"When was that built? It wasn't here before."
"Only last year, Capitaine. Part of our new fortifications. It is the residence of our commandant de place.
"Your commandant . . ." Winston stopped dead still. "You've got a governor here now?"
"Oui." He smiled. "In fact, you are fortunate. He is none other than your friend Jacques. He was appointed to the post last year by the Chevalier de Poncy of St. Christophe, administrator of all our French settlements in the Caribbean." He examined the men in the longboat, his glance anxiously lingering on Atiba, who had a shiny new cutlass secured at his waist. "May I take it you knew Jacques well?"
"I knew him well enough in the old days, back before he arranged to have himself appointed governor. But then I see times have changed."
"Many things have changed here, Capitaine."
"I'll say they have." Winston signaled for Atiba to climb out of the longboat. "But my friend and I are going up to this 'Forte' and pay a visit to Commandant le Basque, and you can save your messages and diplomatic papers. He knows who I am."
De Fontenay stiffened, not quite sure how to reply. As he did, a band of seamen emerged out of the dark and came jostling down the sandy shore toward them, carrying candle-lanterns and tankards and singing an English chantey with convivial relish.
". . . We took aboard the Captain's daughter, And gave her fire 'twixt wind and water . . ."
Several were in pairs, their arms about each other's shoulders. All were garbed in a flamboyant hodgepodge of European fashions—gold rings and medallions, stolen from the passengers of Spanish merchant frigates, glistened in the lantern light. Most wore fine leather sea boots; a few were barefoot.