A week passed by and Isabelle saw less of Cutler. It was as if they had a mutual agreement to avoid one another. Isabelle's face had healed well and though the bruising had been dark for a day or two, frequent icing and a wintergreen salve had drawn the worst of the bruise from her skin and left only the faintest of scars.
Isabelle stood in the parlor and looked at the two horses standing tied by the front door. A month before the drive would have been cluttered with horses. She had not been informed, but she figured Cutler must have bought office space in town and was conducting business from there. One afternoon she was called into the library where an old man sat in a chair. He was mostly toothless, a fisherman by the smell of him. Cutler sat behind his big desk and stared at the man.
"Thank you Isabelle, I was just telling my friend that you enjoy a good story." Cutler's eyes were cold on her and she glanced away from him. "Tell me my friend, what story have you?" Isabelle watched with a furrowed brow as Cutler pushed a tray of cheese and fruit towards the man and poured a generous measure of his best brandy in a glass. The man's eyes lit up and he quickly ate and drank. He belched softly and looked for forgiveness from Cutler and his sister. "Your story, sir." Cutler reminded him.
"Ah, yes milord. I was merely distracted by your generous offering of food. It isn't every day that a man such as myself is treated to such fine foods as was placed before me."
"I understand. But we are very busy people and haven't got all day."
"Right sir. Beggin' yer lordship's pardon." The man turned towards Isabelle. "And the lady's too." Isabelle nodded, but her stomach grew tight, fearful at what news this man might have.
"Tell us now, old man."
"Yes sir, well it be said that you've got the heart o' Davy Jones locked away you do, and that ye be protectin' it."
"Rumor only." Cutler said.
"Well, they say that by controlling the heart, a body can control the very seas. But that be rumors as you say." The man's eyes twinkled knowingly. "But they used to say it was more than that to control the seas. It used to be the goddess Calypso that controlled the seas and the winds, and it was to her the men begged askance for fair skies and winds."
"What happened to Calypso?" Isabelle asked. Cutler was right, she did enjoy a good story and this had the makings of a very good one.
"They say that the Pirate lords, years ago, came together for one purpose alone and captured the goddess. To find the goddess, is to find the key to truly owning the seas they say. The Nine pirate lords were tired of the old gods and the constant begging and scraping. They got rid of Calypso, suppressed her power and sail the seas of their own accord."
"And how would one go about finding this key?" Cutler asked leaning far forward upon his desk.
"I know not sir." The man said. "But that is merely a barroom story told by old drunk sailors."
"What must one do?"
"They say that the court of Pirates are the only ones to be able to free the goddess from her prison. They must be set to convene."
"Interesting." Cutler mused. "And if they don't convene?"
"Calypso will be forever trapped in her prison and the seas will be another's to control. From now until the end of the world."
"Thank you. You shall be rewarded for your honesty." The man was taken away by two marines and Isabelle stood waiting Cutler's questioning. "So, is what he says true?"
"A year ago I never would have believed that we would have a heart locked up in a chest somewhere, but now I know the truth. I have seen Captain Jones' heart with my own eyes."
"That's not what I asked."
"Anything can be true. He certainly believes it."
"Was he hiding anything?"
"No."
"So what do you think we should do?" Isabelle shrugged, but Mr. Mercer stepped forward.
"If I might be so bold, My Lord, I think I might have a strategy."
"Mr. Mercer, if you please…"
"The man said that this pagan goddess has been bound to the earth for all time, and that only the pirate lords can free her." Mr. Mercer turned to Isabelle. "Is that correct, Miss Beckett?"
"Yes."
"If, without the pagan witch, the seas are ours to control, it would be in our best interest to see she stays bound to the earth."
"I had thought the same thing."
"What better way than to eliminate the pirate lords?" Mercer asked with an evil grin.
"But who are they and how would we find them?" Isabelle asked.
"That is a problem indeed." Cutler said. "Was the man hiding anything?"
"It's difficult to say, his thoughts were addled by drink. I sensed there is something more. Some way of calling the pirates….a code that would bring them together."
"Mr. Mercer, I believe it is time to implement our plans." Isabelle shuddered as the vision of a pile of boots stacked as tall as a man spread across her mind. With it came the pungent odor of death. She wanted no part of whatever her brother and Mr. Mercer might have planned and curtsied before turning and leaving the men to talk of darker plans.
She was not called on again for a week and she passed much of her time in the garden watching the flowers come into bloom.
It was therefore a surprise to her when she received a letter of notice to report to the fort early the next morning.
Isabelle arrived at the fort in the big carriage and stepped out onto the cobbles of the sally port. She opened her parasol and glanced up at where the English flag flapped in the warm morning Caribbean breeze beside the Company flag.
"Miss Beckett?" Isabelle turned to see James Norrington standing behind her.
"Admiral Norrington, good morning." She said smiling slightly at him. It was a formality only, she was not happy to be here and she wished she could melt away.
"It is good to see you, what brings you to the fort this morning?" He asked as he offered her his arm and escorted her into the fort.
"I don't know, Lord Beckett summoned me here."
"He's summoned a lot of people." James said darkly. "I don't know what he's planning."
"Nor do I." Isabelle whispered back. She decided to change the subject. "We're friends, and yet we call each other by such formal titles in public. Why do you think that is?"
"Society demands it I suppose." James said with a grin.
"Is my sister making a joke, Admiral?" James felt Isabelle tense at Cutler's approach but she smiled at him none the less.
"Merely commenting on what it is you might have planned for us today, My Lord. We're quite curious."
"You soon shall see, come along." Isabelle made to follow and felt James gently squeeze her hand as if silently wishing her luck.
She stood at the back of a group of influential business men and traders. James Norrington, Governor Swann and Mr. Mercer were also in attendance. She was the only woman present. She looked uneasily around the group. Something was dreadfully wrong. She felt as if a great black abyss had opened in the pit of her stomach. Fear was ripe on the soft breeze, but it was not coming from the men standing around her. She put a hand to her stomach and tried to take a deep breath. Perhaps her stays were too tight.
"Are you well, Miss Beckett? You look a little pale…" Governor Swann whispered at seeing the stricken look on the woman's face.
"I'll be fine, my stomach is arguing with me. Perhaps I did not have enough for breakfast." She said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"It is good to see a woman with a healthy appetite. Too many of our English stock take pride in being rail thin. My Elizabeth used to have a healthy appetite." The soft smile that had touched the governor's eyes disappeared and he sighed. "I hope she eats well still…I worry about her so."
"I'm sure she's…" Isabelle was interrupted by Cutler who finally went to the front of the group.
"Gentlemen! I'm so glad you could join me this fine morning!" Cutler said as he strolled to the front of a large curtain that was obscuring the view down into the courtyard. "I know you are all aware of our troubles last summer with the rabble of Port Royal." Several of the men harrumphed loudly. Isabelle knew that they were still waiting for their insurance to repay for the losses they had sustained when their goods had been burned. "I know it's taken some time, but we will finally be addressing those issues."
"How? Your own sister could not identify the guilty parties and she was in the thick of it." A large man asked petulantly as he glared at Isabelle. He believed she was protecting those guilty of damaging his finances.
"There was not just one guilty man." Cutler said. "We rounded up many of the militants that first evening and have been holding them prisoner for some time."
"When was their trial?" Governor Swann asked.
"There was a court convened at Nassau to address the issue. It was not necessary to bring all the prisoners to trial." Cutler answered with a satisfied grin. "In fact, there are some new rules which will be implemented as of today. I wanted you to be present for this auspicious occasion that you might be the first to help spread the word."
Cutler pulled on a heavy cord and the curtain fell to the brick battlements to reveal the courtyard below. Near the center stood a large gallows, and beyond it stretched a line of filthy prisoners. Isabelle gasped and Governor Swann moved to protest but was stopped by the sound of a snare drum echoing across the parade ground. The hangman walked up the scaffold and then signaled to the marines on the ground to escort the first of the prisoners up onto the platform. Seven men were brought forward, all of them looking ragged and dirty. Long beards covered their faces and their hands were bound in front of them. Their clothes were riddled with holes and only half had shoes upon their feet. Many of them looked half starved.
"Gentlemen, I give you your justice." Isabelle could tell Cutler was pleased. She looked to the others in the group and saw that many of them seemed confused as to exactly what was transpiring. A uniformed company marine stepped forward and unfurled a parchment from which he read, his rich voice echoing to the prisoners below in the courtyard.
"In order to affect a timely halt to deteriorating conditions and to ensure the common good, a state of emergency is declared for these territories. By decree of lord Cutler Beckett--duly appointed representative of his majesty the king. By decree, according to martial law, the following statutes are temporarily amended: Right to assembly—suspended. Right to habeas corpus suspended, right to legal council suspended, right to verdict by a jury of peers, suspended. By decree, all persons found guilty of piracy, or aiding a person convicted of piracy or associating with a person convicted of piracy, shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead."
Fear wafted up from the courtyard as the men ascended the gallows. Many looked stalwartly forward, others shivered as the nooses were lowered and tightened around their necks.
"Lord Beckett, this is not legal! It can not be!"
"What they did was not legal, Governor Swann!" Cutler called back. "I was given special and express dispensation by his majesty the king to take these orders on. So yes, it is legal."
"How did the king discover our plight? Our insurers did not go to him, surely!" Another man asked.
"No, actually, that was the mission Admiral Norrington went on, was it not, Admiral?"
James Norrington stood looking down at the courtyard and ignored Lord Beckett. He watched with hard eyes as the hangman clomped back to his post and grasped a lever. Isabelle gasped when the snare drum came to an abrupt halt and the hangman pulled the lever. The floor dropped out from beneath the men on the platform and several of them kicked violently, as if dancing a jig in midair. Isabelle had heard the phrase "dancing the hempen jig" before, but never had she seen the act to which the phrase was directed. No one moved on the battlements. No one dared to speak. All watched in horrified fascination as more Company marines stepped forward and released the nooses from the necks of the dead men who clattered to the cobbles like broken marionettes. The bodies were dragged several feet away where their boots or shoes were removed, if they had any, and tossed aside. The bodies were then thrown into a hand cart and taken beneath the battlements and out of sight. Isabelle saw the shock register on the Admiral's face as he saw the long line of former citizens stretching beyond the gallows. The floor was already reset and the next few prisoners were brought forward. Isabelle leaned over the parapet to stare at one of the men. It was the fisherman from the parlor, the one who had told the story of the goddess Calypso.
"My Lord! You can not hang that man!" Isabelle said turning to face Cutler. Several heads snapped in her direction and the thought that was on everyone's mind was centered on why Isabelle Beckett should witness these events. Hangings were a public gathering, to be sure, but this was not your average hanging.
"Your heart bleeds for one of these ruffians, Isabelle?" Cutler asked with a smile.
"That man…the third one from the left….he…" Isabelle never finished the sentence as the sound of the floor dropping out from under him sufficiently snuffed out his life. Isabelle shuddered and she felt James Norrington move closer.
"You see Isabelle, my dear, I don't care what good someone might be, everyone is expendable. When something has outlived it's usefulness, it ought to be retired." Isabelle kept her eyes locked on Cutler's as his thought bore into her brain like an auger. "You too can be retired Isabelle, and not to a secluded life in Surrey." His eyes danced over her shoulder and she turned again to the gallows to see that not only were there men now ascending the steps, but a woman as well.
Isabelle squinted up into the sun. Her heart ached and her head swam. Four days. One day a week for a month. For four days, the endless tide of hangings had continued and for four days Isabelle was forced to watch them. Each day, the dirty prisoners had been brought off of ships and up to the fort, which had been auctioned off by the King. The East India Trading Company now owned the property. Many of the soldiers had been given the opportunity to switch commissions and most had accepted. In addition to the money they received as wages, they were also given stocks in the company. Now they were share holders in one of the greatest organizations in the world.
"We'll be rich men now." A pale, skinny man with red hair said to his comrade. Isabelle watched as the two men crossed the courtyard.
"Were we not rich men before? Or is it just because we're shareholders now?" The darker one answered. Had the situation been different, or the conversation, Isabelle might have smiled. The thin one was the eternal optimist; a glass half full sort of fellow. His comrade was a negative nancy through and through.
"Well, we're property owners now. Not just mere soldiers."
"And if we can be elevated from lowly soldiers up to shareholders, can we not be matched up with those poor blighters yonder?" Isabelle looked to where the man had gestured. The line was long, the people dirty, and Isabelle sighed at their plight. Many were resigned to it. It was better to die than to live in the squalor of a prison. As Isabelle watched she got a sense of Deja Vu. It took but a moment to think back almost twelve years to when Kapil had sat incarcerated in a jail, an innocent man. He had foreseen this. How many of them are innocents? Six people marched up to the gallows, the sound of chains rattled against the cobbles in a steady rhythm as the line moved forward. Isabelle watched as the Hangman roughly slipped the noose around a young woman's throat. The girl shuddered, and Isabelle shared the feeling. A lieutenant stepped forward and read the order of suspension. Isabelle had heard it more than twenty times, had seen the words printed upon parchment and posted throughout Port Royal. She mouthed the words and moved into the shadows. An overlook afforded her fresh air and a view of the deceptively calm sea. She heard the click of a boot heel ring against the stones of the fort and without turning she knew it was Admiral Norrington.
"Miss Beckett? Are you well?" He asked coming to stand beside her.
"The events within the walls of this proud fortress are less than tasteful." Isabelle said pulling her shawl around her shoulders. Her golden hair whipped around her face and she had to tuck the loose strands behind her ear. "I needed some air."
"Why does he want you here? You should not have to witness this." No one should.
"He wants me to see the extent of his power." Isabelle answered. "He wants me to be fearful and remember my place."
"Your place?" The Admiral practically spat. "What, pray tell is that?"
"Lower than him." She answered. "You remember a secret I once told you. Lord Beckett does not want me to forget my less than humble origins. He wants me to forever remember from whence I came and to which I can be returned." Isabelle inhaled sharply and grasped her side. She felt as if her stays might be too tight, the stiff boning pinching her skin.
"Isabelle?"
"It's nothing." She shook her head. "A spasm of some…" She gasped again and the cramp hit her so hard she clutched at the archway of rocks. She closed her eyes and in the blackness sensed something momentous was happening. When she opened her eyes she felt James' warm hands upon her back and covering her hand where she still grasped her side, a gentle force drawing her away from the ledge. She turned to look at him, but could not utter a sound. Instead she pulled from him and raced to the inner arches where she might better see the courtyard.
Upon the gallows now stood five men, a woman, and a young boy. Isabelle's breath caught at the sight of the lad. He could not have been more than twelve years old. Softly, born on the early spring wind, the soft strains of a song were brought to Isabelle's ears.
The King and his men
Stole the queen from her bed
And bound her in her bones
The hangman paced behind the line of prisoners and leaned over the rope supports to where one of the marines handed up a small powder barrel. The hangman clomped slowly back and placed the barrel behind the young boy before lifting the lad up onto it. The seas be ours and by the powers
Where we will, we'll roam.
Isabelle saw clearly a long dark wood table and faceless individuals around it having a heated discussion. Then, from out of the very air, a woman, dark skinned and mysterious was created. It was a woman Isabelle had seen in her dreams, but had thought of merely as a figment of her imagination. Now she stood before her again, her dark eyes glaring daggers into the individuals who had imprisoned her. The old man's story suddenly made sense.
"Yo Ho, all Hands, Hoist the Colours High." sang the man on the end. He had been reluctant to take up the tune, but it was as if the boy's song had pulled the words from him.
"Heave ho, Thieves and Beggars, never shall we die." The other prisoners standing upon the gallows took up the song as well.
"Yo Ho! Haul together! Hoist the Colours high! Heave ho! Thieves and Beggars!" The whole of the prisoners began to sing, rattling their chains and stomping their feet in rhythm to their call. The marines, slightly taken aback by this new activity of the prisoners, stood back and lowered their bayonets, prepared for the prisoners to make an escape, believing the song to be one concocted on the prison ships to be sung as a signal for revolt.
Isabelle saw one of the officers make a dash from the corner of the gallows towards the alcove where Cutler had set up his personal office. Isabelle moved as well, racing across the courtyard.
He knew about the song. He knew this was the signal that would call the Brethren Court together!
"Never shall we die!" Isabelle saw the motion out of the corner of her eye. The snare drum rattled to a halt and the sound of the barrel bouncing off the cobbles echoed in the courtyard. A glint of silver pierced her vision and Isabelle fell to the ground.