Chapter 6 #3
Standing completely still, he strained his ears.
Was that a noise from the trees down by the shore?
Was somebody there? Had someone thrown the stone deliberately?
He could think of no alternative. There were no monkeys in the Bermuda islands, no other animal that might have propelled a stone at him.
The only native fauna were insects, birds and lizards, and the wild chickens that had been brought to the islands by settlers had no arms with which to fling a heavy stone.
For a moment he considered dashing after the culprit through the woods, but gave up that notion within moments.
Whoever had thrown the rock would be far off by now, and would have the advantage were he to try another attack.
“Must be one of the local boys playing pranks,” Richard decided at last, although this thought sat ill with him.
Never before had there been such an incident, and he could not think why one of the children should start so foolish a game now.
He swept a hand up his back to feel the site where the rock had hit him, and to his relief encountered nothing sticky or wet, nor even torn wool.
It smarted and might leave a bruise, but that was all.
After rolling his shoulders and shrugging a few times to test the area, he decided no real harm was done and continued on his way.
The tavern was comfortably full, as expected, and within moments of arriving, Richard found the proprietress.
They exchanged smiles, and he worked his way to a table at the back of the space, partly in shadow, where he could sit with his back to the wall.
He was not about to make a fuss about his incident, but neither was he about to invite a repetition of the assault, should one of the people here be behind it.
Delores, the barmaid, came to take his order. “What’ll it be, Lieutenant Colonel?” She might have plied her own trade in the rooms above, but she was discreet and never offered her wares in public, as far as Richard could see.
“Ale, as thick and dark as you have it, and that cold plate you serve up so well.” The thought of tender bread, tangy cheese, and sharp preserves set his mouth watering.
“Be right back!” Delores melted into the crowds and Richard took stock of his company. As he scanned the room from his seat, he saw many of the faces he knew so well from the fort.
There was a table of enlisted men, those not on duty at the fort this late afternoon.
There would be patrols out on the water, of course, and others keeping fierce guard at all the ramparts during the night, scanning the waters for any sign of unwelcome ships.
Such unhappy visitors would be greeted by the fort’s many cannon, should they be fortunate enough to survive the reefs that surrounded the archipelago.
But these men here had put in their hours at drill today and had stood sentry and watched as guards on the towers, and were now welcome to some relaxation as the day stole into evening.
He heard one of the men call out a number, and he realised the soldiers were already at some sort of game, despite the early hour.
Could it be Hazard, that game of dice that was so frowned upon and so popular all the same?
He tried to focus on what the men were about.
No, not dice, it seemed, but rather, some sort of game of cards.
Despite his own feelings towards this, he could find no reason to stop them at their game.
It was not his place to monitor the men when not on duty, as long as they were not unduly disturbing anybody.
Withdrawing his eye lest one of the men see him staring, he continued his casual perusal of the room.
There, near the window by the bar, was another table surrounded by faces he knew well.
There was Lieutenant Moreson, there Captain Oxley, there his rank-equal, Lieutenant Colonel Rushworthy.
The men seemed engaged in some deep conversation—more likely about the fishing at the end of the wharf than about matters military, not that Richard could blame them.
As he watched, none other than Major Weekes sauntered into the tavern and sat at the table with them.
When had Weekes returned from Fort St Catherine?
It must have been earlier today, for he had not seen the major about the fort earlier.
But to see Weekes now at the table with these others was a surprise.
Moreson, Oxley, and Rushworthy were some of the men with whom Richard had found companionship.
They were not gamblers and were friendly, even where most of the officers were not.
They were seldom seen in Weekes’ company, for the latter tended to prefer the society of those with whom he might enter into a game or throw some dice, or where he might let loose his colourful vocabulary that some of the more gentlemanly amongst the company would not use.
But the man had a right to sit with fellow officers, and no officer would deny his brother-in-arms a spot at his table.
Oxley’s eyes now caught Richard’s, and he waved for Richard to join their gathering.
It was a welcome gesture, but Richard knew he would decline; he had too much thinking to do.
Not wishing to appear rude, he rose and walked over for a brief greeting before explaining that he had some matters he wished to contemplate and then returned to his seat.
As he glanced over once more, Weekes caught Richard’s eye and raised a glass to him.
That was not a pleasant grin on the major’s face, and Richard wondered for a moment what the other officer might have intended with the gesture.
The rest of the evening passed without incident.
Weekes returned to the conversation at his table, and shortly Richard’s planned solitude was spoiled when another gathering of his fellow officers sat down at his table without a question.
The conversation quickly turned to matters amusing and bright, and if not for the ache in the centre of his back where he had been hit, Richard would have forgotten about the incident altogether.