SUN AND I emerged holding hands, squinting in the sudden bright light of tropical noon. The fort yard now held a large number of people—Captain Benji, who had shed his captain’s coat and hat in the heat, was foremost, sweat stains down the sides of his shirt. Frowning, he looked rather worse for wear. Dom Miguel stood next to him, dressed in a cravat and black suit, looking every inch the prince, though he was rather pale, and I wagered his head hurt him mightily in addition to his boiling alive in the heat. Marisol was there in the blue tails and white pants of the French Navy, looking crisp. Beside her stood a tall, slender, long-faced French capitaine, whose short, dark blond hair stood up like so many sheaves of chopped wheat. His clean and pressed uniform marked him as Christophe Lefebvre of Les Amoureux, for whom we’d been waiting. Seeing them didn’t surprise me, but what did surprise me was Abellard and Cookie, Hardanguer and Quinn, and the rest of the crew of the Fury, including Artur, who looked guilty enough for confession.
Moreover, behind them was the African Jamaican owner of the Perle, Lovelie, with Cuicatl beside her, both in pretty dresses and matching parasols. With them were many matelots we’d met yesterday, all the servers, and a whole collection of other people I hadn’t remembered ever meeting. It was as though all the riot of Tortuga had tried to fit inside the fort yard, and only the animals—barring a few colorful parrots and playful monkeys who stayed near their owners—had been kept out. The press of humanity far outnumbered the soldiers, and I was uncomfortably reminded of how most of the population of the town I grew up in turned out for a hanging. Lack of public entertainment here must be similar, and no government had ever discouraged their subjects from seeing the punishment for crime being carried out.
Then I saw it, the gallows against the back wall, which I had not noticed until now. It was a repurposed mast and yardarm, and though no noose currently hung from it, I assumed one could be fitted with speed. My mouth went suddenly dry. I eyed the cannons, well-manned with soldiers, as if they expected trouble. The twenty soldiers in attendance, which must have been most of the small garrison, were armed and looked more than ready to defend themselves. I sent a few more prayers heavenward.
The governor’s little white breakfast table had been placed next to the gallows, and the old man stood behind it, his hound, Belle, and grandsons in attendance. This time one of them sat at the table with pen and parchment, clearly our scribe for the proceedings.
“Today we try Benjamin Lector and Sólmundur Thorvaldson, confessed murderers, by the mantle of governorship and the burden of the duty of justice laid on me by President Jean-Pierre Boyer, first of his name, of the Republic of Haiti, also first of its name.” The old man’s voice, despite its rasping thinness, rang throughout the yard. No one spoke, not even a parrot.
“I have a list here of the slain.” He produced the papers Sun and I had given him at breakfast. “Though there are at least fifty additional names to be laid before Mr. Thorvaldson when he was under the bonds of slavery. Do you deny these charges?”
Sun stepped forward, his back straight. “No, I do not deny having killed those men.”
There was an angry murmuring among the crowd.
I hastened to follow Sun’s example and also stepped forward. “I too, do not deny the deaths that are my responsibility and claim them before God and men.”
Governor du’Martinique nodded. “Who will speak for the slain?”
No one stirred.
The governor stepped forward. “Then that burden falls to me. The fifty slain by Mr. Thorvaldson while under the bonds of slavery were slain in single combat in the fighting pits, yes?”
“Sometimes they would send two or three at me at a time, sir, but já. Many were in single combat.”
The angry murmuring at the mention of slave fights hushed, and an appreciation of Sun’s battle prowess seemed to settle on the crowd.
Governor du’Martinique cleared his throat. “Being slaves, they were compelled to fight, as you were. They did not deserve the cruel deaths they were given.”
Though we were shackled again, I longed to take Sun’s hand.
“No, sir,” Sun said steadily.
“And the other names on this list—slave owners, but also the sailors and merchants of the Portuguese Donzela and the French Gros Bourse ships who found themselves on the island where you took up residence.”
“I killed them too, sir.”
More murmuring scattered through the crowd, and I heard the name “Dread Island” more than once.
“Did they deserve death?”
“No, sir.”
No man deserved to die, but a man who plays with crocodiles should expect to be bit, my grandfather had said. I prayed that God might make me sorrier that Sun had killed his cruel owners, because I was having trouble doing it by myself.
“Who will speak for Benjamin Lector and Sólmundur Thorvaldson?”
Captain Benji, Dom Miguel, Marisol, and Captain LeFebvre stepped forward. The crew of the Fury shuffled behind them, as if they wanted to step forward too, but there wasn’t room for all of them to fit.
Emotion rose as a lump in my throat and stung my eyes, but I managed to force it back down.
Captain Benji started. “I met these two while investigating someone tarnishing my good name.” He paced back and forth. “An Englishman named Edwin James, who was a harsh captain, and a Brazilian slave master with brutal ways did imprison and torture both of these men, which, as ship’s cook and surgeon, I was called upon to treat the wounds they suffered. Under duress, Captain James forced them to sign themselves into slavery. Their rising up and killing of these men was in defense of their very lives.”
Marisol came forward. “I witnessed the deaths of Edwin James and Martio de Fortaliza. It was self-defense, as were the deaths of the other men of their crew.”
The soldiers looked at both her and the capitaine with mistrust—bad blood from Haiti’s revolution—and I hoped her testimony would help rather than hurt us. Also, she wasn’t being strictly truthful. The men she’d slain freeing me and Sun hadn’t had a chance to cry out, much less draw a weapon to defend themselves, but I didn’t quibble.
“I led the mutiny to take the ship and my good name back,” Captain Benji said, walking up and down the small space before the gallows.
“Is this man a relation of yours?” the governor asked what must have been foremost in the audience’s mind, seeing how much Benji and I resembled each other.
Benji came close to me and stood by my side so everyone could get a good look at how alike we were. “Not as I know of, Gov’ner. I’d never seen him before, but there are stranger things that have happened. Many of us don’t know the families from whence we came, nor the homelands where they were born. But I would claim this man as brother, no matter how he looked. He’s a good man, righteous and true.”
The knot rose in my throat again. Benji clapped me on the back.
“There’s not a man nor woman of Tortuga who does not know you well, Captain Swift, and who does not know your word is good. Very well. By this testimony, Benjamin Lector was defending himself. However, the sailors and merchantmen not engaged in combat or mutiny who were slain by Mr. Thorvaldson still need answering with justice. What say any of you to that?”
Dom Miguel stepped forward. “As I attempted to say last night,” he said, glaring around at the Haitian soldiers, “I am Miguel Maria do Patrocínio João Carlos—” He took a breath and continued. “—Francisco de Assis Xavier de Paula Pedro de Alcântara—” He took another breath. “—António Rafael Gabriel Joaquim José Gonzaga Evaristo.”
Someone in the crowd giggled and was shushed.
“I am the son of Doña Carlota Joaquina of Spain and João Maria José Francisco Xavier de Paula Luís António Domingos Rafael de Bragança—” He took a breath. “—also known as King John IV, King of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil, and the Algarves.”
No one tittered at the Portuguese penchant for long royal names this time. Lovelie’s eyes grew wide as saucers.
“As a prince of Portugal, it is within my happy power to pardon murderers. This I do, in the case of Sólmundur Thorvaldson, who, at the time, believed he was in danger for his life by suffering the shipwrecked to live. Therefore, and for service rendered to the Portuguese Crown, I grant him clemency.”
“Have you proof of your lineage?” Governor du’Martinique asked.
Dom Miguel fished inside his shirt and produced a heavy gold signet ring on a chain. He pulled it over his neck and handed it to the governor for inspection.
“These are indeed the Portuguese royal arms.”
The crowd murmured in astonishment, and the aged governor seemed nonplussed for a moment, then gave the ring back to Dom Miguel.
“This may be so, but you are on Tortuga now, Your Highness. The royalty of Europe no longer rules us here, but rather the President of the Republic of Haiti.”
“Were those killed citizens of Haiti?” Dom Miguel asked.
The governor looked down at the list. “No.”
“I submit that the lion’s share of the dead are Portuguese and Brazilian. It is my duty to see to justice for them, and I am of a mind that paid reparations will be more of a boon to the families they left behind than this man’s death. I require trade goods in the equivalence of one hundred Portuguese gold royals for each man.”
There were gasps at the amount. Marisol swore in French. Only I knew that the number was equivalent to both shipments of guns and much of the chests of trade goods Sun had. We could pay it, but there would be, as Sun would say, not enough to plug a cat’s nostril after.
“There are the French to consider as well.”
“I am Captain Christophe LeFebvre of the French ship Les Amoureux. I speak for the men of the Gros Bourse. I will not have it said they are worth any less than the Portuguese, and I too think asking for the death of this man will not help their families. We require trade goods equivalent of one hundred gold francs for each Frenchman on the list.” Captain LeFebvre’s voice was a high tenor. If Marisol would consider the receipt Benji had drawn up for the powder we used to blow the volcano as another equivalency, we might be able to pay for those also, but it would require the remainder of Sun’s chests.
“Very well. I rule the English and Spanish deaths were in self-defense. However, there remains a name unaccounted for here, one Erik Gunnarsson.”
Sun spoke. “I am Eiríkur’s killer. By old Norse law, réttdræpur means I am rightfully killable. Let he who would claim justice come forward and kill me. Whomever does so, I ask that he pay one hundred Danish kronur to Gunnar, father of Eiríkur.”
Silence met these words. No one in the crowd seemed anxious to challenge Sun to a duel on Erik’s behalf. The governor let the silence stretch for some time. I worried one of the young soldiers would want to try his hand, but no one spoke.
“Very well. In absence of Danish or Norse representation, this course accepts this réttdræpur as a ruling.” The elderly gentleman pronounced the Nordic term admirably. “Sólmundur Thorvaldson, do you have the funds with which to pay the reparations requested by Portugal and France?”
Sun and I exchanged a glance, and I spoke. “I am in a matelot contract with this man, which are recognized on Tortuga?”
“Indeed.”
“Then together, we possess the goods to pay Captain LeFebvre and Dom Miguel and request that they see to it the proper amounts reach the families of the men on these lists. Mr. Thorvaldson and I will see the payment to Gunnar is made under the eye of Captain Swift.”
Captain Benji winced at the prospect of sailing to Sun’s home, which he’d shared with me was an inhospitable-sounding place called Iceland, but did not naysay us.
“Very well. By the mantle of governorship of Tortuga and the burden of the duty of justice laid upon me by President Jean-Pierre Boyer, first of his name, of the Republic of Haiti, also first of its name, I do sentence Sólmundur Thorvaldson to reparations to the families of the dead as we have discussed here and one hundred lashes.”
The crowd grumbled at the pronouncement, and the men of the Fury and the friends we had made on Tortuga did so angrily—Artur included—and I hoped they murmured because Sun was going to be whipped, not because they didn’t think it was fair we weren’t being hanged.
“Tortuga is not a safe haven for murderers, and I will not have it said that it is.” The governor spoke sternly. “He’ll take his hundred lashes and count himself lucky to have his life. Anyone who murders on this soil will face swift justice, even with the history of this port as a pirate stronghold.” The old man’s parchment-thin voice held a note of iron hardness.
I stepped forward. “As matelot to this man, I gladly share his punishment and request that half of it be laid across my back.”
“That is within the rights of your matelot contract.”
I remembered the pain of the single lash I’d taken from Martio’s whip across my chest and tried to convince my bowels not to turn to water at the prospect of fifty.
Captain Benji stepped forward. “I’ll share some of that as well. These men are under contract with me as corsairs. As their captain, they are my responsibility.”
The lump was back in my throat. I wanted to tell him no, that the lashes were for me and Sun alone, but I couldn’t get words out around it.
“Aye. Benjamin and Sun are our shipmates. We’ll share in that too.” Hardanguer’s gruff voice rang out, and he and Quinn stepped forward. Followed by Abellard, Cookie, and the rest of the crew of the Fury, including Artur, who held his head high. Curiously, the matelot couples we’d met the night before stepped forward also.
“Nei, you cannot!” Sun said.
“Aye, lad. We can and we will. Now shut your trap and take off your shirt. We’re brothers now, in truth,” Hardanguer said.
The lump welled up and forced tears from my eyes and down my cheeks. With everyone sharing the lashes, it would be two per man. I stood before God and men and cried like a child, until Sun hugged me, and then I bawled harder. There was no safe place in this world for Sun and me, but there were safe people, and we had found them, and they knew us, and we knew them, and together there was hope for something better for all of us.