looked him up and down. He then stretched his face muscles, with a clearly amused air. “We wish to discuss a very important matter with you. We know your inclination very well. We know you aren’t a man who likes wasting his time.”
“So we can get to the point at once”, the pirate cut it short. “More than twenty days ago you sent me in search for Emanuel Wynne, a cheap pirate who…”
“Rather by chance”, the governor interrupted him. He kept smiling. “Finding him floating off, not far from Nassau was really providential. It turned your hunt into a rescue mission.”
“That was just good luck, in fact.”
“And is that what you’re worrying about?”
“Absolutely”, Rogers lied. He had to strive to stay easy. Henry Morgan had hit the point. He had left on board the Delicia to go hunting a pirate, but he had found him just a few miles from the port. “I’m trying to get the positive side of the situation. I avoided useless days of sailing. But you haven’t answered my question yet. Why did you send for me?”
Morgan approached. He put both his hands on his shoulders and grasped them with a slight pressure. Rogers considered the possibility of being strangled. As if he had read into his thoughts, the other man let him go and moved a few steps away from him. He took one of the maps from the table and started studying it.
“I think you’re a careful man”, he said sharply. “So you’re deceiving us, captain. The answer is just under your eyes.”
Rogers raised his brows. He didn’t seem to understand. Then a memory flashed suddenly in his mind, cold and merciless like lightning. He turned his eyes to the object Morgan was keeping in his hands.
“It’s just a map, your Excellency”, he commented.
“You’re right”, the other one agreed and handed the roll to the pirate. “I suggest you to observe it better, by the way. It’s the only thing Wynne had with him when he was rescued. He didn’t care about it. He should have. Why should a dying man worry about protecting a map?”
He unfolded it in front of himself. He could feel the mouldy cracking of the paper under his fingertips.
Straight and curving lines were crossing each other, making definite and linear signs. They became then more and more indefinite, chaotic. Besides, there was no course to follow, as if Wynne had got lost.
“He was heading to this island”, Rogers claimed, plunging into the drawing. “But I can’t understand which sea he was sailing.” He turned his eyes to the lower corner of the map. Then he raised his brows. A series of words had been written on that side. He read them and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Anger came later.
“Do you think I’m a fool?”, he burst out. “Was it all just a joke?”
Henry Morgan held his glance with a harshness which didn’t let any emotion come out.
“No joke”, he replied.
“That’s impossible! Wynne can’t have drawn this map. He was completely out of his mind when we found him. He hadn’t eaten and drunk for days. He kept muttering meaningless words.”
“And he’s still muttering them at the moment.”
Rogers didn’t gave up. He studied the map once more, his eyes flashing frantically into their orbs. “I’ll tell you again: he can’t have drawn it, simply because this place doesn’t exist!”
“The Devil’s Triangle exists, really!”, Morgan exclaimed. He looked breathless. “Wynne has been there, no doubts. And not only the piece of paper you’re holding shows it, but also the fact we knew he was preparing to sail those seas.”
***
When they came out of the villa, some soldiers approached them, ready to escort them to the coach. Roger had wanted Morgan to let him meet the prisoner. He still couldn’t believe the story he had told him.
“Please, Excellency”, one of the guards suddenly said, opening the door of the coach which would drive them to the jail.
The coach turned into a strip of land bordering the beach. Morgan caught the opportunity of greeting the colons. Many of them bowed. A bit farther the coast made a small inlet, which was considered the real heart of the bay. There were a dozen ships at anchor there.
“Here we are, Excellency”, the coachman shouted after a while.
The road they were driving through was scattered with stones everywhere, becoming closer and closer till they formed a pavement ending in front of the fortress entrance. The access was composed of a brick arch obtained in the main wall. The grey mouths of the cannons came out of the upper cornice, surmounted by imposing battlements.
Once inside Fort Charles, they got off the coach in the middle of an octagonal square. Afterwards, they were led to the jails through a stone corridor, on whose walls some torches were flaring. A well-built man with a scornful air came through the dim light. He was panting and his face was wet with sweat. He was wearing a plain dress with dirty spots everywhere. Rogers could see blood trails both on his sleeves and on his collar. He then had the unpleasant feeling of facing the hangman.
“Excellency”, the last one greeted Morgan respectfully.
“Best greetings, master Kane”, Morgan replied. “This is captain Woodes Rogers, a corsair at His Majesty’s service.”
“How can I help you?”
“We’re here to meet Emanuel Wynne.”
The hangman nodded decidedly, he caught one of the torches hanging on the walls and took them to another corridor, where some cells were alternating. When they got to the end, they walked down a flight of stairs. The slope became steeper halfway so they had to bend, as the ceiling was gradually stooping. They would find themselves underground soon.
“Before we go in, I wish to ask you a question”, Rogers told the governor. “You’ve prepared the execution for tomorrow. Why such a hurry?”
“Wynne is a pirate, so he must pay for his crimes”, the other man replied.
Without a fair trial? Those thoughts flashed in the corsair’s mind with a disarming easiness. Do you really consider me such a fool, Henry? You’ve dragged me here for a much more important reason. Why are you spinning out? Lost in those thoughts, he got in front of a cell, without even being aware of it. The interior, which had been enveloped in darkness till then, was lighted by Kane’s torch. He saw him fumbling about a heavy brass ring enclosing a dozen keys. He put one of them into the keyhole and made it turn, producing a resounding creaking. The bars opened on a poor, bare room, whose only furniture was a bedstraw. Being underground, there wasn’t any kind of window, neither simple slits. A heavy smell of mould, excrements and urine was hovering all around.
Morgan was very interested in the shape lying on the bedstraw. It was still, covered in a filthy blanket. “Are you sure you didn’t go too far, master Kane? We want this man to be hanged before a jubilant crowd, not to die here like a rat.”
“Don’t worry”, the hangman assured him and moved towards Wynne. He then kicked his ribs. The pirate got up in a hurry, squealing. He looked like a ghost in the dim
