The Curse of Blackbane - Chapter 10

In Jail with the Black Monk

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Chapter 10

The sun’s red light snuck through a single opening inside the overcrowded jail of Le Havre the following day. William Marshall sat with his back against the wall. Bleary-eyed from his haunting nightmares, his head nodded. In the middle of the dark and dank room was an open cesspool. Around him were the criminals and debtors of Le Havre. His first day in the jail showed him the top dogs who ran the area. Marshall paid attention to a large man with a pocked-mark face who kept eyeing him from one corner of the room. Understanding the language was unnecessary. It was evident that the opposite side of the cell was enemy territory. He felt the underlying menace coming from the prisoners there.

Lying near his feet was a short, fat man wearing the robes of a monk. The monk kept glancing over at Marshall the day before with his bulbous eyes that look like they would fall out of his eye sockets. While they never spoke, Marshall noticed the man intentionally took up the sleeping spot near him as the light left the room. The captain remained only mildly bothered by the man’s presence. He was hardly a threat, and Marshall noticed how the jail guards kept the monk’s clay mug filled with beer. No doubt, the fat man had friends. He had enough access to money to bribe the guards.

Marshall watched the ray of light slowly cross the filthy floor as other prisoners rose from their sleep. He felt the glimpses coming from a small group of prisoners. Judging by their threadbare clothes and shaggy beards, he guessed the men survived the conditions of the hellhole for the longest time. Marshal also surmised that his expensive clothes caught the prisoner’s eyes. He did not like his odds. The event reminded him of one line in a song that sailors enjoyed singing while working on his ship.

We’ll hang Paddy Doyle for his boots!

The ray of light crossing the floor finally reached the face of the monk, causing the man to swipe at the light beam, then grumbled out something in French. His reaction sent a brief smile to Marshall’s face before the pirate went back to his thoughts.

I’m in jail with no weapons, no ship, and no crew.

True to her words, Jacotte and her son took Marshall to the office of the Intendant. Instead, they found the prefect’s aide. A runt of a man named Jean-François looked over the captain. From the conversation, Marshall figured out that the Intendant was in Paris. He recognized the devious woman and little man bargained over his worth by the tone of the discussion. The captain understood the terms l’espion and le contrebandier while Jacotte pointed to Marshall. With a growing fury, he recognized her attempt to make him into a smuggler, perhaps even an English spy. The prefect’s aide confirmed Marshall’s suspicions. He immediately went to the door and called in two guards. As the guards hauled Marshall away, he yelled out to Jacotte.

“I’m coming back for my dagger, you hedge whore!”

“No, my friend here will ensure you hang. Jean-François agreed to my terms on Diano Marina’s cargo.”

Marshall scowled as he remembered the thieving woman’s smile. He glanced over at the iron bars of the window and the barred door, looking for places to escape. However, the only opportunity appeared when the guards opened the single door. However, the jailer kept armed men standing outside the entrance. Trying to jump them was a fool’s errand.

With a groan, the monk rose from the floor. His movement caught Marshall’s attention. He observed the monk stumble in his thick boots toward the center of the room. The man lifted his robe and began urinating into the stinking open pit. The holy man began whistling like it was just another day.

Across the room, Marshall noticed a large man rise from his seat in the corner. Dressed in a tattered gray smock, he passed by the prisoners, who were eyeing Marshall earlier. They instantly joined him. As the group approached, Marshall stood. Tension immediately filled the air. The big man came to a stop about a foot away from Marshall.

“Donne-moi ce manteau Anglais!”

The captain’s brown eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the threat. The man across from him was a few inches taller and outweighed him. His pockmarked face twisted with a sneer, revealing his missing teeth.

“Go to hell!” Marshall readied himself for the coming fight.

The prisoner reached over to pull at Marshall’s coat. Blackbane immediately punched him right between the eyes. The larger man backed away, holding his nose.

“Je vais te tuer pour ça!” the man raged in the attack.

Blackbane slid inside the swing as he countered with a knee to the man’s groin. His strike sent the prisoner to the floor. However, the other prisoners jumped on Marshall before he could kick his opponent. Two men grabbed the captain’s arms, holding him while another convict pummeled Marshall with blows to the face. The punches stunned the captain. As he tried to avoid the hits, Marshall felt another prison strike him in the lower back. Instantly, his knees buckled, and he dropped. The two men holding him lifted the captain back up. Then, he took more punishment. A savage blow to his belly doubled Marshall over in agony. He felt hands stripping him of his coat, and he pulled away. Marshall lashed out, and his fist caught one of his attackers in the face.

Then, the pirate captain found a large black mass suddenly join him. The monk landed a punch into the criminal, still holding on to Marshall’s coat. While the prisoner dropped to the floor, Marshall stumbled away. The prisoner in the gray smock came after Marshall again. He grabbed the captain, trying to overpower him. The captain heard a scream in his ear as he broke away from the bigger man. He turned to see the monk had locked his beefy arm around his attacker’s head, and his other hand gouged at the man’s eyes. An instant later, an eyeball popped out of the prisoner’s eye socket.

Screaming as he fell to the filthy floor, the prisoner held on to his bleeding face with the eyeball dangling from between his fingers. Those watching the fight backed away from the screaming man as the yells coming from guards grew closer. A moment later, several uniformed men carrying Charleville muskets with their bayonets extended burst into the room. The jailor followed; his red wool frock still wet from his spilled drink. He went over to the severely injured prisoner, who was now whimpering. The monk stepped by the jailer.

“You should take this dog away,” he said, then repeated the suggestion in French.

The man in the red frock scanned the prisoners. He paused at each of the men with bleeding and bruised faces. Finally, he nodded.

“Oui, faites sortir le prisonnier d’ici,” the jailer ordered the closest prisoner.

As the guards backed out of the room, a prisoner helped the injured man to his feet and led him out. The monk walked with the jailer to the door. Marshall couldn’t hear their conversation, but it was apparent they knew each other.

The captain backed against the stone wall and slowly slid down as his fingers carefully probed his face. Blood trickled down from his nose and a split lip. As he dabbed at his wounds with the sleeve of his coat, he saw the monk approach.

“Englishman, what brings a gentleman among the savages?”

The fat man pulled a metal flask from under his robe. Uncorking it, he took a drink, licking his lips when finished.

“Your eyes deceive you, monk,” Marshall grunted. He observed his defeated adversaries, who milled around on the other side of the room.

“I’ve never been called a gentleman. I’ve arrived without a shilling and plenty of blood in my past. What’s your name?”

“They call me Leiras,” the man in the robe said. “In here, I’m known as the Black Monk to these heathens.”

He cursed at the group of ruffians staring at them.

“It is an unusual name. Do you always jump in the middle of a fight?” Marshall asked.

“Only when I want to meet someone with a burden,” Leiras told him as he handed over his flask. The captain smelled the concoction inside dubiously, but he drank it. It had the taste of swamp water mixed with juniper, anise, and coriander. Leiras let out a deep laugh when he saw Blackbane’s bitter expression while he swallowed the liquid.

“Aye, you’re a gentleman, alright. I’ve seen much between rounds of drinks in my years. Let me guess? You enjoy the spirits of Portugal; I’ll bet. I see the cloth of the Turks on you.”

The man pulled an unfilled pipe from a bag attached to a belt around his waist. He placed the stem between his teeth as he grinned at Blackbane’s suspicious expression.

“Your clothes carry the cut of a sailor from the south,” Leiras explained. “I traveled with the heathens and rabble to the Holy Land. Once, a few Turks tried to enslave me on my trip back to civilization. I killed them so they would see the light. Now, my new friend, what’s your name?”

“The name is Marshall. William Marshall. I take it you’re not French,” he observed.

The captain handed the flask back. Leiras took another drink before he placed his thick arms on his belly. He left the pipe dangling from his lips.

“No, I’m a man of the world. Once I was a grenadier from the canton of Schaffouse and learned your language during my time with the Cent Suisses company in Paris.” There was a twinkle in his eye about his past as he spoke. His enormous head and thinning hair gave him an older appearance. The man’s mischievous smile was infectious.

“Yet you wear the habit. Why?”

“Let’s say that I’m a believer in the Lord,” Leiras replied. “As I said, over the years, I’ve seen much in my travels. When I traveled back from the Holy Land, I came upon the Xeropotamou Monastery on Mount Athos. In their sanctuary among the villainous Ottomans, the monks took me in to learn their ways. Good people, but I found them intolerable with their rules. However, I find their wardrobe comfortable. It suits me to know that few men will challenge me from the status and authority of this cloth.”

“Why are you here, and how do you keep yourself in drink?”

“The Intendant of Le Havre believes I stir up trouble against the Church with my visions. I don’t kiss the ass of the damned cardinal here,” he told him proudly. “But the jailer will do anything for a few francs. I’ve got one guard to refill my flask and bring food from his home. His wife is a fine cook.” He licked his lips at the thought. “She comes by with food late at night. The other prisoners envy me for this service.”

“Why not just bribe your way out if you have gold? There is no reason to remain here,” Marshall reasoned. Leiras smiled at him.

“You’re a thinking man, I see. Yes, normally, that would be the case.” The monk lowered his voice, glancing around as he leaned closer to the pirate.

“In my travels, I’ve come across enough treasure to keep me happy. When I arrived here a few years ago, I kept it in one place, but now I have coins hidden in several places throughout Le Havre,” he confided. “A guard might get greedy and try to take it all.”

“Intelligent idea. Why didn’t you take one guard in your confidence? You could bribe him to escape?”

“I thought of the same thing. Unfortunately, that contemptible Intendant, Auguste, is the vicomté of the area. Thus, his power scares those who must live here. The guards will give me a few things for francs, but to escape will take some ingenuity. I wait for the moment. It’s better not to starve when one soon dies.”

“You’re condemned?” Blackbane asked.

“The Church bishop has renounced me as a heretic. Of course, the Vicomte bribed him. They threw me into this hellhole before I could escape the city. I’m sure Auguste intends to let me dance at the end of a rope. He’ll be in for quite a surprise since I don’t intend to stay around.”

“Then you might have company at the gallows,” the captain replied. “I believe that devil woman Jacotte arranged the same for me.”

“Well, I’ll drink to your good health and pray for your chance to haunt her until Judgment Day,” the black monk told him with a sly grin. As he took another drink, he didn’t see the foul glare on Marshall’s face at the comment.

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