(I've changed the locale in this one after spending some more time researching things online. Malta is now Gozo, which is actually the smaller island in the Malta archipelago, so it kind of is still Malta….I'm rambling. On with the story.)
Chapter 1: Gozo
My mother was an honest, well meaning woman. Ever since I was born she spent her life doing what she thought was best for me. There were times she went without food so that I would not go hungry. She loved me with every ounce of her being. She taught me to be strong and brave no matter what befalls. That being said, she was gullible, easily persuaded and had terrible taste in men.
My parents met in a tavern in Bristol just over twenty years ago. She was a serving girl, having lived and worked in the tavern and adjoining inn since her own parents died when she was ten years old. She was quiet, sweet, and virtuous at the age of seventeen, which was a rarity in such establishments. He was a sailor, the first mate on a vessel which was "without management" at the time. He was not a good man. My mother, being naïve as she was, never suspected that he was a pirate.
My father came to Bristol on the ship of the famous privateer, Henry Morgan. Morgan went to London to receive the approval of the king while my father and several other crew members went to the pub to seek out ale, women, and profitable ventures. And so, my sweet, trusting mother caught the eye of this unsavory character. He began to come to the tavern every night. He brought her presents: some dried pineapple, a hair pin made of cleaned fishbones, a necklace of silver coins, and small bits of opal and turquoise. He told her stories of his adventures. He told her of the Caribbean sands, fights for Spanish treasure holds, spells and curses of heathen witches, and the stars above the Atlantic. She never had a chance. When he went back to sea, she followed him, disguised as a cabin boy. A month after they reached Jamaica, she was pregnant. Upon hearing the news he quickly jumped aboard a pirate vessel bound for Africa. He vowed to return within a year. Let it suffice to say he did not return.
My mother, pregnant and alone, sought refuge as a kitchen maid in the house of the governor. It was there she gave birth to me and there we lived for the first fourteen years of my life. I, like my mother, was quiet, honest, and virtuous. These qualities made me an excellent maid to the Governor's wife and a suitable playmate to her children. My childhood was happy, spent playing in the sun and performing minor chores such as sweeping balconies and bringing the lady of the house her fan. My mother stayed in the kitchen, working silently. At night she would tell me stories of my father and her journey to the other side of the world. Because of these stories and the fact that I was much smarter than my mother I did not inherit her gullible nature or poor judgment regarding the opposite sex. I knew what my father had done to her even though she would not admit it, and I vowed never to be taken advantage of the way she was. I would not be so cheaply bought with pretty words, exotic stories and empty promises.
I grew pretty, and by the time I was thirteen I had become a distraction to the young men of the house. I never understood all the fuss. My face is pleasant, I will admit, but it is nothing particularly special. My eyes are brown and average, my teeth and mouth no more attractive than those of any other maid. My body is full and curvy, this I will admit. There are temptations enough in a full bosom and round hips, even a girl with my limited experience could recognize that. In my mind, however, my one true beauty is my hair. It is an interesting color, not quite brown, not quite gold, but instead changes with the light and the time of day. It is not curly, but full of gentle waves which tighten to curls in the humidity and heat. It is also wonderfully thick and soft. I love my hair. However, seeing as it was constantly covered with a white linen cap, I cannot see how it would have enticed any man to lust. Nevertheless, the young men of the house tried to catch me in compromising situations, which naturally worried my young mother. Shortly before my thirteenth birthday the household was told that a new Governor would arrive in Port Royal within the year as our current Governor was returning to England to enjoy his retirement. My mother thought this as good a time as any to move on from our current situation.
She had always wanted to return to England. Ever since she had foolishly followed my lying pirate of a father she had longed for her home. So she went to the Governor's wife and asked for the last of her wages, and with that money she purchased passage for us on a ship to England. I was sad to leave the only home I had ever known, but I trusted in my mother. Unfortunately her poor taste included all men, not just those of romantic interest. When the ship was nearly to England, the crew mutinied. The captain was killed and all passengers who did not wish to join the crew were made prisoner. I was terrified that they had a more dreadful purpose in mind for us few female passengers, but the first mate turned pirate captain was clever enough to realize that unspoiled women can fetch a better price on a slave block. We passed through the straight of Gibraltar unharmed, headed for Tripoli. Before we reached our destination, however, our ship met with a Spanish galleon. A brief battle ensued, out of which the pirates emerged victorious, but not before several holes had been blasted through the hull of our ship. The brig now had a gaping hole and was quickly filling with water. Realizing that we would be no good to them dead, the pirates quickly moved us prisoners on deck while they made makeshift repairs to the ship. In their haste they were lazy. My ropes were not tight enough to securely bind my thin wrists. I slipped out and was able to free my mother and Robert, the ten year old boy bound in the same ropes, before any of the pirates came back on deck. We hid in a lifeboat until nightfall and then cast off on our own. The boy was crying, afraid and alone. His family was gone, killed when the cannon ball opened the brig to the sea. Curious that one object can strike a man and a woman in such a way that they both die instantly, yet the people mere inches away from them survive without a scratch. My mother held him, singing softly and stroking his back. After a few hours we saw land. I rowed until I could no longer feel my arms, rowed until the tide took the boat from under us and the waves spat us onto the shore. That is how my mother, my new brother Robert and I first came to the island of Gozo.