Bay of Ilha Grande, Brasil - June 1721
They were coming up to the beach near to Paraty, pronounced 'Par-a-chee', a colonial village named after the local fish in the Tupi Indian language, halfway between Rio de Janeiro and São Paolo at the base of the Bocaino Mountains. Wild and undeveloped, with verdant mountain peaks and golden sand, the water was the most unusually clear shade of green. Palms and tropical forest vegetation grew almost all the way to the beach. It was a haven for escaped and former slaves, now freemen. The island itself was home to a leper colony and a prison. The small village had cobblestone streets and the beginnings of a church. The pale light of dawn was just beginning to appear over the horizon.
The Queen Anne was moored in the bay off in the distance when he looked back, her silhouette enveloped in sea mist, as Izzy and Blackbeard rowed to shore with his slim belongings and some food and a couple of canteens of fresh water in the ship's tender. Izzy was her captain now.
They hauled the dingy up onto the beach, and unloaded his bags.
"Well, here we are," Izzy said, after some silence. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yes," Edward assured him.
There was another small boat on the beach, there in the wet, hard-packed sand; a saveiros fishing boat, her fore-and-aft rigged sails reefed. The thought of pan-fried mackerel with mashed potatoes and butter, and a sliced cucumber salad in apple cider vinegar, salt and pepper nearly made Ed's mouth water; it was a meal that he had at home oft times.
The weather should be warm and dry, and Ed could sleep here on the beach for the night or on the boat, get his bearings. Take the small fishing boat to his destination, wherever that might be. There still could be brief but intense tropical rain showers in the afternoons or evenings that occurred almost daily during the rainy season.
They embraced then, and kissed, but it was more from their deep friendship and shared history than lust now, for old times. Izzy and Ed had been as thick as thieves once, having grown up in similar circumstances. They had shared many good times and confidences, and a few dalliances.
"You could do the same, you know," Edward said. "Build a new life for yourself."
"Nah, I don't know." Izzy seemed uncomfortable, not sure what to say. The only sound was the gentle rush of the surf on the beach, back and forth.
"Think about it, Iz," Ed said. "Get hold of us if you should change your mind. The door is always open."
Ed knew that Izzy would never betray him. There was not only the pardon, but their close friendship, and while Ed knew that Izzy wasn't very fond of his choice of partners in 'Bonnet', as Izzy referred to him, he came to grudgingly respect Ed's decision and thought even less of the authorities, even if he would be paid well for his information. Such was his love and respect for Blackbeard.
Ed chuckled.
"Take care, then," Izzy said, "and good luck." But he was thinking to himself if you should ever change your mind, but all that was futile now.
"You take care as well."
Edward extended his hand and Izzy took it, and they embraced once more, Ed clapping Izzy on the back.
Ed helped Izzy push the dinghy back into the water and watched from the shore as Izzy rowed back to the ship, raising his hand in farewell once, and then went in search of materials to build a fire after Izzy was gone from sight.
He made a small fire from the kindling and wood he'd collected, surrounded by beach stones. From the swag he had carried with him on his back, he set up his bedroll close by with its oiled tarp beneath it. It was cooler than it had been in the heat of the day with the breeze coming in off the water, but still a very warm night, so the fire was not needed for that purpose, but the fragrant smoke would help to keep the mosquitoes and biting insects at bay, and would be a comfort. He wouldn't be here long anyway. He'd wander into the village in a day or two and find his way around.
With a little time and patience, he did catch a couple of fish during his short stay, and although it wasn't quite like the meals aboard ship or at home in that there was nothing much else to accompany it (he would have liked some potatoes), it tasted damned good, and after he'd cleaned them with his knife and rinsed them, the succulent aroma as they roasted over the flames on the spit he'd made from forked branches was just as mouthwatering. He ate hungrily and watched as the sun set orange.
He stared into the fire and listened to the sound of the surf on the beach, both hypnotic, sitting with his arms around his knees, his bare feet set squarely in the sand. The fire glowed like a bright source of life in the darkness, but he was aware of all of the life around him, listening to the hum of night insects, the calls of birds, and other night creatures, before he drifted off to sleep.
The Revenge's crew were out enjoying a little shore leave, and probably spending their well-earned wages. An idea had occurred to Ed that he wanted to share with Stede.
Not only would it be a relaxing day, but it would help them plan on how they would deliver Stede's belongings to the house. It might be better to take the Revenge in as close as they could, than to go overland.
He'd asked the kitchen to prepare a hamper of things to eat - bread and Quiejo de Minas Frescal cheese, some wine, and a sweet, Brasilian version of Portuguese marmelada made from the guava instead of quince, called goiabada.
Stede had an awakening, that moonlit night, the frantic passion of it. Something he knew now that he tried to run from, because he was afraid and unsure, inexperienced. But he wasn't afraid any longer.
Ed had borrowed a boat, it seemed. Wind Lass was her name, lettered on the side of her colourfully painted hull. She was a wooden sloop type boat with a carvel-built hull and had a small cubby for storage, maybe twenty or so feet long, from the tip of her bow to her stern, and didn't need a large crew, just the two of them could do it; with bright blue, triangular lateen sails that were good for sailing windward. Smaller and more nimble and manoeuverable to explore the coast with, closer in to shore than the Revenge could go. It could be launched from the beach if necessary. There was a little rowing boat astern. They might sail up to Rio de Janeiro, Edward said, or to the secluded cove and beach where Izzy had delivered him amidst the numerous uninhabited islands in the area.
Ed stripped down to his underdrawers and dove from the side of the boat after they had found a suitable place to drop temporary anchor and accounting for the tides, down to check that the anchor was firmly dug into the sandy seabed. The water was relatively shallow here, quite warm and so incredibly clear. When he saw that all was secure, he swam up to the surface and hoisted himself back up over the gunwale, dripping wet, his undergarments clinging to him. But they wouldn't take long to dry in the sun and air of the hot day.
Ed was so beautiful to him that at times Stede was left stunned, and he wanted to explore everything in this beautiful relationship with him.
They pulled the towing lines of the small rowing boat alongside and Stede on strong and sturdy legs carefully boarded; Ed passed down to him their hamper of food and tossed in a blanket, and followed after him, untying the boat, to row to the beach for the afternoon.
