"God in heaven, this much already." Bayes emitted a low whistle and rubbed his jowls as he surveyed the long rows of sugar molds. "You've got a fortune in this very room, sir. If this all turns out to be sugar, and not just pots of molasses like before."
"It'll be white sugar or I'll answer for it, and it'll be fine as any Portugal could make." Briggs walked to the corner of the room, returning with two flasks of kill-devil and a tray of tankards. "The question now, gentlemen, is whether we'll ever see it sold."
"I don't follow you, sir." Whittington reached for a brown flask and began pouring himself a tankard. "As soon as we've all got a batch cured, we'll market it to the Dutchmen. Or we'll ship it to London ourselves."
"I suppose you've heard the rumor working now amongst the Dutchmen? That there might be an embargo?"
"Aye, but it's no more than a rumor. There'll be no embargo, I promise you. It'd be too costly."
"It's not just a rumor. There was a letter from my London broker in the mail packet that came yesterday on the Rotterdam. He saw fit to include this." Briggs produced a thin roll of paper. "It's a copy he had made of the Act prepared in the Council of State, ready to be sent straight to Commons for a vote." He passed the paper to Whittington, who un-scrolled it and squinted through the half-light. Briggs paused a moment, then continued, "The Act would embargo all shipping into and out of Barbados till our Assembly has moved to recognize the Commonwealth. Cromwell was so sure it'd be passed he was already pulling together a fleet of warships to send out and enforce it. Word has't the fleet will be headed by the Rainbowe, which was the king's flagship before Cromwell took it. Fifty guns."
A disbelieving silence enveloped the darkened room.
"And you say this Act was set to pass in Parliament?" Whittington looked up and recovered his voice.
"It'd already been reported from the Council of State. And the letter was four weeks old. More'n likely it's already law. The Rainbowe could well be sailing at the head of a fleet right now as we talk."
"If Cromwell does that, we're as good as on our knees." Tynes rubbed his neck and took a sip from his tankard. "What do you propose we can do?"