The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 1

The Seige of Dragonard Hill.

Gilchrist, Rupert.

Prologue.

BLACK SEEDS.

Havana, Cuba I836 The decanter of claret at supper successfully dulled Victoria's mind. The potency of the rich red wine enabled her to sit at the far end of the long teakwood table from her husband and glance occasionally through the flickering candles at his swarthy face without hating herself for having married him.

Conde Juan Carlos Veradaga was twice Victoria's age, a Spanish n.o.bleman who owned one of the largest sugar plantations in Cuba as well as prospering from galleons which arrived regularly in the Havana harbour-slave s.h.i.+ps from Africa br.i.m.m.i.n.g with Negroes to sell in New World marketplaces.

Wealthy. Influential amongst the Spanish aristocracy which ruled the island of Cuba, Devout in the Holy Catholic Church. Juan Carlos Veradaga also was crippled, a man confined to a wheelchair. His one joy was an infant son, the only child which Victoria had given him. But Juan Carlos no longer showed any love-not even affection-for his young American bride.

Tonight's supper pa.s.sed without conversation. Juan Carlos picked fastidiously at his food; he continued to ignore Victoria when she finally beckoned a servant to pull back her chair from the table. She departed silently from the cavernous comedor; they did not exchange farewells.

The time was now past midnight. Victoria lay awake on her four-postered bed upstairs in Palacio Veradaga. The air was humid. She had pulled offher nightgown in a sudden fit of irritation and lay naked upon sheets enerested with the Veradaga coat-of-arms. She cursed Havana, the Caribbean's cloying humidity, her loneliness.

2.Having opened the bedroom door to create a cross breeze from the tall windows which overlooked the walled gardens, Victoria pressed her eyes shut as a further inducement for sleep. But the wine from supper was forsaking her: She was becoming increasingly alert. She again began counting the depressing facts of married life, moving from one complaint to another as a more religious woman would proceed through the Ave Marias on her rosary beads.

Juan Carlos was already insisting that their son be taught to speak Spanish before learning English. This infuriated Victoria. He also was beginning to make snide remarks about her inability to conduct herself as a loving mother to young Juanito. He wanted the child to be raised away from the city, on the Veradaga's vastfinca where the sugar crops were grown and refined in the central. Juan Carlos had virtually told Victoria that she herself should return to her father's plantation in Louisiana.

d.a.m.n it! she cursed as she tossed again on the perspiration-soaked sheets. Why did I marry that swarthy rat? Was I really that desperate to leave my family? To escape New Orleans? Why could I have not merely let him indulge me and remained single? Retained my freedom?

The air in the stately bedroom was motionless but Victoria knew that she needed more than a breeze to satisfy her. She had pa.s.sed too many tropical nights lately without a lover. She felt angry, betrayed, frustrated.

Despite his infirmity, Juan Carlos satisfied Victoria's specialized tastes in love-making. Or at least he once had. But Juan Carlos no longer desired to make love to her. He even refused to allow Victoria to kneel alongside his bed and satisfy his p.e.n.i.s with her mouth-much less invite her to straddle him with crouched legs and clutching v.a.g.i.n.al lips, a feminine expertise which she called her Jezebel's Grip' and had aided him in siring his heir.

Is this fair? Victoria asked herself as her hands pulled at the sheets in frustration. Is this fair that a son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h who is old enough to be my father should dictate my love life? I hate myself for even thinking that I might go to him now if he showed the slightest interest in me. Why can't I find a new man who enjoys the same s.e.xual habits as I do?

3.Victoria rolled across the wide bed and asked herself another nagging question. Why was Juan Carlos becoming so critical of her? Was it because she had finally given him an heir and he no longer had any use for her? Or had he found a lover? If so, who was the sneaking b.i.t.c.h?

Thinking of her own need for physical satisfaction, Victoria lay on her back and opened her thighs. She inched the finger tips of one hand over the flatness of her milky white abdomen until she reached the furry brown delta between her legs. She brushed her other hand toward the nipple of one breast, gently coaxing the rosy bud into taut-ness.

She hesitated. The idea of masturbating repulsed her. She held her hand motionless between her bent legs, her middle finger lingering in the moistness of her v.a.g.i.n.a. She wondered if she should postpone this solitary act, if she might perhaps meet someone tomorrow who could give her true satisfaction.

Tomorrow! Victoria laughed at the idea of meeting someone tomorrow. She had postponed masturbation on previous nights and had met no one the next day to make love to her. Juan Carlos guarded her like a hawk-nosed duenna, she spent her days and nights in growing s.e.xual frustration.

Curling her finger inside her furry slit, Victoria again reached to fondle her nipples. She pressed her eyes tightly shut but, now, she did not strain for sleep. She scanned her mind for the image of a man whom she could use in a s.e.xual fantasy.

Victoria imagined a tall man. His legs were strong. He dressed in snug white breeches which hugged his muscled thighs like a second skin, handsome military clothing which betrayed his manly p.e.n.i.s curling over the generous spread of his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

As her b.r.e.a.s.t.s heaved with antic.i.p.ation, Victoria envisioned herself falling to her knees in front of such a handsome man, of running her hands adoringly over that bulge of manhood encased in tight white breeches, of seeing his p.e.n.i.s lengthen into a rod for her to lick through the fabric, to chew...

Victoria then became less aggressive, more romantic in her thoughts. She pictured the tall man embracing her, holding her tenderly in his arms, plunging his tongue into 4.her mouth, reaching to cup his hand around one breast, his fingers working . . .

A noise suddenly disturbed Victoria's thoughts, a sound which came from outside her bedroom door.

Was it whispering?

Lifting her head from the heap of pillows, Victoria quickly combed back her mane of auburn hair from one ear and strained to listen more closely.

Victoria's first thought was tinged with fantasy, a residue from her s.e.xual wishes. She imagined that a lover was coming down the hallway toward her bedroom. A stranger who might have seen her this afternoon in the Plaza de Armas. The man was brave. He had climbed the walls surrounding Palacio Veradaga . . .

Quickly realizing that such a thought was absurd, Victoria considered a more likely possibility. Juan Carlos slept only three doors down the hallway from her room. He claimed to take laudanum each night to ease the pain of his withered legs but Victoria now wondered if he only used laudanum as an excuse to keep her from intruding on him. Juan Carlos might be awake himself at this late hour. He could very well be whispering for his new lover to join him.

Hearing the faint voice again, Victoria slowly moved to the edge of the bed. She lowered her bare feet to the low-heeled slippers setting on the marble floor and reached for the robe she had tossed to the foot of the bed. Cinching the cord around her waist, she next felt for the amber handle of the dagger which she kept buried in a deep china bowl filled with dried rose petals on her bedside table.

The luminescent Cuban moon Sit Victoria's slim body as she stealthily moved from her bed toward the half-open door. She peered out into the darkness of the hallway vaulted with darkly stained beams. She listened for the sound of footsteps, a whisper from a female who might have replaced her in her husband's bed.

The call came again.

'Malou ... I am waiting for you . . ,'

Malou?

Victoria gripped the dagger tighter in her hand and stepped bravely out into the hallway. Malou was her Negress slave. A body servant. Was Juan Carlos secretly meet- 5.ing Malou at night? Had he developed a taste for black women?

Proceeding down the hallway in the direction from which the whispering had come, Vicky wished that she carried a brace of pistols rather than this small amber-handled dagger. She imagined how she could shoot Juan Carlos. She envisioned herself pleading to the authorities that she had mistakenly shot her husband instead of a thief. She imagined how she would enter the necessary period of mourning observed here in Catholic Cuba and then emerge rich, free to marry a man who could satisfy her. She would become the belle of Cuban society! She could. . , The voice called again.

'c.o.c.k feathers and sea sh.e.l.ls . .., yellow gra.s.s and a blue fish..: The sing-song words were soft, a call whispered in a Negroid drawl Victoria quickly changed her opinion. The words were not coming from Juan Carlos. No. It was a Negro speaking. A slave whispering for Malou. Victoria also guessed that his words-c.o.c.k feathers, sea sh.e.l.ls, gra.s.s, a fish-were the ingredients for a voodoo charm or spell.

Knowing that her black servant, Malou, believed in the West African religion called Yoruba, Victoria's anger suddenly turned against the black woman. Like many other white people in Havana, Victoria considered the black religion of Yoruba to be nothing but witchcraft. The whites called it voodoo, the Negroes' absorption of Catholic saints and beliefs into the pagan religion only increased the fury of their critics.

Not believing in African gra-gris spells, charms, nor even the Holy Catholic Church, Victoria moved more swiftly down the hallway with the intent to punish the headstrong black woman. If she could not have s.e.xual release tonight then at least she could inflict torture on a female who thought she could! Why else would a ... n.i.g.g.e.r b.i.t.c.h be meeting a man?

Victoria saw in the hallway's near darkness that the oaken door to her husband's room was firmly shut. She also saw that little Juanito's door was closed, 6.Tossing her hair back from her face, Victoria surveyed the other doors lining the stark white hall until she spotted a sheet of silver moonlight falling upon the carved panels of a door to a room used for guests.

'Malou . . .' the deep voice drawled again from inside the room, '. . . I am waiting for you.'

Pressing herself against a Castilian tapestry hanging in the hall, Victoria slowly edged her way closer toward the half-open door.

'Malou, I dones what you tells me to do . . .'

Stepping quickly in front of the door, Victoria pushed it open with her foot and hissed into the darkness, I am not "Malou'!

'Condesa Veradaga!' the voice gasped.

'Who are you? Victoria demanded as she stood in the doorway, looking at the outline of a broad-shouldered man framed by a tall window silvered by the moon. She could tell by the smooth contour of the man's shaved head that he was indeed a Negro.

The man backed further into the shadows and reached to cover his groin.

Victoria demanded, 'Who are you? What are you doing here?' She now saw that the black man was naked, that his clothes lay heaped in a white pile alongside him on the floor. He was trying to hide his groin from her eyes.

'It's me , . . Arturo..." the black man stammered, cup ping both hands over his midsection. 'Arturo. . . your husband's criado!'

Victoria no longer was interested in the slave's ident.i.ty. Nor the reason the black valet was here in this bedroom. She wanted to see what he was hiding from her.

Stepping toward him and swatting his hands away from his groin, Victoria demanded, 'Don't back away from me when I'm talking to you, boy!'

Shaking his head, Arturo pleaded, 'No, Condesa. You must not see Victoria began to speak but the words caught in her throat. She stared at the Negro's crotch and saw-or thought that she saw-not one but two glistening black p.e.n.i.ses hanging between his legs. The twin organs were large, black, hardened to form blood-full crowns identical in roundness.

7.'Malou tells me to come here,' Arturo wailed, groping more frantically to cover his masculine equipment.

Victoria ignored his words. She knew that Negroes were often endowed more generously than white men but... two phallus? And both enormous?

'Don't tell your husband,' Arturo pleaded as his fingers worked nervously to move a thin black leather cord tied around his waist.

Jabbing her dagger at him, Victoria repeated in a louder whisper, 'What are you hiding from me, boy?'

Arturo struggled to work the leather thong around his naked waist. He faltered, 'Malou. . . she gives me this . , . medicine to wear, Mistress. This be African medicine ... to make me . . . strong.'

Victoria began to understand. She saw one p.e.n.i.s now dangling over Arturo's bare hip. She also saw the leather cord to which the object was attached. Arturo wore a voodoo ceremonial phallus made to match his own p.e.n.i.s and it was connected to a leather thong encircling his waist.

Grabbing for the s.h.i.+ny black phallus attached to the thong, Victoria held it by the crown and instantly felt that the object was hard, textured exactly like an erect p.e.n.i.s.

Arturo tried to pull himself back from Victoria as she tightened her grip on the ceremonial p.e.n.i.s still attached to the cord encircling his waist. Arturo's true p.e.n.i.s now hung limp-lifeless-from his groin.

Jabbing her blade forward, Victoria quickly severed the leather cord and s.n.a.t.c.hed the voodoo phallus from his hip. She stepped into a shaft of moonlight streaming through the window and saw that the organ had been made from wood and stretched leather, that the waist thong was still attached to the phallus by a peg carved into its base.

Nervously reaching for the object, Arturo pleaded, 'That be black people's medicine, Condesa Veradaga. That be nothing for a fine white lady like yourself to see 'Medicine!' Victoria shrieked, suddenly raising the voodoo phallus and las.h.i.+ng its leather thong at Arturo's face like a whip. 'How dare Malou meet you here! How dare you have this. . . obscene object in my house! Juanito is sleeping only two rooms away from here! My husband's room is at the end of this very hall! I could scream and you would 8.'No, mistress,' Arturo begged. 'Don't scream! Please don't scream for no one. The Conde Veradaga will have me whipped!'

'The Conde! What about me? I am the Condesa! I can also give orders for you to be whipped! But I won't! i will whip you myself! Like this! Aed this!' She said, las.h.i.+ng the phallus's leather thong at Arturo's face, repeating, '. . , and this . , . and this , . . and this!'

Arturo held one arm over his face to protect himself from the snapping cord as he reached with his other hand to gather his pile of tow clothing from the floor. Victoria continued to snap the leather cord at him, now hysterically striking at his arms and neck and back. She then hurled the phallus impulsively at Arturo when he turned to rush from the bedroom.

Halting to retrieve the phallus from the floor, Arturo wrapped it in the bulk of tow clothing and disappeared naked down the tile stairs which led to the servants' quarters in Palacio Veradaga.

The black woman, Malou, smiled to herself that same night as she stood near Havana's harbour with a child bundled in her arms. She hoped that her ruse to divert her mistress's attention had worked, that Arturo had gone to the guest room in Palacio Veradaga with the wooden phallus strapped to his waist. Malou had told Arturo to meet her in the bedroom but she had never intended to join him there. She had hoped, though, that her mistress would hear Arturo whispering. She knew that the Condesa greatly needed s.e.xual attention from a male and, if the Condesa allowed Arturo to make love to her in the guest room tonight, she would be too embarra.s.sed-and too pleased- tomorrow morning to chastise Malou for inviting Arturo there. If not. . .

Malou put aside the thought of the Condesa reprimanding her. She was not frightened of her mistress. Malou had the African G.o.ds to protect her, the deities called Obtala and Olorun.

Wrapping the cloak around the infant cradled in her arms, Malou proceeded down the narrow cobbled street 9.toward art iron gate which opened onto the courtyard of a large white-washed building. The street was the Calle de Esclavos-the Street of the Slaves-in the disreputable suburb of Havana called Regla. The building to which she was going was a slave house.

Remembering the instructions which the owner of the slave house had sent to her-along with money-by a messenger, Malou ignored the bell chain dangling alongside the iron grille which faced the street. She slipped into the courtyard and her bare feet quickly moved across the cobblestones toward a plank door.

Malou knew that the old man would be waiting to see her and the infant-an Englishman was paying her to bring him young Juanito Veradaga tonight.

Clutching the infant tightly in her arms, Malou climbed the narrow flight of stone stairs and mulled over the few facts she knew about the old man who had summoned her here to this district of robbers and thieves.

The old Englishman's name was Richard Abdee. He was one of Havana's richest slave dealers. The Conde Veradaga also dealt in slaves but Richard Abdee was more successful, a more ruthless merchant than Malou's crippled master. She admired ruthlessness, even in white people.

Malou reached the top of the stairs and knocked lightly- according to instructions-on the second plank door. She reached to knock again but her hand hesitated in rnid-air when'a man's voice within the room commanded her to enter.

Turning the iron handle, Malou pushed open the door and stared into total darkness. She saw no flame, no flicker of a candle or oil lamp.

A man asked, 'Are you the wench from Palacio Veradaga?'

I am Malou,' she answered in a throaty voice, speaking with the a.s.surance of a woman who had no concern about physical beauty, no plots to win over a male with her femininity. Malou was a plain-faced woman who wore simple clothes and a white kerchief knotted over her forehead.

She announced in a straightforward voice, I brought the child as I was paid to do.'

A sulphur match struck in the room's blackness. A tallow candle was soon lit and its flickering yellow flame glowed I0.

upon the slim figure of a man seated in a wicker chair placed alongside a table.

Although Malou had never before met Richard Abdee, she immediately guessed that this was the infamous old slave-dealer. He wore a white planter's suit and his white hair was tied at the nape of his neck in an out-moded style seldom seen anymore in Havana. His skin was leathery and, although lined with age, his face was handsome, strongly-featured, set with a look of determination. He had every appearance of a man who could control the slave trade of Cuba. Even his bright blue eyes had a malevolent glint as he studied Malou standing in the doorway holding the child bundled in her arms.

'Bring the child closer,' Abdee ordered, wiggling the fingers of a hand dotted with brown spots of age.

Malou padded toward the chair. She removed the cover from the sleeping child's face but did not relinquish him from her arm. She said, 'This Is the son of the Conde Veradaga.'

Abdee peered into the bundle, asking, 'Does he look like his mother?'

The Condesa has blue eyes,' Malou answered, turning the child for the candle's glow to catch his dark features. 'My mistress's hair is not black like Abdee lifted his head and looked quizzically at Malou. He asked, 'Victoria is fair? My., . granddaughter has blue eyes?'

Malou stared at the old man. His 'granddaughter?' She knew that the Condesa Veradaga came from America. That her family lived on a plantation in Louisiana. But Malou had not known that old Richard Abdee was related to her mistress. The rumour's all said that he had gone many years ago from England to the West Indies.

Peering into the bundle, Abdee said, "This child is the first of my bloodline I have ever seen.'

Malou blandly answered, 'You be like us black people, Master Sir. Black people taken from Africa don't see the children they plant in this new world neither.'

Abdee kept his eyes on the child. He showed no concern for the problems of black people. He likewise showed little affection for the child.

II.

Malou studied Abdee's weathered face as she held the child closer toward him. She observed, 'You have a restless soul, Master. I see restlessness in your eyes.' Malou was a Yoruba priestess and understood people's dissatisfaction.

I did not pay you to come here tonight to talk about me,' Abdee grumbled. 'I only wanted to see this child.'

Waving her away from his chair, he said, 'I have seen him. Go. You have papers to conduct you safely out of this district. Go back to your. . . mistress.'

Malou folded the covering over the child's face but she lingered in front of the old man's chair. The Englishman fascinated her. She asked, 'Is the boy what you expected to see?'

'I expect nothing,' Abdee answered in a clipped voice. 'I expect nothing from any man or woman. Black or white.' The corners of his thin Sips raised into a smile. He added, 'And I expect the. . . worst from someone with my blood in their veins!'

Malou knew that he was serious. She warned, 'Do not die before you settle the problems in your soul, Master Sir, or you shall never rest. I can tell that you have spent many years wandering 'd.a.m.n my soul!' he suddenly thundered, 'And yours, too, you meddlesome b.i.t.c.hf Raising his hand toward the door, he ordered, 'Gol Get out of here! Never come back to this slave house or I'll have you seized as a runaway wenchi I'll sell you downstairs on the auction block for a field worker!'

Malou left the old Englishman. She descended the narrow steps with the child in her arms and wondered if she would ever understand the workings of white people's minds.

Why would a man so rich, so powerful as this slavedealer not see his bloodline before tonight? Malou also mused why Richard Abdee would bribe her to bring him this child- his what? his great grandson?-to this slave house in Regla and then look so briefly at him?

No, Malou could not understand that manner of thinking. But she clearly understood the value of the gold coins which old Richard Abdee had sent her to bring the child tonight to his slave house. Malou told herself that she must now only concern herself with returning the child safely I2.