?' Robert said, his voice like a rumble of distant thunder.

Corder bit his lip. But clearly he was no coward. 'I merely seek to establish, sir, that your evidence, like so much of the evidence we have heard in this case, is sorely lacking in identifiable facts. But yet I will offer you a fact, to confirm or deny, Mr. Hilton. This young woman you describe as having been under sentence of death by flogging, would you tell the court her name?'

'Gislane Nicholson,' Robert said.

'All.' Mr. Corder smiled at the court, as it rustled with comment. 'We have heard that name before. Your young cousin told us of that name but a few moments ago. And in so doing destroyed his own credibility.'

'By God,' Robert said. 'By God, Corder, if you call me a liar once more I shall come down there and break your head. Mark my words.'

'Your Lordship,' protested Mr. Corder.

'Now really, Robert,' said Sir Reginald. ‘I mean, Mr. Hilton. This is a court of law and you will conduct yourself properly.'

'Let him conduct himself properly,' Robert bellowed. 'He seeks to twist words and impugn facts, by God. Well, let him have these, sir. I know the girl. I sent her to Hodges, and I sent her from Hodges. Aye, chew on that you rumourmongering rascals. I intervened to save her from being flogged to death, and I had her sent to the mainland, to a Dutchman, may God rest her soul. I did it to stop her marrying my cousin, and there's a fact. But I am not here today to discuss Gislane Nicholson.'

'Really, sir,' Corder protested. 'You are not here to discuss anything. You are here to answer questions.'

'By God,' Robert shouted. 'I'll discuss what I choose, Corder, and be damned to you. That man ...' his hand flung out, its finger pointing, 'is an utter blackguard. His wife is worse, and in my opinion she should be standing beside him. I'd not have the pair of them in charge of my dogs, much less a parcel of human beings. You ask me whether or not Manton's statement is true? I'd say, sir, that Manton has not recounted the half of it. What is more, sir, you know that as well as I, and every damned man in this courtroom knows it too. Including you gentlemen,' he said to the jury. 'Call yourself planters? By God, you, we, are more than that. We made these islands what they are, and God willing, we shall keep them what they are. But we'll not be helped by scoundrels like Hodge. There are eyes upon us, by God, English eyes, the eyes of Parliament, gentlemen. They'd not trouble us if they can help it. We mean too much to their pockets. But if they are forced to it, why by God they will have to. I know you there, I know the extent of your own criminality. I know it was you gentlemen who mounted an attack upon my coach, who nearly killed my own sister. By God, when I find the actual instigator of that deed I'll have him at the end of my pistol, you may be sure of that.'

'Your Lordship,' Corder said. 'I must protest.'

'Oh, hold your miserable tongue,' Robert bellowed. That man is a murderer, and a villain, and a scoundrel. He is a criminal, sir, and we all know that. Turn him off gentlemen. Turn him off, and make sure that the world knows of it, or we shall all be tarred with the same brush.'

'Your Lordship,' spluttered Mr. Corder.

'Your Lordship,' said Mr. Malahine. The prosecution rests its case.'

'The court will rise,' said the clerk.

Matt rubbed the back of his head. The jury had been out for twelve hours, since eight o'clock of the previous evening, and few of the residents of Charleston had had any sleep. All night the crowds had gathered, on street corners and in bars, and woe betide any Negro, slave or free, found on the streets. Matt and Robert, with Mr. Malahine and Hugh Elliott and Mrs. Elliott, and Mr. and Mrs. Loman, had dined together, and then remained sitting, and talking, over their glasses of brandy. There was much to be considered, much to be appreciated. For the first time in his life, that Matt could recall, Robert had known doubts.

'You were quite magnificent,' Mrs. Elliott had insisted.

'Even if decidedly illegal,' her husband had agreed. 'If anything can swing the case in our favour it was your denunciation of Hodge and all who support him.'

'Aye. A planter,' Robert had said. 'There is a sad business. But the wretch had his minions fire on Sue. By God, I'd like to get my hands on him myself.'

'I think you may safely leave him to the hangman,' Loman remarked. 'Corder opted to stake his all on prejudice when he decided not to call Janet.'

'Yet is the jury a planting one,' Matt said. 'Supposing the verdict is adverse?'

'Ah, well,' Elliott had said. 'It will involve my resignation, for a start. But I have a vessel standing by to carry you and your cousin back to Jamaica. I truly think, however, that my problems will only really start should the verdict be in our favour.'

And when they had been summoned back to the court, he had taken his leave of them. Matt glanced at Robert, sitting hard-faced at his side, staring at the jury as they filed into the room. For him, more than anyone in the room, there could now be no turning back.

'Gentlemen of the jury,' said the clerk. 'Are you agreed on a verdict?'

'We are,' said the foreman.

The clerk stretched out his hand, and took the slip of paper. The jurymen gazed at the spectators, defiantly, Matt thought. It was difficult to decide whether or not that meant anything.

The clerk passed the paper up to Sir Reginald Payne, who unfolded it, glanced at it, and then looked again. The rich colour in his face seemed to deepen. Then he raised his head, and looked around the room, as if seeking someone. And not finding him.

'My Lord?' asked the clerk.

'Ask them,' Payne muttered. 'Let them speak.'

There was a moment of utter silence in the courtroom. Then Hodge shouted. 'You're crazy. You, John Townsend? You, Harry Watts? You ...'

Noise swelled up in the room and drowned his voice, and indeed everything else. Several men left their seats and ran for the corridor, but the door was suddenly closed, and in front of it stood a squad of red-coated soldiers. And Elliott had appeared on the bench beside Payne.

'Quiet,' he shouted. 'Quiet. As of this moment, the island of Nevis is placed under martial law. No man will leave this room bearing arms. Swords and pistols may be left in the care of the clerk. Will you proceed, Sir Reginald?'

'Is that the verdict of you all?' asked the clerk, in sepulchral tones.

'It is,' said the foreman.

The noise was slowly subsiding, while Sir Reginald Payne took off his wig, apparently to scratch his head.

'You'll proceed,' Elliott said. 'And quickly man.'

The black square was placed on his bare head, and he stared at Hodge.

'You'll not do it,' Hodge said. 'You cannot. It will mean the end of all planting.'

'James Hodge,' Sir Reginald said. 'You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers of the crime of murdering one of your slaves, and must now suffer the penalty, which is that you shall be taken from this place to a prison, and thence to a place of execution, and there you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.' He paused, and sighed. 'The sentence to be carried out at the discretion of His Excellency the Governor.'

'Then it shall be done immediately,' Elliott declared. 'Sergeant.'

More soldiers had filed into the courtroom, and now they surrounded the dock, while the sergeant mounted the steps to dismiss the warders and take charge of Hodge himself.

"You'll not do it,' Hodge shouted. 'You have no right, sir. You cannot turn a man off the moment he is sentenced. There is no justice.'

'My care is the preservation of law and order in this colony, Mr. Hodge,' Elliott said. 'Every moment you remain alive threatens that law and order.'

'I wish to appeal,' Hodge cried. 'I have the right to appeal.'

'Your appeal is denied,' Elliott said. 'You'll remove the prisoner, sergeant. Gentlemen, you'll leave your arms in here, if you please.'

'No,' Hodge screamed. The soldiers seized his arms, and he struck at them before being restrained. 'You'll not do it,' he yelled. 'You'll not hang a planter.'

Then he began to scream incoherently, as he was marched to the stairs leading down to the cells, while the room stood and stared, still too stricken with horror to understand what had actually happened.

'It would be best for us to leave now,' Mr. Malahine whispered to Robert. 'There is that ship, waiting for you. Unless you actually wish to see the execution.'

Robert glanced at Matt.

How suddenly flattened Matt felt, how totally lacking in all emotion. It had perhaps taken too long, consumed too much of his life. He knew now he felt only pity. 'No,' he said. 'I have hounded that man to his death, and Corder was more than a little right when he suggested my desire for vengeance was greater than my desire for justice. But I would speak with him, before I leave.'

'With Hodge?' Robert demanded. 'That is madness. What can you say to him?' He led them to the door, while several members of the crowd began to boo and hiss. 'Bastards. They are a despicable crew, to be sure.'

The door closed behind them, and they stood in the corridor, while Elliott left the judge's chambers and came towards them. ' 'Tis done,' he said. 'By heaven, but I doubted.'

'I would like a word with Hodge,' Matt said. The governor stared at him. ‘I have told him it is senseless,' Robert said. 'None the less,' Matt said.

Elliott shrugged, and called the sergeant of the guard. A moment later Matt was descending the stairs to the cells, where a priest was already standing over the seated prisoner, book in hand. Hodge's head jerked at the footsteps, but he had regained his composure. 'Revenge must be sweet,' he said.

'Aye,' Matt said. 'I sought revenge. But yet I regret my part in this affair, Mr. Hodge. I have no doubt at all you deserve your fate, for the crimes you have committed on those hundreds of poor black creatures in your care. But I forgive you, for Gislane. Here is my hand.'

Hodge looked at the outstretched hand, and then spat on it. 'I scarcely need your forgiveness, Hilton. Oh, she was a charmer. I bedded her, Hilton. Every day for the time she was on Hodges. I bedded her, and I made her squirm. Think on that Hilton. I had her not you. And now she's warming the bed of some Dutchman, and dying of the lash and despair, Hilton. Most like she is already dead, or if she is not, then she's nothing but a hag. You'll not see her again, Matt Hilton. You'll never know what I knew. So spare your pity. I give you mine.'

THE RIGHTS OF MAN

Captain Halman himself took the tiller of the gig to see Sue and the boys safely ashore. 'Damned foreigners,' he grumbled. 'Begging your pardon, Mistress Huys. But Cap Francois is not a place I often come to. And when you think of the weather...'

The journey had taken them nearly three weeks, so unfailingly contrary had been the wind.

'But it is as lovely as they claim.' Sue shaded her eyes, even beneath the broad brim of her hat, to peer at the city. And wonder at her own excitement. She had endeavoured not to come, and resisted both Matt and Robert with all her strength, and had yet submitted. Because she was, after all, nothing but a whore? Or because she could not forget the way Corbeau had looked at her, the words he had whispered in her ear, on the day of his wedding?

And neither Robert nor Matt even suspected the temptations which were haunting her mind, so bound up were they in their own affairs, male affairs.

'And so many soldiers, Mama,' Tony shouted, jumping up and down and causing the little boat to rock. 'So many-soldiers.'

'The lad is right,' Halman muttered, frowning at the docks, which were guarded by at least a company of blue-coated regulars, while more were to be seen beyond. And here was no regiment taking a holiday; every man was armed with musket and bayonet. 'Pray heaven we have not again come to war.'

'No attempt was made to stop our vessel entering the harbour, Mr. Halman,' Sue pointed out. 'This must be a domestic matter.'

The boat came into the side of the dock, and one of the military, clearly a non-commissioned officer, stood above them to hail them in French.

'Ah, speak English, you damned Frenchy,' Halman said. 'How are we to know what you're about?'

'He no doubt holds the same opinion of you,' Sue said. 'Good day to you, sir,' she said in French. 'We are seeking Mr. Louis Corbeau, of Rio Blanco.'

The sergeant inspected her, slowly, from hem to hair. 'Corbeau you say, madame? Oh, indeed, come ashore.'

'I'd best accompany you,' Halman growled.

'You'd best be on your way back to Jamaica,' Sue recommended. 'This gallant fellow will look after us, I have no doubt.' And indeed the sergeant was snapping his fingers and giving orders to his squad. 'So if your men will place our boxes on the dock...' The boys were already ashore, holding each other's hands and staring with wide eyes at the soldiers they had only previously heard about. Sue shook hands with the captain, and allowed the sergeant to assist her. 'My thanks, Mr. Halman. Bon voyage.'

'I have sent for the coach, eh?' said the sergeant. 'Rio Blanco is some distance up the coast. But you will need an escort. And then, why, one of my men says he has seen the Corbeau barouche in town this very day. And why not, madame? Everyone is in town today. Such pretty boys.' He ruffled Richard's fair hair, looking at Sue the while to suggest he'd far rather be doing it to her.

'But what is all the excitement about, sergeant?' Sue asked.

'Well, madame, today Oge and Chavannes are to be executed.'

'Oge? Chavannes?'

The sergeant raised his eyebrows to suggest that if she was worth looking at she was also extraordinarily ill-informed. 'The mulattoes, madame. The rebels.'

'Rebels? There has been a revolt, in St. Domingue?' Before she could stop herself she burst into laughter.

The sergeant frowned. 'Madame finds a rebellion amusing?'

'Oh, no,' Sue explained. 'It is just that I was sent here for my safety.'

'Ah.' The sergeant nodded, solemnly. 'But indeed, madame, here you will be safe. The rebellion, pouf. We know how to deal with such things. Here is the barouche.'

The coach with the pink beaked head on its snow-white doors was rumbling on to the wooden planks of the dock, while the pink-and-white liveried Negro driver dragged on the reins, and a short fair-haired white man stepped down. 'Madame?' He frowned at her, and raised his hat. 'Good heavens, you must be Madame Corbeau's sister. Jules Romain, at your service. I am Mr. Corbeau's attorney.'

'Suzanne Huys, Mr. Romain. And these are my sons, Anthony and Richard.'

'What splendid fellows. But madame, if only we had known you were coming, we should have been waiting.' He shrugged. 'I can only apologize.'

'The fault is mine, Mr. Romain. And you are here, are you not?'

'Oh yes, indeed. Load those boxes, fellow.' He held the door for her to get in. 'For the executions.'

'The sergeant has been telling me.' Sue gave the soldiers her most dazzling smile as the equipage rumbled back towards the street. 'Some rebellious mulattoes?'

'Sans culottes, they call themselves,' Romain growled. 'Eager to take advantage of the situation in Paris. Ah, France is fallen on sorry times, madame. These people sent their leaders to this National Assembly which now governs us, and were there promised freedom, and so returned here to seize it when our administration here would not immediately grant their demands.'

'But the sergeant says the revolt was easily suppressed.'

'Oh, indeed, madame. They were an undisciplined lot. And now their leaders are to suffer on the wheel. It will be quite a spectacle.'

The coach was making slow progress as it ploughed through the crowded streets.

'On the wheel?' Tony asked.'What does that mean, Mama?'

'It means a man is to die’ Sue said, quietly.

'His bones will be broken while he still lives’ Romain said, smiling at the boy. 'One by one, they will be shattered with an iron bar, until he is nothing better than a jelly.'

'Ugh’ Richard remarked.

'I am inclined to agree’ Sue said. 'Could they not just be hanged?'