Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) Read online

  “I’m only here for a short while, you know how it is. A man in my position has to keep moving. If you’re interested, I’ll need to negotiate a price for you and the girl. Is he coming as well?” the Captain called out, pointing to Juan.

  “No, I’m not coming,” Juan replied, sharply.

  I could see the distaste in Juan’s face for Chivers. Pirates were mostly feared by the masses on land as well as at sea. Unlike me, Juan had little or no contact with them to understand how they really operated. This, in turn, created fear.

  Vagabonds they may have been, but there was an unwritten pirate code of conduct I couldn’t help admiring. Unlike other seamen, who when full of ale or rum would fight in the inns, pirates would do their best to battle only at sea, much to the relief of innkeepers. They cheated at cards making no secret of the fact, so I never played a game with them. Also, I learned many years before never to board a pirate ship without greeting the captain most cordially. My social mishap resulted in being tossed overboard for my rudeness.

  “I have time to spare,” I replied. “A journey to such a far off land would be an adventure. I hear there are many spices to be discovered, still unheard of in our world. It could be a good business opportunity.”

  I planned all along to journey to America, but the more I considered it, an offer to discover new islands was too enticing to ignore. After enduring cold icy conditions, the thought of an unknown tropical sun on my back sealed my decision. There was plenty of time, with or without Juan. The missing coin could wait.

  “Then cross my palm with silver and gold, be generous and you can have a place,” Chivers said, placing his hand firmly on the table.

  “Juan, take Rachel to the dock and find her passage to Holland where she can pick up a ship to America. She’s not coming with me,” I ordered, moving closer to Chivers to negotiate. Rachel was none too happy with my command.

  “I don’t want to go there, I want to come on the pirate ship with you!”

  “Go to America. It’s large enough for me never to have to see you again.”

  Juan did as I asked, dragging her out of the inn as she screamed and shouted. Her expletives so bad they shocked even the roughest of sailors. Thankfully, she was gone, out of my sight, hopefully forever.

  “A wild filly needs to be tamed; you didn’t do your job there. If she was in my company I would have broken her within hours.”

  Captain Chivers’ idea of breaking Rachel would have been to tie her up, give her ten lashes and starve her until she promised to be good. To make sure she really had the message, he would share her amongst the crew until she either begged for mercy or threw herself overboard in a suicide bid.

  Preferring not to get into a disagreement, I told him I accepted my failings, even though I remained angry. Unlike Chivers, I didn’t have it in me to cause her real harm, only wanting her out of the way. We shared a bottle of fine rum while I waited anxiously for Juan. It would be hours before he returned alone, having endured hard negotiations for her passage, which I had paid for.

  “Her boat leaves for Holland tomorrow morning and she was allowed to board for the night. I thought it best she was off dry land, unable to follow you,” he said, upon his return. I breathed a big sigh of relief. No more fake stigmata, lying stealing and manipulating.

  “I can now spend the next few days in relative calm, thanks to you, my good friend. I appreciate your help in every way. I ask you, most humbly, to join me on this wonderful journey with all your expenses paid. What say you?”

  “I have little to lose and much to gain for going. Perhaps it would be a good decision so, Captain Chivers, I request to come aboard,” Juan replied with a smile.

  I would have paid double for Juan whom much to my delight had a change of heart. Despite my need for self-preservation, I was drawn to loyalty and he was someone I could depend on.

  “We’ll have a wonderful adventure. I promise you it won’t be dull,” I said.

  Free of Rachel, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. The next few days went quickly, filled with purchasing what was needed for such a long journey. I bought an expensive chest, a new saber and a small musket. Juan acquired new clothes, footwear and stocked up on wine. I wrote a letter to Comte and Racco thanking them for the horses and safe passage to Santander but I refrained from telling them where I was going, unsure if the letter would fall in the wrong hands and pass to the authorities. The morning came to leave and, true to his word, Chivers sent a small boat to take us to The Sloop, a frigate moored safely out of sight. As the shoreline diminished, so did the anxiety. It was time for a new adventure.

  or a pirate ship, our accommodations were impressive. Close to the Captain’s quarters, we each had a berth with enough space to be comfortable. I could hear Chivers above deck, barking orders to set sail while I unpacked. Being at sea was nothing new. I’d spent centuries aboard all manner of floating vessels, and it was not my first experience with pirates. I’d also developed a love-hate relationship with the ocean. I loved to stand on deck with the sun going down in the distance and dolphins swimming alongside. But I loathed the violent storms that threatened to capsize even the most stable vessel, and caused me to refrain from eating while I fought the dreaded seasickness, something I never expected considering my immortality. Two centuries ago, a wise friend, upon hearing my sea-going predicament, commented quite rightly. Mother Nature would always be in control.

  Many a sailor called the storms, “God’s wrath as He did battle with mankind.” I was inclined to believe it, but doubted pirates prayed before they set sail. However, I did. This time it was a short, silent prayer asking for a smooth journey and a safe passage. It was a century for the Dutch to rule the waves and they did so with very few ships sunk. I hoped, in spite of the pirate status, we were in the hands of skilled seaman. Juan might never forgive me if we ended up shipwrecked and stranded on a desert island.

  “I’m going up on deck, are you joining me?” I asked him, knowing he was wary of coming face to face with the entire crew.

  “I know I have to do this sooner or later, so now will be a good time as any other,” he replied.

  We arrived on deck to a howling wind and a mad scramble to set the sails. Within months, I would be wearing only my breeches and a vest as the weather improved. For now, it was extremely unpleasant.

  “Best we go below, Juan,” I shouted against the driving gale.

  Sheltered from the storm, the day passed peacefully enough. Food was brought to our cabin, basic but nutritious, and an invitation to dine later with the Captain.

  I was familiar with a typical pirate menu, consisting of legs of meat to tear apart with bare hands all washed down with plenty of rum. There would be no need for me to dress for dinner and no standing on ceremony with table manners. I could behave anyway I wanted.

  At eight o’clock, we were summoned to the Captain’s quarters where I was faced with a sight to shake my bones and cause me to hold my breath. There, sitting like a princess next to the Captain in a scandalously low cut red dress, was Rachel, grinning from ear to ear with supreme satisfaction.

  “Please tell me I have died and gone to hell,” I remarked, not caring of the Captain’s reaction. Juan, as shocked as me, tried to make sense of her presence.

  “How did you get here when I put you on a boat bound for Holland? With my own eyes I watched you board. I paid with Emmanuel’s money for your passage!”

  “I think she’s doing this to torture me, nothing more,” I lamented.

  “Emmanuel, I do what I want to do, not what you tell me to do. I changed my mind when I was on the boat. Dirk took pity on my plight when I explained I had no choice but to leave France. He understands how it feels to be accused when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Wait until he sees you bleed, maybe then he won’t have such pity.”

  “Bleed? What nonsense is this?” Chivers asked with caution.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Emmanuel knows I have a condition where I bleed easil
y when cut, that’s all it is. He can’t stand the sight of blood, which is why he overreacts. Ignore him and his futile snipes at me.”

  I was now in yet another nightmare, the struggle to remove her from my life a dismal failure, and the decision to journey as far away as possible had backfired miserably. The snake had followed, determined to release its venom and watch with glee as it slowly and inadvertently spread. What pleasure did Rachel gain from taunting me? Had she set out to do me harm, considering I murdered her father, the main reason she was hiding the coin? Trying to think straight with my head pounding, I watched helplessly as she wound a hardened pirate around her little finger.

  “Let’s forget what was said and be merry, shall we? Why, gentlemen, look at what your money has bought you, a veritable feast. Waste not want not, time to eat!” Chivers commanded as he brazenly placed a hand down the front of Rachel’s dress. It was now plain to see she had managed to con her way aboard by using her feminine ways and blatant sexuality. If I was to dare voice my opinion or make a stand by refusing the meal, I’d be insulting a pirate Captain, further resulting in a long walk off a short plank. The idea of a swim to shore wasn’t appealing, so I forced myself to eat and pretend to enjoy the company. Juan, not having been on the receiving end of Rachel’s talons, found it difficult to be in the middle. Somewhat embarrassed, he excused himself with contrived stomach pains, leaving me to suffer her abominable company.

  “Did you know Emmanuel thinks himself immortal, doomed to walk the earth scrambling around for coins he believes will redeem him in the eyes of God and our lord Jesus Christ? He claims to be Judas Iscariot, the betrayer.” She was relentless.

  “So you both accuse each other of the strangest things, immortality, stigmata. I find it all very amusing!” He laughed heartily. “Silly girl, anyone knows that no one becomes immortal. We all die sooner or later.”

  “Not this one,” she gleefully countered. “He’s been around for centuries!”

  “Captain Chivers, with all respect, please ignore her mad ramblings, as I’ve had to,” I advised. “You’ll come to realize she’s little more than a backward child in a young woman’s body. Whatever she’s enticed you with, be wary. The girl cannot be trusted. On that note, I bid you a good evening and thank you for a wonderful dinner.” In no way did I wish to be trapped on a pirate ship while the captain and crew suspected me of being insane. He rose from the chair and patted me hard on the back—a good sign from a drunken pirate to let me know all was well and it was safe to leave. I envisioned taking Rachel with me, binding her hands and feet tight, and throwing her over to the sharks.

  “A good evening to you, Emmanuel. Sweet dreams,” she said, seductively stroking the Captains hair while eyeing me as if she could discern my angry fantasy. She curled her tongue around her top lip looking straight in my direction… I didn’t have to guess what would happen when I was out of sight. Reason took over from anger. Kill her, I told myself and you may lose the second coin.

  Isabella was a difficult woman, often downright cantankerous. Her violent outbursts were legendary. But compared to Rachel, the teenage temptress, she was Mary Magdalene.

  “I would like to challenge God as to why I suffer such misfortune. Every time I look at Rachel, it’s like looking in the face of evil. Perhaps she’s a stigmatic sorceress and I’ve been cursed?” I confided in Juan.

  “I left her on the ship, I swear.”

  “I would like to see the look on Captain Chivers face when she has an episode,” I said, after nodding to acknowledge his words. “I doubt he’ll take it lightly. Pirates aren’t known for their religious understanding.”

  “I know I left her on the ship… I was sober enough.” Juan seemed to be second-guessing himself.

  “Stop berating yourself,” I told him. “She more devious than you or I can ever imagine. From this day forward, I’ll no longer underestimating her abilities.”

  We were en route to the Island of Madagascar, where, true to pirate form, Captain Chivers and his motley crew would lie in wait for unsuspecting boats arriving from the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf. From there, having stolen in abundance, he would no doubt hop over to the Island of Libertatia, a pirate colony I’d heard of in fables. Claimed to be inhabited by criminal sailors who, having jumped ship, set up a new life with Madagascan women. They had children, farmed the land and lived unhindered as a group, where no money was needed. It sounded like the ideal place to put Rachel, where she’d be forced to bear ten unruly children, become weakened and fade into obscurity. Of course, the journey to Madagascar would take the best part of a year. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part when I hoped she would soften and hand me what’s mine.

  As time passed, Juan found himself something to do on the long arduous journey, cooking rice and potatoes in the small galley kitchen alongside the meat cook. Rachel did very little apart from following Captain Chivers around on deck and languishing in her cabin, eating and sleeping. I wrote a diary, an interesting daily account of the comings and goings aboard a pirate ship, most of it mundane. One or two violent storms managed to boost the adrenaline but I was itching for excitement, waiting in anticipation for something to happen. I constantly harbored the notion Rachel had stolen the other coin, often becoming paranoid believing Chivers was in league with her. It gave me something to do when listless and bored. Between cooking and listening to the endless woes of drunken pirates, Juan had drunk himself to sleep almost every night.

  Weeks turned into months as the much-awaited warm climate became a way of life. Passing through the Mozambique Channel of Africa, I was sure the shade temperature was nigh on a hundred degrees. The sea was calm as a still pond, giving the crew great luck with fishing. Juan watched in anticipation, ready to cook what was caught. I marveled at his ability to enjoy the simple act of feeding others.

  “One day, Emmanuel, you might find it within yourself to reach out and help someone without wanting anything in return,” he would preach to me periodically.

  Meanwhile, it wasn’t until we traveled a good few thousand miles before Captain Chivers confided in me about Rachel. I sometimes watched him on deck when she passed, doing his best to avoid her.

  “She has these strange bleeding moments,” he confided. “I woke the other morning to find the bed sheets covered in blood. Too much blood for the monthly thing. What is this condition? Is it catching?”

  Although it was the perfect moment to turn the tables around and blatantly put the fear of God into the man, I couldn’t. “You’re in no danger of catching anything,” I replied.

  “But why so much blood and what are the markings on her hands and feet? Have you noticed the scars on her forehead? She bleeds from there as well.”

  “She claims to be inflicted with stigmata.”

  “Is that a disease?”

  “A disease of her mind is what it is. She claims to be bleeding out the wounds of Christ from the same places he was crucified. The scars on her forehead are supposedly the crown of thorns,” I explained.

  Captain Chivers wasn’t prone to notions or fantasies, in my opinion. My honesty resulted in Rachel being banished from his quarters and ordered to eat and sleep alone. He even went so far as to warn the rest of the crew to stay away from her, convinced she was a disciple of the Devil who had given him the evil eye. It wasn’t long before she was shunned by all.

  Juan took a different approach. “You need to put the facts straight. She’s no more in league with the Devil than I. Even if she stole your coin, it doesn’t make her a witch. The crew may begin to fear her presence. They could kill her.”

  “Pirates are superstitious; it could be why they’re leaving her alone for now. Why not let them believe she’s the Devil’s disciple? She deserves to suffer,” I replied.

  Our conversation was cut short by a noise above deck, loud voices and scurrying footsteps told of a confrontation.

  “I expect they’ve sighted a Mughlai vessel loaded with spices. It won’t get very far now. Chivers will
force it to stop with cannon fire, board and remove as much in the way of goods as is possible. Maybe I can negotiate a deal for some of the load, cut out the middleman?”

  “Emmanuel, I’m closing my eyes and ears to you. I know I’m not a religious man, but doesn’t profiteering from ill-gotten gains go against God’s wishes?”

  “So it is written.”

  “Then what would be the point of spending your immortality, searching every corner of the world to redeem your coins? Surely God will refuse you redemption by actions such as these, alone—not to mention your lack of compassion for others!”

  “Why don’t you go and cook something… leave me to live in my world anyway I want to!” I retorted in anger. “I never judge your actions, so why judge mine?!”

  “I have no intention of annoying you any further,” he said sullenly.

  “That will be the best news I’ve had all day.”

  He left my presence in a huff. We were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. Being at sea for such a long time, barely dropping anchor for longer than a few hours in strange places, forced to spend endless hours together… It was making us crazy.

  I also felt compelled to make sarcastic comments to Rachel, who would often pass me without a word. Common sense told me to stop. The atmosphere on board was tense, with most of the crew barely on speaking terms. I didn’t need to make things worse. Every evening at eight, Juan and I would be summoned to the Captain’s quarters for dinner. In the beginning, with Rachel out of the picture, conversation flowed. Now, there was little left to speak of as one month drifted into another without event. I prayed for a strong wind to push us closer to Madagascar. Although we were ahead of schedule, it felt like an eternity.

  With so much time to spare, I pondered on what I’d do once there. Maybe I could seek out an island wife, have an army of offspring and live a simple existence forever, forgetting all about coins, consequences, and the like. But the truth was, I feared becoming a committed father. The notion of being faced with a son or daughter that grew older than my physical self was too horrible to contemplate. Being told countless times I was a self-centered, rude and sarcastic woman hater didn’t help either. What wife would tolerate me, and what sired offspring would be proud to be mine?