Eleanor visits the sick bay. Max fears there is a spy amongst them leaking information to Flint and his allied pirates. Upon Rogers' return, Eleanor gives Chamberlain an earful. Dr. Marcus treats Rogers and Eleanor learns that Charles Vane is back on the island.
Chapter 24 - A Nassau
At the sick bay in the old warehouse at the beach, several of the men were delirious from high fever, if not outright unconscious. Others were weakening and coughing. The doctor explained to Eleanor that all they could do was isolate the cases as soon as possible, provide fluids and rest, and keep the linen and blankets clean. Most of these men looked like boys to her – just young men of anywhere between seventeen and early twenties. Though there were nurses working diligently to care for the sick, she sat with them for a while, talked to them, helped them drink or eat some chicken soup. She asked them about their homes, their family, whether they had a sweetheart. With those who were delirious or unconscious, she put a new wet compress on their forehead to help lower the fever. This little gesture of care and attention brought a smile to their faces, though she was not always sure whether they knew who she was.
One young man was pale as death, his eyes bluish and cheeks sunken. Pastor Lambrick recited prayers for him. The pastor looked up surprised when she came to stand beside him. "We need help, Pastor," Eleanor said. "I think it would do these men good if women of the community came to help take care of them, keep them company, read to them. They miss their mothers and sisters. The islanders don't have to fear the illness, because we're already immune to it. Could you help see to that with the parish?"
"Of course, Miss Guthrie. You've set a fine example here today."
She smiled a little. "Thank you. I do what I can."
While Eleanor had persuaded Hornigold to move his militia after the governor's caravan and to sail for the Walrus, Max had time to ponder last night's murder and the mystery how Anne might have discovered that Rackham was not going to be released. She could not fathom who on the island, but her and Jack, would even know how to contact Anne to warn her. The notion that the English would conspire against Rogers with a pirate was too ridiculous to contemplate. They only revealed secrets when they were either drunk or in the arms of one of Max's whores. And since the tavern had been sealed off all night after the murder of Mr. Dufresne, this meant one of her whores betrayed her. Georgia might be a spy for Mrs. Mapleton, but she had shared Max's bed all night. The other women loathed Mrs. Mapleton and would never transfer their loyalty from Max to her.
Though Max disliked Mrs. Mapleton, Max felt that her position with the rest of the council and the governor was compromised by her reputation as brothel madam. The pirates never cared much for that, but public appearances were important to the English. The murder on Mr. Dufresne made clear that Max had been at the wrong place at the right time. Rogers' allusion to her using the whores to discourage men from joining Flint helped her realize that she had delayed the necessary for too long. Max required an intermediate with the girls, not because she could not handle them herself, but to elevate her reputation. Meanwhile she wanted to be sure her whores would never switch their loyalty over to her in-between. Hence, she hired Mrs. Mapleton.
That one of her whores might try to alert Anne Bonny of being duped in giving up the cache without getting Rackham in return for it was one thing. Anne had spent considerable time at the brothel and both Anne and Rackham had been owners of it. But if that girl also spied for Flint to attack the caravan, save Jack and steal the cache then Max had an altogether different problem. Her stomach churned at the idea alone. A part of her refused to consider it, but Featherstone was the sole man in her employ who was a former pirate and had been Jack's quartermaster. Everybody else had either been a colleague of Max's once or had worked for Eleanor at the tavern. Featherstone was not a bold man and seemed content at his new life, a man of numbers, but she could see him choose Jack's interest over hers out of misguided friendship reasons. And if Featherstone was somehow involved, then Idelle might be the spy. It was unlikely that Featherstone would ask another girl to spy for him. Idelle would scratch the girl's eyes out before she let them near Featherstone.
No, not Idelle, Max denied it. Idelle had always looked after her, always stood by her. Idelle was the one woman she trusted most as a friend. Idelle had helped her escape the brothel under the nose of Eleanor's guards. Idelle distrusted Anne after Anne murdered Charlotte and Flint's man. Idelle hated Eleanor for Max's sake. In fact, Max suspected it might have been Idelle who had sought out one of Hornigold's men to betray Eleanor's whereabouts. No, it cannot be Idelle, decided Max. It must be someone in the governor's household, some islander they hired as a servant in the kitchens or the garden.
By late afternoon, Eleanor left the sickbay and met Max outside of it, with her escort in tow. They walked back to the main square along the beach that had become part of society. Men pulled a cart with building material, another carried a ladder. A lean-to functioned as a little market place where Chinese sold self-made pots. Where previously the sole women ever to be seen on the beach were whores, now women in a lady's attire and wide hats strolled around or sat talking at leisure on a bench overlooking the ocean, amidst men who discussed business at up-turned barrels with knives in their hands.
"Six more of them have fallen ill," Eleanor said. "There's now a total of fourteen reported cases."
"Are any of them mortal?"
"Not yet, but our forces are dwindling," Eleanor said with knotted brow. "And it will get worse before it gets better. Meanwhile, Flint is out there somewhere committed to waging war against us. And soon news will return to Nassau as to whether Rackham and his money are on their way to Havana. And if they aren't, if you and I are right, if something happened and Hornigold's cavalry weren't in time to stop it, then in addition to everything else, we will be at war with Spain."
"If you and I were right and something went wrong with the governor's caravan," whispered Max. "I fear there is something even more unsettling we are about to face."
Could there be anything even more unsettling? "What is that?" she murmured.
"You and I will be immune to this disease, for it will only attack those unfamiliar to this place. You and I know Flint and can fight him. You and I, though outmatched, at least know what Spain is and can make best efforts to confront whatever they may send our way."
A haggard looking Eleanor could barely hear this being mentioned so casually by Max, not after sitting with those sick young men. She did not want to battle Flint and Spain with dwindling forces. God forbid if anything happens to Woodes. She was tired and close to tears, sick from worry.
"But there is nothing more dangerous than the unfamiliar enemy. If the governor's caravan was attacked, it means someone knew where to find it." Max stared at her intensely with those green-brown eyes of hers. "It means our secrets are no longer ours. It means there is a spy among us."
Spies! Bloody hell! But who? Now we have to start looking for pirate spies too? She wanted to ask Max whether she had any idea where to begin even, when the neighing of horses attracted her attention. She looked to her left and just saw a horse trudging through the city gate and Woodes slumped over it. Jesus!
Max was forgotten. Spies were forgotten. She only had eyes for him as he and two men of the private militia stopped in the middle of the market square. He looked awful – bloodied, broken, grimy, and beaten up.
"To the governor!" one of the captains at the mansion shouted.
She rushed towards him as he tried to slide off the horse. Eleanor was at his side at an instant and gave him her arm. His bloodied and bruised face was stern and his eyes looked harshly at her. Though he dithered on his feet, he was unwilling to show any weakness in front of her. But then he slumped through his knees and had to lean on the horse's back with his elbow to stand.
Eleanor tried to help him up. Look at him! What did they do to him? Where is everybody else? Is he the sole survivor? Did Hornigold's militia arrive on time? Woodes face grimaced in pain. He lowered his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement to her. Oh my god! They got the cache and Rackham. "Someone help him," she ordered her escorts. They supported Woodes by the arms with their shoulders and helped him, limping, inside. "Fetch Dr. Marcus," she commanded the men rushing outside of the mansion.
Forgotten and standing by her lonesome self, Max watched Eleanor and the bashed governor disappear towards the hallway. Her greatest fears had come true - there was a spy and the likeliest candidate was to be searched amongst her own girls. And then there had been Eleanor's impulsive dash to the governor's aid in the same manner that Eleanor once came to her aid when Hamund and his men gang raped her in public view. But where Max's pride had rejected Eleanor's help and protection, governor Rogers accepted it. This could only be seen as a public declaration of Eleanor as Rogers' mistress and she dreaded the consequences.
As Eleanor and Rogers entered the hallway, they were met by a stammering Chamberlain, white as a sheet. "Are you happy now?" Eleanor gave him an earful. "But no, you wouldn't fucking listen to me. Couldn't fucking trust me. Couldn't allow forces to leave their fucking defense positions. I had the militia do your fucking job, and let's hope it's not too late for Hornigold to retrieve the cache and Rackham or we're at war with bloody fucking Spain."
Rogers met Chamberlain's stunned eyes. He knew why the man had not bothered to take her warning serious. The commodore had never much taken her opinion into consideration, and after overhearing them in his office this morning probably even less so. "Not now, Eleanor," he mumbled tired.
Shaking, Chamberlain backed away and Eleanor turned towards Woodes. "Let's get you upstairs," she said softly.
In his office, Eleanor helped him out of the dusty and bloodied justaucorps and waistcoat with the greatest patience. She filled the basin with water, grabbed a towel and set the tub on the other chair. She hunched down and gently dabbed a drenched towel on his forehead, then his cheeks, his nose and chin. Rogers had to bite away his pain, but her touch was gentle and caring, a torturous caress that he could suffer. "Tell me what happened this afternoon between the commodore and yourself."
While he gave Eleanor a chance to vent, he gathered out of her account that she had scolded Chamberlain with strong language on the public market square. He remembered how she had run to him in support as he slid off the horse's back in full public view as well. Eleanor might be wearing a lady's dress, but her public conduct had not been. Not at all.
On the one hand, she endeared him with her Nassau ways. Her unreserved show of affection and loyalty was extremely touching. But all that belonged in the private sphere, behind closed doors. In the privacy of their apartments, she could hold him, raise her voice, drink rum, scoop out marmalade with her finger, prance around in her chemise for half of the morning and say "fuck." Behind closed doors, it did not matter what a servant or a soldier may have heard or seen, not so far away from England. But such emotional public display as that of today was unseemly, ineffective and dangerous. Chamberlain would always be a prick, but the other men would lose all respect and come to ignore her commands if she continued in this way. With the possibility of pirates such as Flint sabotaging efforts on the island while he was less mobile the coming days, he had to rely on her more than ever.
The biggest issue for him was to make her see that, for she truly did not recognize the harm or the danger in it. To her mind she was simply showing her loyalty and affection, proving herself his greatest supporter and she did not care if all Nassau knew it. Like a young child, she showed her feelings unguardedly without any boundaries, whether it was love or anger. And Eleanor would hurt if he chastised her for it. And yet, she was no child, nor a savage. Eleanor knew perfectly well how to conduct herself if she applied herself to it. He had seen it on the Delicia, at the council's inauguration, on so many occasions. She must have experienced the benefits that came from keeping up a lady's decorum amidst society. But lately she acted more and more as if she had forgotten it all and she fell back into old impetuous habits. Rogers blamed the island's uninhibited lure and call for it. And while Nassau might have played a part in it, the cause he least suspected was himself.
Finally, Rogers tried to speak, "Eleanor –"
But she shushed him and dabbed the towel on his lips, while her face was level with his. "There now," she whispered and smiled encouragingly. "All cleaned up again." Her fingertips caressed his cheek and rested under his chin.
They stared in one another's eyes, when a knock sounded on the door. He patted her hand on his knee. Her face turned away and she rose. "Yes, come in," he said.
Dr. Marcus entered. "I come to see the patient." He put his medical bag down, opened it and rummaged in it. Eleanor lit the candles in the room as the hour of sunset was upon them. The sky had darkened and had acquired hues of bright flaming orange to deep red and purple. The glimmering sun was a ball of brilliant fire as it hovered the edge of the horizon.
"Miss Guthrie," said Rogers, "Could you ask Dyson to bring me some chicken soup. I had no dinner yet."
"Of course. At once."
While the doctor probed him, lifted his arms, felt his knee, tested his ribs and inspected the pounding bump on the back of his skull, Rogers inquired after his men at the sick bay. Dr. Marcus gave him an account on the medical progress of the sick, but also told him how Eleanor's visit had improved, if not the physical status of his men, at least their emotional well being. "Young Peter Mallister was not doing well at all last night. The nurses had to force feed him. But Miss Guthrie sat with him for a while, asking him about his family and home in England. Apparently he has a sweetheart in Ashford. Afterwards, he ate all he could. Said that Miss Guthrie told him that his sweetheart would want him to do all that he can to become well again and return to her and not to lose hope." The doctor smiled. "While I cannot actually promise that Peter will pull through if his fever worsens, I can say that it is certain he would have weakened further otherwise." He sighed. "I am almost tempted to beg of you if you could spare her an hour or so daily. But it seems that Miss Guthrie offered a solution of her own. She asked Pastor Lambrick to find volunteers amongst the ladies of the interior to visit the sick, for the nurses are too overwhelmed with the physical relief." As Rogers listened his heart swelled with pride. "If you don't mind my saying so, my lord," Dr. Marcus said in a far more confidential tone. "I know she was convicted to hang for piracy, but quite honestly she is a very charitable lady. Perhaps a bit too rough around the edges for London society. In a place like this though… Well," the doctor smiled, "the men in the warehouse spoke of her as if she were an angel."
Eleanor entered and Rogers changed the subject by asking, "So, what's the verdict, doctor?"
The doctor rose. "You might have a mild concussion, my lord. That's a nasty bruise along your ribs. Your knee is sprained. I advise you to take it easy for the coming days. Not too much exercise and everything will mend itself."
"Thank you, doctor," Rogers grimaced. "Rest assured, I do not plan to race any horse soon."
Dr. Marcus turned towards Eleanor with a good natured smile. "In the care of Miss Guthrie you will soon be up and running again, I'm sure. The men still talk of your visit today, M'am. It did them good."
Eleanor stood near the window, her hands folded before her. "You are too kind, doctor." She turned around and looked out of the window, at the market square and the night.
Dr. Marcus took out bandages. "I'll dress that cut on your arm now."
"What happened exactly?" Eleanor asked with her back to them. "How was the caravan attacked?"
"They were seven," Rogers began. "Dressed in black, faces covered. They picked off the regulars and naval soldiers one by one, including Major Rollins. He fell to a sword blow. We managed to take down three of them. They shot the wheel of the carriage and it fell to the roadside."
"Were you in it?" she said with a trembling voice.
"No, I fought along with my men, clinging to the back of it. Maybe that was my luck, for it catapulted me out of the way. And Rackham would surely have strangled me with his chains if he could have."
"So, they all escaped with the cache and Rackham and then left you for dead?"
"Not all, no. I came to when the last one tried to mount his horse. I shot him, beat him and held on to him until the militia you sent could immobilize him." Rogers waited a moment, before saying, "We caught Charles Vane."
Though Woodes had barely spoken Charles's name loud enough, the name echoed like tolling bells in Eleanor's mind. She felt the ground beneath her feet give way. She leaned on the window sill to grab on to something. The image of Charles in the dungeons holding a torch while he threatened her floated foremost to her mind and then the memory of the fireship. His presence on the island and his involvement in trying to take from her what was dear to her, yet again, pushed her overboard in the dead of night into the ocean. She was gradually dragged down to the icy cold bottom of the deep. Eleanor saw only red, an ocean red as blood, mingled with the ruined features or her crucified father. She had been filled with nothing but care and love for Woodes when she tended to him, but that bloody ocean of Pontic hatred had swept it away. The sound of crickets buzzed in her ears in unison with her blood, boiling and rushing. Mortified, Eleanor said, "Charles is here?"
"It's a very small consolation given what we lost today," he said quietly. "But you had the foresight to put Captain Hornigold in pursuit of Flint's ship. It's the only reason we have any prayer at all of recovering the cache and avoiding disaster." The doctor had bandaged the cut on his right arm, nodded and left his office. Assured of their privacy and feeling hot, he undid the top tie of his shirt. "If Hornigold is unable to capture Flint's ship, Flint is able to dictate the next chapter of this story. The choices we will likely then face will be of the most awful kind." Rogers studied her closer. She had not yet responded once, not even moved. "The ones that promise only bad outcomes in every direction." His voice grew doubtful, distracted by the absence of any further reaction from her. Is she even hearing me? "Eleanor, look at me."
Though spoken quietly, it sounded like a crack of thunder to her. Is that my name? She blinked and saw the market square covered in the night's darkness before her, instead of that swaying bloody ocean. Slowly, Eleanor circled around and looked down at the wounded man seated at the other side of the desk, almost annoyed that he pulled her away from that ocean. Even if it was a cold and hateful one, it still drowned out the pain she felt. His cuts, bruises and wounds reminded her of the ones she felt needling inside her that very same moment. How he looked, she felt. And his ruined features reminded her of her father. She felt her own old wounds being torn open, the ones she had buried to the bottom of a lake of the drowned.
What Rogers saw filled him with dread. A coldness emanated from her. She moved almost like an animal caught in a corner. Whatever they were this morning, or last night, he saw no partner of his standing by that window – not a lover, not a friend, not even an advisor, but someone drawn in to herself, looking at him as if he were a stranger. Eleanor had taken deadly matters in her own hands once in retaliation of Vane's actions, starting a war against Max and Rackham – a battle that she lost. "The challenges I see ahead for both you and I are of the gravest sort. I need to know that I can rely upon you to help me navigate through it."
Taken aback by his doubt, she whispered, "Of course you can."
But Eleanor had uttered her reassurance too hastily. Her own demeanor defied her words. He could not believe her. And if she believes it herself, she knows herself less than I do her. "You understand my concern about calling you a partner - from the moment I first walked into your cell in London - was whether you'd be able to resist Nassau's temptation." Woodes spoke calmly, not belittling, but honestly and hoarse. When he spoke of that cell now, of that moment, Eleanor remembered what state she had been then – in that same red ocean craving for blood. Rogers hammered into her defenses ."The gravity of your personal history urging you to resume petty rivalries and repeat the costliest of your mistakes, preventing you from ever truly moving into the future I wanted to build here, rather than gravitating back into your past. And now in the moment I need you the most - need the best of you the most." The last he said softly, pleading. "I fear the temptation you are feeling is about to be at its strongest."
Eleanor looked away. Why is he laying my old faults before my feet? It felt like she was on trial all over again, but this time directly before him. Did I not prove time and time again that I can rise above the petty? She had made up her differences with Max, never even desired her father's tavern back. She had never once reproached Hornigold for capturing her. Eleanor closed her eyes. "You're wrong," she said decidedly.
"No," he insisted in a louder voice. "I'm not wro –"
A coughing fit overwhelmed him, and her heart jumped at the sound of it. Woodes rested his hand on his abdomen and moved it to his chest, to his ribs, while his head hung down. For a moment, the bloody ocean was forgotten. He was weak, hurt, wounded. He needs to rest, go to bed, and heal, instead of worrying whether I will do anything rash. Her love flared. It was not drowned out by hatred.
When Rogers recovered himself enough, he looked up and stared at her. "I am not wrong!" he repeated. "That man sitting in a cell in my fort is the embodiment of that temptation for you. It is self-evident."
Eleanor stared at the lonely candle burning low on the desk. Woodes indeed might have a point. Just moments ago, she wanted that murderer, that coward in his cell, to die forty thousand times, by her own hands, for the pain and irreparable and premeditated damage he had willfully caused. She wanted Charles to be eviscerated from her life and this world, so that he could not hurt her and anyone she loved anymore.
"Now, I am asking whether you're able to see past the petty and the personal to remain focused on what is right now of vital importance to both of our futures, to our very survival. If you have any regard for me, any respect at all, then I'm asking you to tell me the truth about what you're capable of right now."
As Eleanor admitted the truth to herself, she was free to remind herself this was not the Nassau of the past anymore, nor was she Nassau's Queen. It was not just her island and her life and her father. It was Woodes's fort, and England's island, the island of many daughters, sons , fathers and mothers. Charles was not her prisoner, but the governor's. Woodes had every right to suspect her, and to know what she felt, and thought. If she could not be honest to him, then her vow to him last night was meaningless.
Eleanor looked at him and said quietly, "The moment you walked into my cell in London, do you want to know what I first thought?" Her features were soft, almost angelic, when she began. But as she strolled away from the window, towards him, to the right side of the desk, her face hardened. "I wasn't thinking about the charges against me. I wasn't thinking about a reprieve from the noose. I wasn't thinking about piracy, nor pardons, nor Nassau." Her soft voice tinged with a flavor of the rage she felt for Charles as she allowed the bloody waves to wash over her. "In that moment, I was consumed by one thought and one thought only - the idea that this may be my opportunity to gain some measure of revenge against my father's murderer, that I might play a role in the execution of Charles Vane."
Rogers saw her transform before his very eyes. It was quite intimidating. What he saw was ruthlessness, beyond even that of his own. She fully admitted that she had used him from the very beginning for revenge. She had grown so formidable and masculine before his very eyes that he could imagine her as a furious giant warrior, sword in hand, ready to strike a blow at the beast.
"I know you now," she said, staring into his eyes. "I trust you now. I'm devoted to you now. I love you now." It was the strangest – no, the coldest - love declaration spoken in history. While Eleanor said it with absolute certainty, like a ceremonial vow, it was devoid of all emotion. "So, I will tell you the absolute truth about how I'm going to react when faced with the thing sitting in that cell in your fort." She whispered, "I honestly don't know."
Rogers wondered whether Eleanor was still even human. Her love declaration came from a soul being ferried to the other side of the river of pain, like a ghost amongst the ghouls of her past, marinated in hatred and calling up the furies to exact their vengeance. Rogers feared for her very soul.
(A Nassau: Eleanor displays more old-time behavior: swears, confronts people publically and rushes to Rogers' side. Imo Eleanor's decision to follow her heart is the cause of it. By shedding her layers and allowing herself to act on her emotions in 3x07, she regresses to prior behavior. Eleanor is most impulsive when she feels the strongest. While Eleanor vowed to "change", a person cannot actually change habits without deconstructing them first. S1 and S2 Eleanor is the grown up version of 13 year old scared Eleanor. Then 13 year old scared Eleanor gets re-educated, and was given the tools, but has not fully integrated them yet. Rogers starts the integration process in the 3x08 confrontation scene.
Candles: the candle props in the Eleanor-Rogers office scene have altered for the third time. We get chandeliers with long high candles on the left side (Rogers' side) with single candles burning low on the right side (Eleanor's side). Rogers criticises her and expresses doubts. He lays his heart out on the line: mentioning a future he envisions for them, respect, regard, his fears. Eleanor's emotionality is under severe duress. It's not actually gone, because we do see glimpses of it (when he coughs), but she's in shock and sealing herself off. The candles in the scene reflect that.
Mirrors: There are 2 mirrors shown in the scene. The big one with the Cupid and the chandelier symbolizes the mirror that Rogers holds up for Eleanor. He insists she takes a long deep look at herself. In the right corner is a smaller mirror with 2 singular candles placed in front of it. Eleanor functions as a mirror for Rogers to look at himself. (I address his self-reflecting in the next chapter).
The desk: a symbol of power reversal. Eleanor stands and moves behind the desk (the governing side), while Rogers is seated at the supplicant side. This is a reversal of the 3x02 scene where Rogers listens to Eleanor's story. Then with the 3x03 address scene on the ship, Eleanor joins Rogers' side behind his desk. In Nassau we see the two of them standing at the same side of the desk, like a team. But at the end of 3x08 she stands all by herself behind the desk. Not only does it give the impression of a divide between the two, but it connects Eleanor with the loneliness associated with the "fucking chair".
Cupid & Psyche: When Cupid is wounded and flees from Psyche to heal, Psyche is forced to work in service of Venus. Her last mission is in the underworld. This chapter foreshadows the underworld mission, with Rogers thinking her soul being feried across the Acheron ("river of pain"). Eleanor as Psyche is readying herself to go down into the underworld. In the legend, Psyche arms herself to kill Cupid (never having seen him) with a sword and thus takes on a masculine warrior aspect. As she is about to strike, she sees his true form, takes an arrow and nicks her finger, and falls in love even more. With Eleanor sounding like a warrior and then making a love declaration, the show makes it easy to work in the legend.
Sunset: In The Reformed, Eleanor looks at Venus as the morning star. Planet Venus appears also as an evening star at other times of the year. Morningstar and Evening Star myths are resurrection myths. The "fall" or death is heralded by the evening star and thus after sunset in the west. After performing an underworld task, the hero is resurrected as a morning star at dawn in the east. That is why I positioned Rogers' rooms in the west wing, included a sunset, and why this scene imo plays out after nightfall. )