Parlait

Out of options. How had things gone so out of control? Barbossa had always expected more of himself, he was the ship’s captain after all, The Caja Bronnen and her crew, and his family, had been relying on him to deliver them and their cargo from one port to another in safety. But as ship’s captain, he’d been forced into other roles as well; he was the mediator when disputes broke out among his crew, he was the judge should any of them commit some offense at sea, he was the doctor when any of them were injured or sick, he was the chief navigator, the meteorologist, and when required, the strategist. On this voyage, he’d also had to find time to be a husband and a father. Graciella had refused to be parted from him, she carried their third child, was determined after the stillbirth of their son that he’d be with her for this birth; the only answer was to take she and Joo with him to the West Indes, and then back again to Cornwall, though he’d been against it as a captain, and a man. He’d had so much on him this voyage, perhaps he’d stretched himself a bit thin, perhaps that’s how his ship, her crew, and his family had all become doomed. It didn’t matter anymore, he’d done everything he could as captain to avoid this, but the time had come; he had yet one more role to play. Executioner.

The Caja was listing to starboard; his men struggled on her decks in their rush to boats, as if there were hope of surviving, but Barbossa made his way to his cabin. He wasn’t surprised to see that Graciella hadn’t stayed where he’d ordered her to stay. She was born by the sea, lived by the sea, but she hadn’t taken to sailing it, or sharing space and life with the crew and the ship. She was often times angry and out of sorts, uncomfortable and anxious due to the child she carried, and she defied her husband at nearly every turn. She hadn’t stayed in the cabin; Barbossa would have to find her later. It was better this way, easier. Joo, she was still in the cabin, tucked under the bunk where he’d told her to stay, she was always a good girl, as obedient to her father as were his sailors. There were tears in Barbossa’s eyes, this would hurt more than anything ever had or would.

“Joo,” he’d never shook so much as he got down on his knees. She peered at him with frightened blue eyes from beneath the bunk, watching him like God Himself were studying his every move. “Come out, it’s goin’ to be all right.”

Joo started to creep out from her hiding place towards her father’s open arms, but just then The Caja groaned, her hold taking on water now, and a shadow loomed over her. Joo jumped and gasped in fear, retreated beneath the bunk again. No! Time was running out! Anger suddenly flashed through him, this was hard enough for him, why didn’t she just come to him as he’d bid her? Barbossa was on the verge of reaching beneath the bunk and ripping her out into the open, but no, he took a deep breath, calmed himself, he didn’t want it to be that way. He loved his little Joo, he always would, and he wanted her to know it.

“Where’s mama?” She wanted to cry, he could see it, but she was so like him, fended off the tears, let a scowl mix with the fear on her face.

As dishonest and horrible and blackhearted as it was, she’d given him bait to use. “Come, y’want Mama? I’ll take y’to her, Joo.” He couldn’t believe he was lying to her, tricking her out of safety, to do this to her. But he must, and soon. At that moment, Barbossa knew he’d never be anything more than a murderer, that any happiness he may know would be short lived, and carry a penalty for feeling such; he was a vicious, heartless killer. How he wished he’d left his family in Cornwall, how he wished it would be his death for them to mourn, how he wished there were some other answer. Joo still eyed him, he beckoned to her with his finger, wondering if he shook as much visibly as he could feel himself wavering and shuddering physically. “C’mon, it will be all right, Joo. I promise.”

She was unsure as she moved forward, she wanted to believe her father, and probably even more, just wanted him to hold her to him, tightly. The instant her little body was in his arms, tears streamed down Barbossa’s face. “Good girl,” he whispered against her strawberry blond hair. “Papa loves y’ Joo! No matter what he says, or does, Papa loves you! Please never forget that!” He hugged her tighter, and tighter, felt the air leave her body; she started to struggle against him, her little mouth and nose muffled against his big shoulder. Now, it had to be now. “Please know Papa loves y’Joo!” His throat was so tight he could barely speak, he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, tried to stop his ears from hearing as he placed one big hand around the back of her neck, locked his long fingers over her throat, and with one quick, jerking motion, snapped her head to the side. No more struggle; in less than a second, his little Joo was gone, forever. “Please…”

He’d wrapped her body in white sheets, swaddled her tightly, nearly the same way she’d come to his arms for the first time as an infant, and carried her from the cabin, dropping her gently into the sea. But there wasn’t time to mourn, he wiped the tears from his eyes, did his best to stop his trembling, cocked a pistol, and went to find his wife.

It had happened thirty years ago, why did it feel like only a few minutes? Hmmm, because in a way, it was. He could have handled things better, couldn’t he have? No, honestly, he couldn’t have, it wasn’t in his heart. His heart, the damnable thing, it only ever lead him into tragedy and sadness. Elizabeth, he’d let himself believe that things would be different with her, but they weren’t, not really. At his age, whatever it was, still he was losing his children. And no to not even be told they were to come? How could she not tell him? By the time he knew there was a child, there wasn’t one any longer. There was no joy, it had been ripped away from him, stolen, he’d been deprived his chance to be overcome with shock and perhaps even a little dread, never got the opportunity to feel it slink into elation as he smiled proudly and pondered the outcome of girl or boy. There was only the shock, and the betrayal, and the grief.

How could he not be filled with such resentment and hurt? The woman he dared to love, by some fate he’d thought impossible for a man of his years, held his child within her belly, but had chosen not to tell him, had purposefully decided not to tell him! Her clandestineness lay his soul open, lacerated it, a dagger plunged into his heart and twisted until he was cored like an apple.

Four children. In his lifetime, he’d lost four children. How was a man, a father, to go on knowing this? How was he to look at Elizabeth without being reminded of it? There hadn’t been a place in his life for children in so long, and he’d stopped considering the possibility of having any fertile attributes still existed. Was this also Calypso? There hadn’t been a woman in his life in so long; a second chance at fatherhood hadn’t been much on his mind. But now there was a woman, and then a child; God what he wouldn’t have given to have known that was what had been eating at Elizabeth all these weeks.

He wouldn’t have been happy, happiness would have been slow in coming, he admitted that to himself as he stood here now at the rail, just off his cabin. The doctor he’d captured was still inside, tending Elizabeth, concerned about how she bled. Elizabeth…what loomed for them now? Did she desire to try again? Was motherhood of any importance to her at all? Be it so, did she still see him as the father of her children?

But, his life was not conducive to having a child any longer, particularly aboard ship. It would have meant buying a piece of land, building a house to keep Elizabeth and the baby in, and oh how she would have fought him, how unhappy she would have been on land, away from him, away from the sea, for Barbossa had promised himself long ago that he would die on the ocean. It was far too late now to try and be a farmer or any kind of gentleman, or even the honest man he’d set out to be all those years ago.

But the chance to hold his daughter, or his son, on his knee once more, the chance to have that giddiness and joy of reaching home port come over him again because of what awaited him there, was it ever too late for that? No. But could it be like that again? Was it too late to be a father? How old was he? Did it matter? No, not now, not anymore; but what had he wanted more? To have been told of the child? Or the child itself?

The wind kicked up, blew his hair over his shoulders, a sudden wave breaking over the gunwale and shoving at The Reproach’s hull, for a brief moment listing her to starboard. “Joo,” Barbossa muttered softly, and closed his eyes, big body shaking as though his ship were turning to splinters beneath his boots, but the sea was now calm. Perhaps things were better this way? No, not all of them were better this way. He could have handled things better. Elizabeth, she’d suffered tonight, lost their baby, but he’d hurt her more. What did he do about her now?

* * * * * * * *

The laudanum she’d been given pulled at her, but every time her eyes began to close, they jumped open again at the sudden remembrance of the look on the Captain’s face, the surprise, anger and pain his eyes, a particular word he’d shouted at her. And each time her eyes opened again, they were staring at the sword lodged into one of the thick white pine planks of the hull. Elizabeth shuddered, could still hear the noise, the twang of the steel, the beast like wailing of the captain as he’d thrown it. She should have told him, it was far too late to realize it now, but she should have told him. It was too late for their child, and a few more tears slipped from her eyes as the sting of the loss revisited her. She prayed it was not too late for the Captain and herself.

“She hasn’t been shot,” that’s what the doctor had said to Barbossa, leaving the Captain quite baffled, until the doctor looked her in the eyes and asked. “How far along are you, Miss?”

Elizabeth didn’t remember her answer, for the moment the question was asked, here wide eyes shot to Barbossa’s, she’d felt him flinch as he held her, and he looked down at her with a shocked expression, that all too quickly darkened into a painful despair, then to anger, and something else within her died. He knew, now he knew.

“I’m terribly sorry, Captain,” the doctor reminded her of an older, blonder, more together version of Will. He was a smart man, knew he was a captive, offered no resistance, went along with everything, was polite and respectful. “But it seems as though your wife has lost the child.”

Barbossa’s eyes hadn’t left hers since he’d figured it out, his expression wavered between a tormented “why?” and an outraged “how dare you!” His head jerked up at the word “wife” and he tore his arms from around her so fast she imagined that he took her skin with him. In a flash, the Captain got to his feet. “She be no ‘wife’ a mine!” He spat, looking first at the doctor, then glaring down at Elizabeth, who couldn’t control her tears any longer and sobbed openly. “I’m curious, did ever y’plan to tell me? Or was this yer self kept confidence ‘til we next made port where be a hag with a sharp stick?”

He was every ounce as fearsome as he was the first time she’d encountered him, and Elizabeth was every ounce as afraid. The monster that stood over her raging, the thing she’d turned him into, numbed the physical pain. She tried to speak, but she was crying too hard. The doctor got to his feet when Barbossa stepped closer to her, bravely and foolishly putting himself between the two of them.

“Captain, sir,” said the doctor, trying to distract Barbossa, obviously fearing for his patient. “There’s not much to be done, but I can give her a sedative, she needs to rest.”

“Rest?” Barbossa repeated in the harshest of tones, pushing past the physician to stand over Elizabeth again. “There’ll be no sedative! Let her feel it! Now leave us!”

She was horrified when he told the doctor to leave them, this was not a time when she wished to be alone with him, not when the Captain was this angry, this hurt, and she was who had injured him. The cabin door closed, Barbossa stood there, shaking his head, like the words wouldn’t come for him either, he just balled up his fists and let out a roar so fierce Elizabeth felt compelled to cover her head with her arms and squeeze her eyes closed. Would he hurt her? She doubted it, though it had been years since she’d felt herself so afraid of him. Now he paced back and forth in front of her, large, heavy steps that she could feel reverberating through the planks beneath her, making her teeth chatter. What did she have to say for herself? There certainly wasn’t anything that was going to make this better. And yet she still tried; her voice so small, she doubted he heard it. “I’m sorry.”

But he had heard her, and was as unmoved as she’d predicted he would be. “Yer sorry?” He stomped his foot on the floor. “And deceitful, spurious, mercenary and murderous!” With each word his voice grew louder, and each word he said got sharper until Elizabeth hurt so much she could feel nothing at all anymore. “Why didn’t y’tell me? Do I not mean enough to yeh to earn that?”

Was he now asking her if she loved him? She’d said she loved him, several times, more times than Elizabeth could count. “I wanted to tell you!” She did, how many times had the words been on her lips? How many times had she told herself she had nothing to fear in telling him, that he loved her, though he wouldn’t say so. How many times had she worked up the courage to just say it, consequences be damned. And how many times had the lack of those three little words stopped her cold. “But I felt like I couldn’t.”

“What be it that stopped yeh?” He was relentless, tone as booming and angry as ever, but his eyes grew soft with the hurt of it all again. She didn’t tell him, made him an outcast in that respect, and the sadness it ignited within him shone in his eyes, and was echoed in the sigh that caught in his throat, nearly like a sob. She’d seen that look on his face before, right after Jack shot him, right after he pulled back his coat to reveal a widening crimson stain, and then he fell, dead. “Saints, girl,” he exhaled heavily, having to catch his breath as though it weren’t his own. “Be y’that afraid a me?”

More tears cascaded down her cheeks, now for the destruction she could feel she’d caused in him. Had she been able to move, she’d have crawled to him, took his hand and pulled him down beside her, wrapped her arms around him and just let each of them hold the other; she so needed to be held in his arms. “I love you.” She whispered, as though her lips brushed his ear, wanting so very badly to make this better, to remove the pain they both were in.

His eyes caught fire again; she’d only made things worse. “Love me?” He repeated in a roar; his voice could be so thundering. “And y’keep this secret from me?”

Again Elizabeth jumped, caught so off guard, the numbness returning; there was nothing left to lose, and she was too drained now to focus on what he might do to her, if he was going to do anything at all. She might as well bring this to the head it would eventually be reaching. “Would it have killed you to say that you love me?”

That was when he’d grabbed the hilt of his sword, and with a swift “shrinnnggg” tore it from the scabbard, drew his arm back like throwing a dart, and with another great roar, sent it hurtling into the hull. That was his answer, he turned on the heel of his boot and stormed out, smashing a lantern on the floor as he left in added frustration, leaving her alone, bleeding on the floor, in the darkness. But Elizabeth smiled through her tears, an awful, biting, scoffing smile. The Captain realized his fault in her secret, understood why she hadn’t told him. Good. Let him suffer that tonight.

Nearly an hour had passed now, the laudanum making her more and more tired, but she couldn’t sleep. Elizabeth lay back and sighed, unable to cry anymore, her eyes were too dry and too swollen from all the earlier tears. She didn’t want to feel glad that the Captain had realized his omission in this; she didn’t like to think that at this time of shared loss between them, they themselves were apart. They would need one another to get through this. At least, she needed him to get through this. But, she should have told him, she couldn’t blame him if he’d never forgive her, she’d hidden his child from him. Could it be that he would no longer want her? The thought turned her body ice cold, and she thought she felt her heart stop. No, she’d already lost enough tonight, first her child, but please no, not her lover too!

She could hear the doctor and the Captain speaking by the rail outside the window, if she weren’t so weak, she’d have gotten to her feet and crouched by that window to eavesdrop. Please, the Captain wasn’t saying that he didn’t want her, was he? She strained he ears to listen, but could only make out tones, not words. And then they stopped talking, a shadow falling over the glass of the door, but not large enough to be that of Captain. He wasn’t coming to her.

The doctor again entered the cabin, she resisted the urge to ask how Barbossa was, but perhaps the doctor would say something that might give her some clue about what Barbossa’s intentions were. She was angry with Barbossa still, hurt by him, but she worried for him intensely, and most certainly didn’t want to lose him. Did he feel the same about her?

She couldn’t wonder this any longer; she had someone with her who had just come fresh from conversation with the man she still loved. How could she waste this opportunity? She opened her mouth to begin a conversation that might, just might, give her some bit of peace tonight, but flinched as the doctor propped her feet up on pillows, her belly still a bit tender. It would be easy to talk to the doctor; the man did remind her of Will, could have been an older brother, except for the wavy blond hair, but his features, and the thin mustache were the same. Some part of her assumed he’d also be as easy to control as Will was as well. “What’s your name?”

“Peter Blood.”

“Fitting name for a physician.” Had the circumstances been better, she’d have laughed.

“So I’ve been told.” He didn’t look at her, was too busy pressing his fingertips into the skin on her arm and timing how long before the white impression turned back to pink again.

It was good to talk, to anyone. “Tell me, Dr. Blood,” she paused, strained her eyes at the window, just barely able to make out Barbossa’s profile as he stood by the rail. Did he look angry? Sorry? Sad? “Given the Captain’s mood, how is it that you are still alive?”

“Luck I suppose,” he answered, but there was something in his tone that was suspicious. “With permission, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,” What was it he was noticing? “You’ve given me quite an examination already, what other secrets could I possibly have left?” She managed a smile, though she didn’t feel it. She hadn’t wanted to be interviewed, she wished for information about her lover, and she was not at her most patient.

“Well, first, what is your name, Miss?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth,” he smiled, patted her hand, then looked over his shoulder towards the hulking figure near the window. “And what is your relationship to Captain Barbossa?”

“He hasn’t told you?” Her heart sank, for usually, Barbossa told everyone what she was to him, though it may not have been accurately so. Did that mean he no longer cared for her? “I’m his captive.” She was still, wasn’t she?

Blood’s eyes went level with hers, his expression serious. “Have you been raped?”

“What?” She gasped, the very thought of the Captain doing such to her! But wait, had Barbossa left the doctor with such an impression? “No! Not at all! The Captain would never—“ she quieted herself, realizing she may have been about to say something that could damage the reputation of a pirate and cause a loss of respect for him. “No, that’s not how it is…was.”

“And then, how is it?” Blood pulled a stool over and sat down. Elizabeth wore half a scowl, not trusting his motives. “I’m not a man who appreciates being thrown into the middle of quagmires. I’m sure you can understand.”

But Elizabeth just shook her head; she had no answer. “I love Barbossa, but I don’t know how it is anymore, Doctor Blood. I regret to inform you that we share the quagmire.” She sank back into the pillow, turned her face to the wall when she felt that the tears might start again, and missed the sad smile that played across Blood’s lips.

“I see,” and he did, understanding much now, and to his disappointment, realizing that this beautiful young woman would not be falling in love with him and planning some great escape from these pirates. However, she’d suffered enough tonight, he could give her some bit of hope, if only to improve her condition some. “And as to why I’m still alive…”

Elizabeth didn’t look at him, her thoughts full of the baby, and the Captain, and what would never be, what might never be again. “Yes?”

“I’m told by the Captain that I will remain alive, incase you be in need of further care during your recovery.” When her face turned towards him again, he noted a surprised, but faint smile. Again, it disappointed him to see it there, but he smiled nonetheless. “I’d say you’re still a valuable captive, Miss Elizabeth.”