Lady Anne: Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

Richard Gloucester: But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Richard III, Act I Scene ii

Theresa would remember the screams she heard that night for a long time. She had heard men cry out in pain before; wounded or sick sailors were often unloaded like so many bundles of bloodstained blanket at Cadiz after seeing action. But she had never heard the high-pitched, shrill hare's shriek of men in blind terror – or the faint grisly, bubbling noises they made… afterwards.

It would have been terrible had she been free and able to see something of what caused it.

But being held blindfolded and pinioned made it ten times worse – well-nigh unbearable. It was like the cries of the damned echoing up from Hell itself, a few planks below beneath her feet. She began to struggle in earnest, panic overtaking her.

'Boarders below deck, sir!'

Frustrated, Scarfield shoved her away, turning towards his Marines. She almost sprawled headlong across the deck.

'What… how?!' He snarled. 'Hold your ground, men! Hold! Fight them off! Await the Thetis! You know your orders!'

If boarding parties had invaded below, then the gun crews were probably fighting for their lives below decks. And losing, with those horrible screams…

But it was a fatal mistake for the lieutenant to turn away from the adversaries already poised in front of him. There was a hoarse, terrible yell from the strange crew-

'Ma'am!' Scrimshaw was suddenly by her side, trying to pick her up. 'Get up – you've got to get up…'

He sounded more like a panic-stricken child on the verge of sobbing.

'I can't! My hands-'

'I don't have the key! Sergeant Ennis holds -' Scrimshaw truly was sobbing now. 'Oh, hell!'

He managed to drag her half to her feet, and urged her a few paces forwards, before dragging her down into a crouch. 'Stay here!'

Theresa felt the brush of the ship's wheel against her arm. Scrimshaw had tugged her into the narrow space between the helm and the carved wooden balustrade of the quarterdeck. It was scanty enough shelter, but it offered somewhat more protection than the furious battleground of the deck than open ground. 'We'll fight them off, ma'am. Don't you worry,' he said fervently. 'The Thetis should be here soon, we'll see 'em gone. I'll come and get you when it's all over-'

'Wait! Please, loosen my blindfold!' Theresa said urgently – just a fraction too late, as Scrimshaw leapt away. She could hear him unsheathing his sword as he took the steps at a run, towards the sounds of battle.

There was a muffled roar and the recoil of a cannon from below – one of the gun crews at least, had managed to fire on the Spanish ship. Jolted, Theresa threw her arms over her head, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Perhaps it was simply the stifling blindfold that made everything so much worse? The crack of rifles and the smell of black powder had mingled with a sharp, metallic tang she recognised from walking past the abattoir district. Spilt blood.

What should she pray for? She wondered despairingly. The Thetis to arrive in the nick of time? For the Spanish crew to triumph? She scarcely knew any more.

There was another terrible high-pitched scream. A fleshy tearing sound. The smash of glass – perhaps a lantern.

Seventeen, Theresa thought disconnectedly to herself. That's how old Third Lieutenant Scrimshaw had told her he was. Just seventeen.

Don't let him be brave. She prayed, from her cramped position almost beneath the ships wheel. Let him hide, let him hide away and stay safe. He's a boy, not a hero in a storybook…

It might only have been a few minutes. For Theresa it seemed like an eternity. But eventually the noises, such as they were, came shuddering to a halt. No more groans or cries. Not even the sound of pistol shot or steel. Just the creak of the deck timbers underfoot, and the pacing of unknown feet. Murmuring that was no longer in English.

The Essex had been taken.

Theresa realised despairingly that this was no ordinary military engagement. She had understood that officers normally at least spared their own rank, preferring to take them as prisoners of war for the prize money. It was a small courtesy that saved them from bloodier treatment in the hands of the enemy. But this? This hadn't been …ordinary. This had been slaughter, pure and simple.

There were footsteps coming towards her, tramping up the steps to the quarterdeck.

'Where was she? The woman?'

'On the quarterdeck, I think. There, hiding near the wheel.'

'Que? Awidow?'

No use in trying to avoid notice. They had seen her. And if the way they treated the English was anything to go by…

Oh Sebastien, Theresa thought, dimly. I think I'm coming back to you, my love. Sooner than I thought I would.

Oddly, it was the thought of him that gave her some comfort. It was a steadying thought – something certain, at least. She might not be able to choose many things about how this played out, but at worst… there was always the blue of the sea, and Sebastien.

She concentrated. Sunlight in fair hair. Sébastien, turning around, as if to wait for her…

It gave her the strength to rise to her knees, feeling for the balustrade. The footsteps stopped. There was a murmur of surprise from the voices below her. 'Look, she is bound – '

'And blindfolded. Ah, that explains it.' A different voice said in a wry undertone. 'It is not Gui's winning personality and pre-possessing looks that make her so polite –'

Theresa briefly – foolishly - found herself wondering which language to reply in. Pointless, speaking English now! There were no men alive to hear her, or answer if she did.

'Is it all over?' she asked, numbly, eventually deciding on Spanish.

'Señora?' There was a pause. When they next spoke, it was the respectful voice from the parley across the decks. 'Yes. It is over. You have no more to fear from them.'

Ah, but what about you? Theresa thought. Groping, she found the edge of the rail and hauled herself to her feet. Fragments of old deportment lessons flitted through her mind. Stand up straight, Theresa, tuck in your spine! Head up! Show them how well you can die! 'I am ready, Señor. Make it quick.'

There was a pause.

'Make… it…quick-?' The voice caught her meaning, sounding a little taken aback. 'Señora, you misunderstand our intent. We do not mean to - '

'Forgive me for doubting your intent,' Theresa said tightly. Her legs were beginning to tremble from the delayed shock. Thank heaven for the disguise of petticoats. 'But the crew-'

'They were English,' the voice said matter-of-factly. There was a shrug in there, as though to say "they were cockroaches.". 'You are not. And we do not kill honest citizens of Spain- '

'Honest citizens,' another voice added darkly. 'You don't know that she is honest. This could still be a trick-'

'That will be for el Capitán to decide-'

'You mean to bring her to el Capitán?' There was a low whistle. 'He will spit fire! You know how he is about-'

'You may have forgotten that you are an officer of Spain, Magda, but I have not. And neither will el Capitán. He knows his duty, as do I. Thelady-' the word was stressed, pointedly. 'asked for the protection of Spain. Who are you to refuse it to her?'

A hand gingerly brushed her sleeve. 'This way, Señora. I will conduct you to el Capitán. He - he will know what to do…'

'Please – 'Theresa burst out, desperately. 'Will you not remove my blindfold? I – I should at least like to see in order to – to thank you…'

There was a peculiar silence. It lasted some time, and was punctuated only by what sounded like the other officer laughing softly under his breath.

'Yes, do let her thank you, Gui,' he said mockingly. 'My faith, it will be better than a play when she does-'

'Be silent.'

' I regret, Señora – the officer's voice said eventually. 'It may be better for you to… remain as you are. For now. Until el Capitán has decided-' He broke off.

Whether I'm to live or die, Theresa decided, resignedly. It was too late. They must think her part of the bait. And why shouldn't they? She'd been with the English, after all. Apparently helping them.

It didn't strike her as odd until later that, when guiding her, the unseen officer took the utmost care only to touch her sleeve. He instinctively avoided her hand. The other officer took care not to approach her at all, following at a distance behind.

But even that wasn't the strangest part.

An uncanny hush followed them through the murmur of the crew as she was guided along the deck. Evidently they hadn't expected to find a fellow countrywoman on board, whatever they were, but…

Why were they so quiet?

'Please –' she said, anxiously, growing more frightened. She would almost have preferred leers and curses. They were at least to be expected under circumstances such as this. The strange deathlike silence made her fears sprout like mushrooms; growing into monstrous shapes in the darkness. 'Please, let me see where you're taking me-'

No reply. There was a strange, muted sigh from the collected Spanish crew. Theresa felt someone reach out and brush her skirts, almost reverently, with outstretched fingertips-

She flinched away, alarmed. The officer cursed under his breath and struck out.

'¡Eh!' he snarled. 'What are we, beasts? Keep your fingers to yourself!'

'Apologies, señora,' he added. 'They mean no disrespect...'

Theresa could do no more than nod, mouth dry with fear.

Think of Sebastien, she told herself. Don't think about where you are –Oh God, why won't they let me see their faces? Are they pirates after all? Is that it? No, stop it! Stop thinking about it. Sebastien. Think of Sebastien. Fair hair in sunlight, and that smile of his…

And then, to her shock, she heard an English voice she didn't think she'd hear again.

'Please! I don't know! We had sealed orders! No-one said…' Third Lieutenant Scrimshaw's voice was a shrill whimper. 'P… please, I don't-'

'You don't know.' A hoarse voice growled. 'Sí, I know that. Every time we capture one of your ships we hear it! "Oh, please, Capitán, I do not know!" I am tired of hearing what you Inglés do not know-'

The officer towing Theresa along coughed respectfully, as though to discreetly attract attention.

'…Capitán?'

'What is it, Lesaro?' the voice said irritably. 'I haven't touched the boy yet. He hasn't stopped snivelling-'

'The English had a hostage on board, Capitán. Translating for them. They wanted to make terms-'

There was a snort. 'So? Slit his throat with the rest. We make no terms-'

Theresa shut her eyes behind her blindfold. Sebastien, she prayed, silently. I'm coming to you, my love…

Theresa was gently nudged forward. 'It is a Spanish hostage, Capitán. A lady.'

There was a grunt of surprise from the unseen captain in front of her.

'A woman?'

Theresa still blinded, saw nothing: but she could feel herself being narrowly weighed up, for a long minute. Then…

'No.' the voice said flatly. 'It is a trick. Some trick of the Inglés-'

'There is no mistake, Capitán. She spoke to us.' The mocking officer had joined in, from somewhere behind Theresa's left ear. 'No Englishwoman speaks Spanish that well.'

'Oh, so you heard her speak?' Theresa heard limping footsteps approach. There was an audible sneer. 'You are sure then, that this is not some English boy in petticoats?'

That was it. Theresa had had enough. Scarfield had been bad enough, but now this? From her own countrymen? Her frayed temper gave way.

'I am not English.' She said sharply, in her crisp, best-society Spanish. 'Neither am I a boy in petticoats, Capitán. And if you are the kind of man who now commands in the Spanish Navy, then the service is much the poorer for it-'

There was an aghast silence from the crew. Theresa felt movement towards her, desperately tried to think of sunlight in fair hair…

'Bravely said, little Señora!' the hoarse voice of the captain was suddenly uncomfortably close. He sounded almost… entertained by her daring. 'But if you will allow me to say: you know nothing of the kind of man I am.'

The amusement in his voice vanished like winter sunlight, leaving nothing but a feral snarl. Theresa trembled and fell silent.

'But…on the other hand, I know nothing of you.' The voice said, musingly. 'And you - you are a puzzlement, as an embajadora to the English.' Something ice-cold brushed her shoulder, plucking at a corner of her veil with finger and thumb. She froze, an involuntary shiver running down her spine. 'Where did you learn English, little Señora?'

'Marseilles.' Theresa said shortly. 'I was educated by the sisters there...'

She hadn't learned English from the sisters, mind you. Convent education was a coveted thing, but it was by no means comprehensive.

The captain was still absently playing with the tattered edge of her lace veil. Theresa might not be able to see, but she could hear him pacing about her, feel the occasional twitch of her veil's hem.

'Marseilles. Hm. But you are Spanish. That I can see - and hear. You are from… Cádiz, no?'

Theresa noticed there was something curiously pained in the way he paused before saying the name, as though it was an effort of will simply to pronounce the name.

'Yes.' She said simply, wondering at it. 'I sailed from there a month ago.'

'A month.' The captain repeated, almost murmuring to himself. He sounded inexpressibly sad. 'Ah – what we would all give, little Señora, to have been in Cádiz as little as "a month" ago...'

He paused, lost in thought.

There was a wistful sigh from the crew. Theresa felt a general surging forward behind her, as though they were trying to get a better look at her.

Someone called out from the back of the crowd.

'If you please… Señora? Are there holy sisters still at San Francisco Convent, near the plaza?'

'Silence!' One of the officers shouted, angrily. 'You speak out of turn, Bracero!'

Pirates? Theresa wondered. But... no. There was something in their attitude that suggested not. Pirates didn't have rank – and the captain had addressed the officer – the kindly one – as Lieutenant. These were just men who had been afloat with their orders from the Admiralty a long time, then? Perhaps Scarfield had been right. This was some military manoeuvre.

The officer Theresa now knew as Lesaro seemed to judge it a propitious moment to speak in her favour, for he broke in, tactfully.

'She translated for the English officer, Capitán. He believed we spoke no English. What he said – I thought you would want to hear. And the lady showed courage. She asked us for protection from them, Capitán. As officers of Spain. As gentlemen of honour-'

'Bah, enough! You make your point clear, Lesaro. And, like a good cavalier of Spain, you wish me to … what? Play the gentleman gallant?' the captain said mockingly. He drew in another pained breath that fluttered Theresa's veil by her ear.

Oh God, what's wrong with him? Theresa thought. That wheezing death-rattle of the captain's sounded like consumption, or else some terrible affliction of the lungs…

'I ask that you hear her out, Capitán,' Lesaro said stiffly. 'That is all.'

'Heh? We can manage that. You! Señora!' Theresa felt herself apostrophised impatiently and tensed. 'Speak.'

'The- the English Lieutenant wanted me to hold parley with you.' Theresa stammered. 'He ordered you to stop your attacks on the honest sea-traffic of the Caribbean-'

'Honest sea-traffic?' the captain let out a bark of wheezing laughter. 'That is a good joke, eh? Honest sea-traffic…and this Englishman… orders me?'

Theresa momentarily wondered where Scarfield was. Probably lying on the deck with his throat cut like the rest of his men. He hadn't been much the better for his plans. But-

'It wasn't an idle threat, even if you have the Essex!' Theresa said urgently. 'He divided his fleet after leaving Fort Amsterdam! I told your officer-'

'This is true, Capitán.' Another voice put in. 'She told Lesaro this - before the Englishman was enraged-'

'And you believed her?' To Theresa's growing disbelief, the captain seemed to shrug this off. 'Tch, I did not think my officers were so credulous- '

'It is not a lie!' Theresa said angrily. She had grown to hope, faint though the hope might be, that the officers' civility might have been a dim reflection of the man who commanded them. This man sounded like a coarse dockside braggart. 'There are three seventy-two-gun frigates rounding the French side of Saint-Martin to catch you, along with the Thetis -'

'Oh, the Thetis!' Another bark of humourless laughter. Theresa felt herself scrutinized again. 'I would not worry about the Thetis, little Señora, or her half-penny armada. We…encountered them before we met with you. And you are right – although I believe the last frigate had more guns than seventy-two. La María took care of them.'

Theresa inwardly sagged in despair. There went poor Scrimshaw's hope of rescue. And he had simply been playing with her, waiting for her answers in order to gauge how honest she was. She might as well have been the scrap of veil he was still toying so fitfully with.

'Still, a good answer. You at least speak what truth you know, Señora from Cádiz. That is better than the crawling lies I have had from the Inglés…' There was a pained grunt from Scrimshaw. It sounded very much as if he had just received a careless boot to the stomach. 'But how do you come into the tale, Señora?'

'I was taken prisoner because I spoke English.' Theresa fought the urge to ask about Scrimshaw. She wanted to – God knew how badly she did. But she didn't dare remind them of him in case they decided they had no further use for him. 'If you will allow, capitán, I have further-'

'Bah! Stop.' he said abruptly. 'I dislike talking to a bundle of washing, Señora. If we talk, we talk face to face-'

Without waiting for her startled acquiescence, he lifted her veil.

It would have been alarming enough for her if that had been all. It became a good deal more disturbing when he raised it slowly - almost languidly. His hand lingered briefly under the pretence of slowly moving the mantilla back to delicately brush her cheek with one thumb.

'So. Not an English boy in petticoats.' He murmured. Theresa felt a cold, bitter breath fan her unprotected cheek.

She tried not to visibly recoil, despite the insolence of the gesture. But there was something curiously... repulsive to her in his touch.

It was so cold. Waxen. Still flesh, but icy, and strangely stiff; utterly unlike the warmth of a living thing. The hand that had just stroked a dishevelled tendril of hair back from her forehead chilled her to the bone.

This isn't right, something whispered in Theresa's bones. This is wrong. This is-

'You say we talk "face to face",' she said, voice trembling with fear. 'But you leave me blindfolded?'

The capitán let out a hoarse burst of mocking laughter. "Believe me Señora: you should thank me for it. You may not be disposed to be so...communicative, afterwards.' The hand abruptly withdrew. 'You spoke of being held prisoner by the Inglés.'

'I was not the only one.' Theresa said impatiently. 'The innocent men, women and children who travelled to Saint-Martin with me? The settlers who have the misfortune to be Spanish? They have not been so lucky.' Theresa said bitterly. 'They rot in Saint-Martin's gaol, awaiting the pleasure of a mob, or that...' she searched for a word for Scarfield. 'That bestia of a lieutenant who promised executions for all if no-one came forward...'

There was a disconcerted rumble of confused mutters from the crew behind her that was only silenced by a sudden growl of muffled fury from the captain. He paced, muttering something furiously beneath his breath.

'They dared to-' He stopped. Theresa heard the rasp of the captain's sword-point gouging itself viciously into the wood of the deck. 'No. This is a lie! They would not...' He suddenly rounded on Theresa, suspicion sharpening his voice. 'If you are lying-'

'Lying?!' Theresa lost patience with the man. Are you really so blind to the consequences of your actions, Senor le Capitán?' she said hotly. She shook her head. 'They told me there are scarcely any foreign ships of the line left in the Caribbean…'

'They did, heh?' There was a definite note of glee in the captain's voice. He almost sounded …flattered. 'High praise, indeed, from the Inglés! We do our work well. None better-'

But the officers did not quite seem to share his satisfaction. There was a definite murmur of unease from behind Theresa.

'Capitán?' a younger, more uncertain voice now spoke up. 'We did not know of this-this affair ashore. They take civilians hostage? What would that gain them?'

'Nothing!' The Capitán snapped, silencing all talk by a gesture. 'They gain nothing by it!' He spoke more coldly now, deliberately, as though pronouncing sentence. 'We are privileged to serve Spain – sí, and in a capacity no other man has yet been granted! So. It follows there can be no other consideration. We know our duty. Eh, it is a regret that the innocent suffer, yes – but that is war. It happens.'

'You...' Theresa could scarcely believe her ears. 'What?'

'We can do nothing for those ashore. It is not within our power.' The capitán said indifferently. And Theresa, defeated, might have left it there – had he not added lazily, 'Or my inclination.'

Now Theresa was by no means a hot-tempered person. The admonitions of her niñera and the later chastisements of the sisters in Marseille had taught her both patience and forbearance. Bad, hasty-tempered little girls earned a stinging bundle of birch twigs on the back of the neck. But there was only so much she could tolerate, and the studied callousness of the man made her gasp with shock and rage.

The officer behind Theresa had also let out a muffled exclamation.

'Capitán!' He said uneasily. 'Surely we should-'

'Do what, Lesaro? Storm the town?' The captain laughed, mirthlessly. 'Bien, take a party of men ashore and see how you fare.'

'But with respect, Capitan – we could bombard the settlement from the bay -'

'They would soon surrender…'

'No.'

'But Capitán, if we-'

'I said NO!' The smothered violence with which he burst out seemed to appal his crew into silence. 'What are they to us? What can the living ashore be to us, eh?' He turned. 'Nothing. You know this-'

A dim, faintly disturbing voice at the back of her mind began to whisper: what did he mean, the "living ashore"?

But for better or worse, Theresa's outrage had finally given her the power of speech again. She retorted with a vengeance.

'If you truly serve Spain, Capitán,' she said vehemently, 'Then you should at least make some attempt to protect its people. Allowing them to have their necks wrung like chickens because it does not suit your fine military stratagems…' she repeated the words with revulsion. 'That is cowardly. It is base.'

'If?' there was a deadly quiet in the captain's voice that should have warned Theresa she had gone too far. But she was too alight with indignation to care. 'You presume to question if I serve Spain?!' He felt him lean over her. 'I have 'served' Spain, as you call it, for longer than many men have drawn breath. As have we all-'

'But do you now?' Theresa retorted. 'Do you serve Spain, if you incite war and allow her people to suffer? That is not the action of an honourable captain!'

She heard him audibly grit his teeth.

'Enough!' he said irritably. 'Lesaro! Take your shrieking duenna away. Put her afloat for land if you like, but I will hear no more- '

At any other time, the menace in his voice would have warned Theresa to hold her tongue. But not now. It was as though a pent-up dam of words had suddenly burst behind her teeth. It might have been courage. It felt more like drunkenness; reckless and out of control.

'No more of what? The truth? I speak for the voiceless, Señor! For the women and children you are content to leave to die in an English gaol! If you can do this-'

'I said enough!'

'-to your own people-'

Theresa, despairing, could almost feel hands closing in on her. She'd failed. She'd be tossed ashore like a piece of unwanted flotsam. If she was fortunate, she'd wash up in Saint-Martin – where she'd be imprisoned along with the other abandoned castaways of Spain.

She hadn't managed to help anyone.

And this callous, indifferent dockside piece of work had just shrugged them off – had decided to pick and choose what rules he followed-

Her eyes narrowed. She shrugged, contemptuously.

'Very well then. Better in their hands than yours.' She said witheringly. 'I thought I was speaking to a man of honour. But you? - I find you, el Capitán, no better than a common pirate.'

There was a moment's sickening silence. You could have heard a pin drop.

Later, Theresa would wonder what would have happened if she hadn't issued that parting riposte. All she really been trying to do was – well, convey her contempt, yes, but all she'd wanted was to try and rouse something. Anything. Some slight sting of conscience that might make him change his mind. Ruffled pride would have done. Shame, even.

She hadn't been prepared for all hell to break loose so quickly.

Fast – faster than she could have reacted to, even if unbound and blindfolded – Theresa heard a terrible bellow of rage. Hasty footsteps. An icy hand whipped out, vicious as a serpent, to close convulsively around her windpipe, propelling her backwards by sheer brute strength until her back hit the ship's bulwark. She choked, gasping desperately for air-

'You… dare…'The Capitán hissed, almost incoherent with fury. 'You dare to call me pirate? To compare me to…'

Theresa felt his weight slam against her, bending her backwards over the ships rail until her stays seemed to creak in protest. She struggled weakly, skirts fluttering as she was crushed helplessly against the side like a trapped moth. This is it, then. She thought dazedly, as darting blue dots began to appear in front of her eyes. This is how I die...

'I weary,' he said, from between clenched teeth, 'Of playing the gentleman gallant for you, little Señora. The game is over-'

But just as Theresa feared the worst, his grip abruptly shifted away from her throat. He caught her chin in his cold fingers; turning her face this way and that, as though deciding on something as he looked at her.

And then he chuckled, softly and mirthlessly. It frightened Theresa more than his sudden violence.

'You say you speak truth to me, little Señora? Well, I have heard your truth patiently. It is now time that you see mine…'

With a sudden jerk Theresa's blindfold was pulled away from her eyes.

Theresa looked.

Theresa saw.