Rogers has collapsed and is sick with fever like the men in the sick-bay. He appoints Eleanor as the liaison between everybody else and himself, while he convalesces, which does not go well with his men of the Royal Navy. He sends Eleanor on a mission to make her peace with Commodore Chamberlain. Eleanor begins to realize that the English are dying around her at a high rate. When she finally gets back to Rogers they discuss Psyche's trials, Venus's anger and love.

Chapter 28 - Magic

Wanting to avoid a repeat of the debacle of being carried across the rivulet in the arms of a former pirate, Eleanor returned to the market square via the longer inland way, where the water simply ran underground. When the mansion finally came in sight, it almost felt like coming home. It is home. It felt good to see it, to walk into the hallway. She almost felt normal again, almost.

While Eleanor anticipated Woodes to be working from his apartment, she still expected more men downstairs and found it unusually quiet. Where is everybody? Still, plenty of men made a deal out of looking important while running up and down the stairs. The corridor to his office was uncommonly crowded. What is going on? Did Hornigold come back? But she had not noticed his ship in the bay. Has Spain been sighted to set sail yet from Havana? She walked in, expecting him to greet her from his office chair with an eager smile. Instead, the room was crowded by advisors and liaisons, standing around the desk, but Woodes was not in his seat. Dr. Marcus stood at the open bedroom doors. "What is this?" she asked.

Dr. Marcus had a deep, soothing voice. "He insisted upon seeing his senior counselors."

"I see that. Why's he doing it in his bedroom?"

"Because I confined him to his bed," the doctor said with sympathy.

"Confined him?" For a moment she felt panic rise. "He was fine a few hours ago."

"He collapsed after you left," Dr. Marcus explained with patience. He took a deep breath. "I believe his fever is worsening. I will do what I can."

Her initial panic made way for deeper worry and concern. She glanced over the doctor's shoulder at Woodes, propped up against two pillows in his bed, while Major Richards made a remark. Woodes looked white as a sheet, ghoulish, and had feverish eyes. That was why he coughed horribly last evening. He had been coughing often and quietly too during his second restless sleep. But she had supposed it was because of Jack having tried to strangle him and the bruise on his ribs. Woodes had made little of it to her in the morning at breakfast too. Eleanor sighed, nodded at the doctor and entered the bedroom.

Woodes lay in bed, listening to Mr. Soames, a senior counselor of the royal navy, Major Richards of the regulars and the private Mr. Blight. "How long can we wait for Captain Hornigold's return before we can assume that he's failed to seize Captain Flint's ship?" argued Mr. Soames. Respectfully, Eleanor stayed in the back of the room, near the door, while Woodes scribbled frantically in his log. Eleanor met Woodes' feverish eyes as he looked up from his writing. His hand froze in mid-air and he laid his log and plume down beside him. Mr. Soames kept on talking. "At which point I must strongly urge that we shift preparations from retrieving the stolen Urca treasure to preparing for a Spanish move against the island."

Rogers only had eyes for her and barely listened anymore. Her eyes were sad and so full of love and concern for him. You're sick, they were telling him. You came back to me, his answered - the Eleanor he knew and loved, his Eleanor, the best of her. He only needed one look to be certain of it, just as he had instantly recognized the other Eleanor rise from the grave last evening when she first learned of Vane's capture. Eleanor came nearer, softly, without the other men noticing her, except for Mr. Blight. Rogers rested his hands on his chest. And when Eleanor frowned at Mr. Soames suggesting to abandon the hunt for the Urca treasure, Rogers could not wholly suppress a hint of a smile. She remembered my warning what the consequences might be if Spain invades. Though he would do whatever in his power to make sure she would not hang for it.

"Gentlemen," he said. "If Captain Hornigold fails to retrieve the cache, then we will redouble our efforts and try again." Though he might have been lying in bed, sick with fever, his voice was still strong, willful and he spoke decidedly. "However, when he returns, it would be easier for me to prosecute those efforts if I am not dead from exhaustion. Now, your counsel is invaluable, but until I'm able to recover my health, I ask that all information you need to relay to me be done through Miss Guthrie here."

"I beg your pardon, my lord." Mr. Soames gaped at him. Major Richards glanced at Eleanor with some doubt. Mr. Blight lifted his eyebrows in consternation.

"On this issue, I need no counsel, Mr. Soames, thank you," Rogers assured him. "Thank you all," Rogers indicated for them to leave. As Mr. Soames still stood petrified, he expressly said, "Go away."

Major Richards was the first to follow the command. Mr. Soames nodded at Rogers, turned and glanced skeptically at Eleanor. Mr. Blight filed in after them. Once they were gone, Dr. Marcus closed the doors and he and she were alone. Finally, Rogers could give in to the itching in his chest and coughed under his breath. Eleanor joined his bedside, grabbed the pitcher of lime water and a glass. But Rogers lifted his hand to stop her. He had his fill of lime water. He noticed the scraped knuckles of the hand that held the pitcher. They were an angry red. Her meeting with Vane turned ugly. Rogers extended his hand to beg for hers. Eleanor set the pitcher down and gave him her hand looking self-consciously. Rogers held her by the fingers, stared at the broken skin of her knuckles and mused how curious it was that the same hand could be so gentle and loving to him and yet so hateful and harsh to a man in chains.

"You collapsed," Eleanor whispered the obvious. The day before, Eleanor feared to learn Woodes might have been killed by pirates. She had lingered at the sick bay to take her mind of, hoping he would get back to her. And he did, bruised and broken like a peerless fighter. She never made room in her head that Woodes might get sick, glistening wet from fever sweat.

"You saw him?"

Eleanor swallowed. "Yes." Another whisper.

He looked away from her knuckles to her face. "I know what you took with you into that cell." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't care what happened. Just tell me whether you were able to leave it behind in that cell."

"There is no leaving it behind," she said gravely, pained at the memory of the confrontation. "But I'm ready to move forward."

Eleanor could not forgive Charles, nor forget. What he did and why and still defending it - how do you forgive a murderer who shows no remorse, no repentance, nor even recognition of the harm he has done, not even to the memory of the man he murdered? Impossible. But it was done, Charles was done - history, the past, not the future, nor the present. Woodes was her present and future. Without him, she would have remained trapped in that cell, in the horror. All that mattered was the Eleanor who walked out of that prison cell.

Rogers pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a moment in acceptance and she squeezed his hand. That answer will have to do. Perhaps it is the most realistic outcome. The darkness in her born out of Vane's deed will always be a part of her, of her past and history, just as my brother's death and Sarah will be part of mine. Their own past life had shaped them in to who they were now – the loves, the scars, the loss, the heartbreaks, the horrors. The miracle was not a clean slate, but that despite it all they could love again, truer, wiser, more forgiving and be each one's tether to help the other surface from the depths.

In front of his men, Rogers had been unwilling to show weakness, though their arguing taxed his last reserves. So, he had ignored their bickering, scribbling away in his log, wishing for Eleanor, who was becoming more one voice and mind with him. Just to maintain the image of power and relative health, required almost all he had left inside of him. And even now, he dared not yet completely allow himself to give way to his illness in front of her. Dr. Marcus had informed him of the most likely progress the first few days, before he might get better. The chances that he would be incapacitated from fever by tomorrow were high. It would all be in Eleanor's hands then. He doubted not that she was the only one who could speak and think for him, when he could not do so for himself. She was the only one with enough insight to deal with the pirates and Spain through Mrs. Hudson (and the sole one aside from him who was aware of the woman being a spy). But too many of his senior men could be tempted to oppose her. Such issues needed to be settled before he could give into his exhaustion fully. He let go of her hand to cover his mouth as he coughed again and then asked, "Have you spoken with Chamberlain already?"

She frowned regretfully. "No, not yet. I came here as soon as the captain at the fort told me that you had called for an urgent meeting."

"Please, Eleanor, do it now. I cannot have you and him at odds with each other, not now."

"But who will tend to you then?" she asked with a frown. "I just came back. I can do it later, maybe when you are resting?"

He smiled bravely at her, sat up and took up his log and plume again. "I'll be fine, Eleanor. It's just a fever. And the doctor is still here. Major Richards returned my book that was retrieved from the site of the attack on the caravan." He began to doodle, pretending to be writing. "When you've settled your differences with Chamberlain, you can tend to me to all your heart's content and read for me. At least we can finally discuss Marmion. Now go!"

Eleanor closed her eyes and nodded, feeling even more sorry now that she had scolded Chamberlain in such a language as that of yesterday. Eleanor tried to be strong for him and smiled back, "I will. I will go now." He looked away from her and pretended to be intent on his doodling, and she sighed as she turned around, walked to the doors and opened them.

The councilors were still talking amongst themselves. "Maybe it's his fever having gone to his head," said Mr. Soames, when all the men around him fell silent and nudged him. Mr. Soames turned and paled.

Quickly, Eleanor closed the doors, took a deep breath and approached him. "Mr. Soames, surely you can understand that the governor is wise in deciding to convalesce in isolation, for his sake as well as yours. Not only does he require rest, as a Nassau, I am immune to this fever. But you are not." As she said the latter she noticed some raised eyebrows of alarm amongst the English. That had been her intent. "The governor must needs not fear for my life, while I tend to him and relay your concerns and ideas. That is why he appointed me to this task."

"Miss Guthrie is correct, gentlemen," said Dr; Marcus. "The governor and I discussed the risk for those who attend him. This was the reason he called for a meeting of his seniors. Nine other men have fallen ill since last night and been admitted to the sick bay. Together with the governor that makes twenty four cases."

"And has anyone died from it so far?" asked Mr. Soames.

"Unfortunately, yes," whispered Dr. Marcus with deep regret.

Eleanor widened her eyes. "Who?"

"The young man for whom Pastor Lambrick was praying yesterday afternoon, Miss Guthrie. The Pastor gave him his last rites."

Everyone fell silent, each with their own fears and thoughts. Eleanor started to tally the numbers of the dead – two regulars shot by runaway slaves, Mr. Dufresne murdered by Silver, nine men including Major Rollins and a driver were killed by Jack's rescuers, and one soldier died from fever. Fourteen men had died in less than a fortnight, and twenty three men were sick, including Woodes. At this rate, the English would be all dead by the time Spain arrived with that fleet. She saw a glint of fear in the men's eyes, many of whom were young and thought this was an assured successful adventure just as she did two months ago when they sailed from London to Nassau, but Eleanor might as well be looking at dead people walking. He could die! - she thought frantically. No, he's a man with a strong constitution, she instantly protested. He survived a horrible wound to his face, fought seven pirates (including Vane). And he has me as his companion to take care of him. He can't die. He won't die. I won't allow it.

As the men hurried out, Eleanor retained Mr. Soames. "Could you please remain for a moment," she said. Mr. Soames halted, turned around slowly and watched her with his lips pressed together. "The governor wished me to confer with the Commodore. Do you know where I might find him?"

Mr. Soames narrowed his eyes at her. "I do not think he would be keen to see you, M'am."

Eleanor sighed and nodded. "Understandably so. My conduct to him yesterday was inexcusable, which is partly why the governor and I wish to see him. I can assure you that there will be no repeat of it. But surely you can see that, with the possibility of putting in extra forces to retrieve the cache as well as secure the defense of Nassau and larger New Providence against a Spanish invasion, this is not the time that Commodore Chamberlain and I have no direct communication between us, for I guarantee that both the governor and I want this island to remain English as well as civil."

"Well, if the water can't be carried to the horse, I guess we must bring the horse to the water," Mr. Soames said reluctantly.

Eleanor lifted her eyebrows and was not so sure whether she wished to be compared to a horse, but then said, "After you, Mr. Soames."

Mr. Soames had not just been using a figure of speech. It turned out that Commodore Chamberlain was holding drilling exercises on His Majesty's Ships. As Eleanor glided over the calm water of the bay in a launch, towards a ship from which she could hear the commands being shouted and saw sailors climb the ropes aloft to brail up and furl the sails, she became acutely aware that the task ahead of her there would be taxing. And yet, she would do it as graceful as a lady was expected to be. By the time she arrived at the Delicia, the sailors were climbing up again to douse and reef the sails.

Eleanor was hoisted aboard, and everybody glanced for a moment, before Chamberlain shouted, "What are you all staring at. Brail up the sails! Go! Go!" Chamberlain indicated with his chin to her and asked Mr. Soames, "What's that one doing here?" Mr. Soames whispered something in Chamberlain's ear.

Still standing in the lifted sloop, Eleanor said, "Permission to come aboard, sir? And approach?"

Chamberlain looked away from her and sniffed his nose. "Well, since you're fucking here now, and do what you fucking want anyway." Eleanor stepped aboard as elegantly as she could. She neared with her hands respectfully before her, but instead of positioning herself before him as a supplicant, she came to stand beside him. "Well, what do you want? Can't you see I'm fucking busy preparing for war?"

"I came to apologize, sir. I was out of line, yesterday, both when I sought you for help as well as afterwards. Even when we disagree or actively dislike each other for our differences, I was unduly disrespectful to you, especially in front of your men."

Chamberlain turned his head and narrowed his eyes. "Did the governor ask you to do this?"

"He pointed out to me that you earned your position through hard work, as any other man of the sea, and I owe you at least respect for that." Eleanor mirrored Chamberlain's stance, looked into the distance at nothing. "He also reminded me that in a civil Nassau, I must set an example of civility. So, I endeavor to make peace between us, however uncomfortable it may be for us both." Finally she looked at him. "I know you think ill of me, sir, and I know some of your reasons for doing so, but I do value you, at least since the day when you stopped our governor from the reckless idea to read the address himself." She coughed. "And if you permit me the use of some unladylike language – I wanted to kiss you then for it." Eleanor mumbled the last.

Chamberlain's eyebrows shot up in the air. "So you think he can be reckless then?"

"Some of us are more reckless than others. Both caution and rashness can end in disaster if we cannot put our ideas together and make it work. You and I do not require to be friends, but I recognize you share the same goals that I have – see to the governor's safety and that this English endeavor, that already has demanded the sacrifice of fourteen lives, succeeds."

The commodore turned towards Eleanor and looked at her coolly, from head to toe. "Miss Guthrie, while your language yesterday was beneath your station, I perhaps may have provoked it, by forgetting my priorities and commenting on private conduct which is none of my business."

It was the first time he actually ever referred to her by name and it sounded close to an apology. In light of his previous behavior it sounded almost like a blessing. Eleanor wished to smile, but since he acted so reserved and distant, she thought it better to remain professional. "Thank you, Commodore."

"I was given to understand that you are the liaison between all personnel and the governor for now?"

"Yes."

"I will send a report by tonight about the drill exercise, and if you have need of me then please send for me. Lieutenant Perkins will do fine next time." He nodded at her. "Good day, Miss Guthrie. If I can continue the exercises?"

"Of course, Commodore." Eleanor was astonished at the result and how quickly it came about. "Thank you, Commodore."

"Mr. Eames! Since you are loitering about, perhaps you can make yourself more useful by attending to Miss Guthrie and help her back into the launch."

"At once, Commodore," replied the lad.

She smiled at the young man. "It is good to see you again, Mr. Eames. Though Nassau is but a small town, it seems we live in two different worlds now. How have you been doing?"

"Thank you, Miss Guthrie, for your inquiry." He dared not look at her, as he held her by the hand when she managed to step into the swinging launch. "You are too kind. I have been mostly staying aboard, to study for my examination."

Eleanor thought that might have been a wise choice. The men who were at the sick-bay were only those who lived on land. "I wish you every success, Mr. Eames, and perhaps it is wise to remain away from the shore for the time being."

Mr. Eames frowned and looked troubled. "It is whispered that the governor has taken ill."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I will pray for him," the lad said decidedly.

Eleanor found Woodes asleep when she entered his rooms with the book. "When did he fall asleep?" she asked Dr. Marcus.

"Shortly, after you left, miss."

"And his fever?"

"Still rising unfortunately. I believe he will wake in a few hours though. Please, see to it that he takes as many fluids as possible – soup, broth, sugared tea and lime water. I recommend that any water used for cooking or drinking has first been filtered with charcoal and then boiled."

"Why charcoal?" asked Eleanor. She knew boiling water made it taste better, but not the filtering.

"A few decades ago Van Leeuwenhoek discovered tiny organisms living in water through a microscope. The charcoal treatment seems to lower the count of them. Boiling does too. It may be that the fever is not related to the water, but best not take any chances."

"I will give Dyson the task to oversee it in the kitchens." She smiled at the doctor. "Thank you. I will remain here, and if his condition worsens I will send word. But I think the sick-bay requires your attention too."

Dr. Marcus bowed his head to her. "I will call again this evening."

Eleanor had one of the guards fetch Perkins and Dyson, and relayed the information the doctor had given her. She not only instructed Dyson to make sure that this procedure would be adhered to in the mansion's kitchens, but she wanted Perkins to put similar measures in place for any of the kitchens where soldiers were lodged. Perkins was not unfamiliar with those measures. "Some captains have started to apply this filtering technique when going into uncivilized territory. And it is a measure used on board of our fleet."

"It might explain why no naval officers have been reported sick yet," mused Eleanor.

"But what about the lack of civilian cases?" asked Perkins. "They lodge as boarders in town or inland. And I doubt the islanders filter water for such purposes."

Eleanor had to admit that was indeed a contradictory issue. Unless… "It might depend on the water source. Find out where the barracks get their water from. Nassau's water supply and sewage is underdeveloped. It should be considered uncivilized territory." Eleanor sighed and nodded at the two men. "Thank you, gentlemen. I will be inside, tending to the governor. If I'm needed or there is news from Hornigold, please report it to me. I will pass it all on to our governor."

She entered his room again, felt his brow softly for fever, prepared a compress and applied it to his forehead. Woodes' eyes fluttered and when he opened them well and clear, he smiled at her. His eyes were more feverish then a few hours before, and he closed his eyes again, but reached for her hand. "Do you have the book?" he whispered.

"Yes."

Woodes coughed. "I was somewhere at Psyche's trials."

Eleanor took a chair and set it right beside him, placed the book in her lap, opened and searched for the second part of the poem. While she read aloud, Rogers opened his eyes and watched her, wishing she were his wife. Though her eyes were on the pages, she was aware enough of his focus, for she reached with her hand to find his again. When she reached the passage where Cupid saved Psyche from her deadly sleep with a kiss, Rogers squeezed her hand. "The rest can wait."

"Do you wish to rest some more?"

Eyes closed again, Rogers shook his head, and smiled. "I want to discuss. What do you think of Psyche's ordeals?"

Closing the book, Eleanor furrowed her brow. "I find it an unjust story really. Why is Venus so angry with her? She should be upset with the worshippers and her son. Psyche never asked to be adulated so. She believed she would die, and was married to Cupid without knowing it was him, or that it was invalid. She was a dutiful, virtuous wife, and tricked into it. And her sisters! She is kind to them, generous, and they repay it all with vicious slander and lies and betrayal, because they envy her looks, wealth and husband. Everyone's mad at her, and yet she never did any wrong."

Rogers chuckled, but an alarming racket of a cough interrupted that. His hand gripped hers tighter in reflex. Eleanor instantly helped him sit up, so he could free his airways better. She came to sit on the bedside and stroked her hand on his back, like her mother once did when she was sick abed. His shirt was drenched with sweat. He coughed a last time, and said, "Thank you." She padded his pillows, put them against the headboard and helped him ease back into them. Rogers nodded to indicate it was good. "Yes, it is all unfair, just like life is unfair. You know this. You've experienced it - idolization, envy, betrayal, hatred." Eleanor pondered this and yes she saw the similarity – Charles' obsession with her, Max's envy and veneration before that, the hypocrisy of islanders hating her but a pirate could do no wrong. "Venus is the embodiment of love," Rogers said. "But in this story she is hateful, cruel, vindictive, drunk and just seems completely out of sorts - the opposite of love. There is no joy, no life, no love in the world at the start of the story, not even for Psyche. With nobody serving love, but only their selfish instincts, Venus is weakened and mirrors the cruelty of the world below. When love itself is unloved is it not natural that hatred rules instead?"

Eleanor saw her mother as she was in her last dream, so unlike the mother she had been, without love, without understanding and undignified. But when Eleanor imagined her mother being alive to see what became of Nassau as a pirate republic, ruled by greed, envy, lust and debauchery then that was exactly how she imagined her mother to feel - upset, angry, raging - and she would chastise Eleanor for going along with it. Life was no life at the pirate's republic. There was drunkenness, but no joy. There was no love, and even those who felt love denied it, violated it or committed cruelties for it. "You are saying that not Psyche is the cause of it, but the state of the world."

"Yes," said Rogers. "Is it not right then that Venus demands that the one truly innocent and lovable character, who is said to be like Venus come on earth, becomes her servant?"

"That makes sense." Still, Eleanor shook her head. "But why such deadly missions? Venus wants Psyche dead."

"Does she? Venus asks Psyche to do the impossible. And she succeeds, because love still remains, in the ants, the reed, with the gods. Maybe by doing the intolerable Psyche restores the world and Venus with the help of the love that is drawn to her."

"Venus denies Psyche has a hand in it," argued Eleanor. "It's everybody else doing it for her. Cupid does it magically for her."

"Just as the people envied, hated and feared Psyche first, now her surroundings love and empathize with her. Love supports." Rogers intertwined his fingers in hers. "Love is magical," he sighed. He wanted to tell her. But it seemed so wrong to say it, while he was this ill, might be dying.

Eleanor smiled a little, at his words, at the subject of their discussion, seated so close, holding hands. It was so domestic and peaceful. She gazed down from where she sat into his eyes, hazed by fever, the shine of sweat on his brow, the cuts and grazes on his face that had the color of a dead mask. Woodes looked a mess and weak – the opposite of the stern, virile, handsomely dressed man on the Delicia who managed to make her quiver with desire to please with just one grave look of his or a displeased fidgeting in his pocket. And yet, she loved him as much, if not more. It was her turn to be strong for him, to see to his needs and restore him, and he allowed her to, trusted her not to be repulsed by his current state.

When her father was mending from his gunshot wound at Miranda's house, Eleanor had gone there for herself, to use his weakened state for her own ends. She had barely even pretended to care for his physical need, and walked out as soon as she knew he would not give her what she wanted. It certainly was not the behavior of a loving, doting daughter. She had no time for opposition, for sickness or someone else's needs then, not even her own father. I was horrible to him, she thought. And yet I blamed him for not loving me. I was cruel, hateful, unforgiving and selfish, and expected father to prove to me that he loved me nonetheless, just like Venus. And here I sit, so differently, at the bedside of a man who is not supposed to love me, and I dote on him like a loving wife, even though there is no hope he can ever actually be mine. "Love makes magic happen," she whispered.

(Underworld - Eleanor's underworldly tasks are not yet completed. She does not cross the rivulet back to the mansion. Eleanor has left Tartarus, but not the underworld, fitting the imagery of her realizing that the Englishmen around her may be dead men walking - killed either by disease, pirates or runaway slaves - and that Rogers looks like one with a foot in his grave.

Hands that love or hate - the show uses hands, their location and how they interact with another character to reveal the characters' feelings. Vane's in love and places Eleanor's hand on his chest, but Eleanor is reluctant. While she cups his face in her hands when she kisses him, she also punches his face with her fists, indicating a love-hate relationshit (no, that's no 'typo'). Max cups Eleanor's face in S1, but Eleanor does not do the same with Max. Eleanor caresses Rogers' scar with her 'knuckles', while Rogers notices the broken skin of those same knuckles she used to beat Vane. Eleanor always cups Rogers' face when she kisses him. Eleanor voluntarily lays her hand on Rogers' heart, whether he's conscious or not, without her ever being invited to. And in the final scene, Rogers "begs for her hand" and "she gives her hand", a visual pun to a marriage proposal.

Angry Venus, Eleanor's mother - an allegory for the pirate's republic as a place of destructive greed, envy and lust. I paraphrase Miranda's words to Flint 'There is no life here. There is no joy here. There is no love here.' While Flint feels love and does what he does because of love, he's consumed with revenge and majorly the creator of a loveless world taking the people he loves along. Vane and Max do the same thing with Eleanor. They feel love, but their acts are hateful choices and actions. Love becomes a twisted, destructive thing. Eleanor realizes it was not just everyone around her who acted hateful, but that she became an enabler (selfish, vindictive and hateful from lack of love in her world), just as Venus becomes the opposite of what she's supposed to be.

Weakness - Vane despises it, including in himself. He resists showing it to Eleanor with every fiber of his being. Rogers' choice to show his weakened state to her is a direct contrast to Vane not wanting to show it (who is btw also wounded, with a gunshot wound and a bandage around his leg) to Eleanor. Unlike Vane who cannot tolerate the idea of Eleanor being on top of him (even sexually), Rogers is capable of handing the keys to her. He may not like being weak, but he has little choice, and surrenders. It denotes trust and values of gender equality. She loves him more for it.)