Thomas pointed to the ship at the jetty. ‘There’s a likely vessel, Adam. When you are not looking, I could slip on board and hide.’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ replied Adam. ‘I have met the captain of that ship, who might well be descended from Barbary pirates. He’d steal the shirt off your back and toss you overboard the moment he found you.’
Between the harbour wall and a row of harbour buildings they weaved their way slowly through and around heaps of rope, stacks of timber, barrels, canvas and boxes of provisions. Screeching gulls swooped and fought over scraps of food, spilled sugar and the catch being unloaded from a small fishing boat tied to the wall.
The harbour buildings were mostly wooden and in need of paint. Wedged conveniently between a brothel and the Francis Drake inn, the harbour master’s house stood out as the grandest, with an overhanging upper storey, glazed windows and rendered walls.
The Drake was busy, with noisy drinkers overflowing into the street. Outside the brothel an enormous woman with a red cloth tied around her head and skin the colour of coal sat on a low stool, watching the passers-by. Although its door was closed and its windows shuttered, the brothel would also be busy. A ship in port would keep both establishments hard at work and with three more waiting to come in, the landlord and the brothel owner would be doing very handsomely.
Thomas’s sensitive nose wrinkled. He smelled sweat, sugar, ale, salt and heat. Barbados had a smell all of its own – thick, sweet and heady. He had noticed it on his very first day on the island and it had never left him. At the Gibbes’s and at the Lytes’ he had grown used to it but here it was different, enriched with the smells of the sea and of a busy port about its business. Thomas closed his eyes and inhaled. The mixture was not unpleasant but he would rather be breathing the cool, salty air of Southampton.
Near the jetty stood two large timber warehouses in which planters stored their barrels of sugar until they were loaded on board ship. It was more practical to do as Adam had done and bring the hogsheads down regularly in manageable numbers than to keep them on the estate.
Gangs of slaves were rolling the barrels out of one warehouse to the edge of the jetty, where they were attached to a hoist and lifted on to the ship. It was work for big, strong men and, glistening with sweat, the slaves were stretching and straining their muscles with the effort. An overseer with a whip stood over them, occasionally encouraging a man to greater endeavour with a flick of its tongue. It was the sugar trade at work. Tons and tons of sugar, free labour and a ready market. Even the Gibbes could do it.
They drew the carts up to one side of the warehouses while Adam went to make the necessary arrangements to have their load stored. He was not long in returning. ‘We’ll have to wait a while,’ he told the men. ‘Stay here and watch the carts. We’ll be in the Drake. Come on, Thomas.’
Thomas jumped down and followed Adam back around the harbour to the inn. They were soon sitting at a table inside with wooden tankards of ale in their hands. Among the drinkers Thomas noticed Robert Sprot. As ever, immaculately turned out and with his battered satchel to hand, Sprot sat alone in one corner, politely tipping his straw hat to any customer or potential customer he recognized. With sailors in port and heavy barrels being carted about, it was as good a place as any to do business. A crushed foot or a broken head and Sprot would be ready with his tools.
‘At least it has not dawned on the Gibbes where you might be. A little surprising considering that I offered to buy you,’ said Adam.
‘Indeed. It would be awkward for you if they did discover where I have been hiding. I should not want you or Mary to be embarrassed.’
Adam laughed. ‘Embarrassed we could manage. Violence would be more unpleasant. And they are a violent pair.’
‘I kept a list of adjectives when I was there. Every ten days I wrote down a new one to describe them. I remember filthy, repulsive and carnivorous. I don’t remember violent but it would have occurred to me eventually.’
‘I do hope you’re not keeping a list about us, Thomas. That too would be embarrassing.’
‘No, no list about the Lytes.’ Thomas paused. ‘Adam, what do you think will happen if Lord Willoughby does arrive?’
‘It’s hard to be sure. Willoughby, by all accounts, is a formidable man and if he carries the commission of Charles Stuart, he will insist on discharging his responsibility. But Walrond won’t go easily. Having swept Bell aside, he won’t be easy to shift.’
‘And Cromwell won’t turn a blind eye either. Until the king was executed, the island enjoyed peace and prosperity, now nothing but fear and danger. If only –’
There was a cry of alarm from the harbour and at almost the same moment Thomas smelt smoke. Every man in the inn jumped up and rushed outside. The smoke was billowing towards them from one of the warehouses and they saw flames playing around its timber walls.
In the short time it took them to run around the harbour the flames had stretched up to the roof. Several men ran out of the warehouse, their arms over their faces to protect them from the heat and their clothes and hair on fire. Some jumped into the water, others collapsed to the ground screaming. Two quick-thinking sailors found buckets, filled them with seawater and threw them over the burning bodies. Still screaming, the burned men were dragged away.
In seconds the whole warehouse was ablaze and the heat had forced everyone back. Timber walls, timber barrels, rum and sugar fed the flames. There was little anyone could do but watch and hope the fire did not spread to the other warehouse.
Having sensibly driven their carts well away from the fire, Adam’s men returned to join the watching crowd. He and Thomas stood with them. ‘Did everyone get out?’ Thomas asked the man beside him.
The man shook his head. ‘Don’t know, sir. Perhaps not.’
‘How did it start, do you think?’
‘Runaways, I should say, sir.’
At that moment a blazing figure emerged from the inferno and staggered towards them. More torch than man, he stumbled and fell. Thomas jumped forward and threw himself on top of him, trying to smother the flames. It was a vain effort and he would soon have caught fire himself had Adam not stepped forward with a pail of water and thrown it over them. It was enough to extinguish the flames, and Thomas rolled off.
Adam bent to examine the man, then shook his head. ‘Dead. His face and body burned to cinders. Take him away.’ Two of his men stepped forward, picked up the corpse and carried it off. The coroner would do the rest.
The warehouse was still burning. A gang of men had formed a line to the water and were passing buckets up and down as fast as they could. The man at the top of the line threw the water over the flames but to very little avail. Thomas hauled himself to his feet, checked that the burns on his hands were no more than superficial and wiped his face with his sleeve.
‘Wouldn’t it be wiser to use the water on the other warehouse?’ he asked Adam. ‘This one’s beyond saving but if we dampen the walls of the other, it might prevent them catching.’