Le Basque embraced Winston, then drew back and studied his scar. "Mon Dieu, so I came closer than I thought. Mes condoleances. I must have been sleepy that morning. I'd fully intended to take your head."
"How about some of your French brandy, you old batard? For me and my friend. By the look of things, I'd say you can afford it."
"Vraiment. Brandy for the Anglais . . . and his friend." The boucanier nodded warily as he saw Atiba appear at the top of the ladder. After a moment's pause, he laughed again, throatily. "Truly I can afford anything. The old days are over. I'm rich. Many a Spaniard has paid for what they did to us back then."
He turned and barked an order to de Fontenay. The young man bowed, then moved smoothly through the heavy oak doors leading into Jacques's residence. "You know, I still hear of you from time to time, Anglais. But never before have we seen you here, n 'est-ce pas? How have you been?"
"Well enough. I see you've been busy yourself." Winston glanced up at the brickwork house Jacques had erected above the center of the rock. It was a true citadel. Along the edge of the platform, looking out, a row of nine-pound demi-culverin had been installed. "But what's this talk you chased off the English planters?"
"They annoyed me. You know that never was wise. So I decided to be rid of them. Besides, it's better this way. A few were permitted to stay on and sail for me, but La Tortue must be French." He reached for a tankard from the tray de Fontenay was offering. "I persuaded our gouverneur up on St. Christophe to send down a few frigates to help me secure this place."
"Is that why you keep men in a dungeon up here? We never had such things in the old days."
"My little Purgatory?" He handed the tankard to Winston, then offered one to Atiba. The Yoruba eyed him coldly and waved it away. Jacques shrugged, taking a sip himself before continuing. "Surely you understand the need for discipline. If these men disobey me, they must be dealt with. Otherwise, no one remembers who is in charge of this place."
"I thought we'd planned to just punish the Spaniards, not each other."
"But we are, Anglais, we are. Remember when I declared they would someday soil their breeches whenever they heard the word 'boucanier'? Well, it's come true. They swear using my name. Half the time the craven bastards are too terrified to cock a musket when my men board one of their merchant frigates." He smiled. "Everything we wanted back then has come to pass. Sweet revenge." He reached and absently drew a finger down de Fontenay's arm. "But tell me, Anglais, have you got a woman these days? Or a matelot?" He studied Atiba.