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The Sacking of Port Royal
by TortugaBlack

CHAPTER 11: Shades of Bootstrap

“I heard the shout from below.” Elizabeth hurried to join Will Turner at the rail, a small, dark bottle and a narrow roll of cotton bunting clenched tightly in her hand. “Where are we?” Forward of the Pearl, the rocky cliffs of a small cay appeared through the morning mists growing larger with their approach. Sea birds cried out their welcome as they trailed the galley looking for handouts; when none were offered, they rose high above the ship’s masts, screamed their disappointment and sailed toward the cay on widespread wings.

“Lime Cay.”

“Lime Cay!” Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. “If it were Lime Cay, Port Royal would be…” getting her bearings, she pointed west, “there.” Instead the small island awaited their approach. She frowned. “It can’t be Lime Cay,” she argued. “Even Jack Sparrow wouldn’t take the entire morning to sail less than three miles.”

Sensing her irritation at the mere mention of Sparrow’s name, Will Turner kept wisely silent.

“Whatever Jack’s up to, it can wait.” Turning her back to the island, Elizabeth studied the man at her side. Will still clenched his right shoulder with a bloody hand, but she was relieved to see the pain, reflected in his features earlier, had lessened. “Come, sit down, and let me see to that.” Taking his good arm, she steered him away from the rail and over to the hatch cover.

Once seated he loosened the hold on his shoulder and allowed Elizabeth to help him first out of the jerkin, then out of his shirt, exposing the bloody gash. Tearing a piece from the roll of bunting, Elizabeth soaked it generously with the odorous, milky substance from the dark bottle and touched it to the open wound. Turner winced. “I’m sorry,” she soothed. Getting an encouraging smile, she again applied the soft wet cotton to the gash. She felt him flinch, but he remained still under her touch. Cleansing the deep cut had started fresh bleeding that she stopped with gentle pressure. Carefully, wiping the last of the blood from around the wound, she reached again for the roll of dressing.

Relieved that the ugly wound was no more than what the pirate had surmised, she allowed her eyes to wander the chest and upper torso of a body she had before seen only clothed; the smooth, hairless chest, the firm belly, the taut skin stretched over the ribs and, under all, the muscles toned by years of hard work. Surprised, she found her hand trembling, her heart racing and she ached with the love she held for the man she tended. She looked up to find Will watching her and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, smiling. “It looks worse than it is.”

“And not as bad as I feared…” she whispered, forcing her attention from the dangerous path her desires had taken. Finding the loose end of the roll, Elizabeth laid it gently across the wound and felt the ache turn to regret. The perfect body she tended – the body of the man she would love until the end of her days – would now and forever carry the mark of a pirate’s blade. Would it be the last…or only the first?

Holding the loose end of the wrap in place, she repeatedly wound the soft material around the arm, under the arm, and over the shoulder, slowly unrolling the bandaging as she went. One…two…three wraps and she leaned close to rend the taut edge of the binding with her teeth. The scent and nearness of him touched her senses, bringing with them memories of him binding her palm aboard the Interceptor. Moments later, she reminded herself, she had almost lost him when the British ship had blown up with him trapped below. And, through it all ­– then as now ­– there sailed the Black Pearl and Captain Jack Sparrow.

Setting the roll of dressing aside, Elizabeth straightened, the thoughts lingering uneasily. Again using her teeth, she split the end of the dressing into two tails; one end she took again around the bandaged arm. Unconsciously her hand lingered on the warm flesh. Sensing his eyes on her, she looked up. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here, what Jack Sparrow has talked you into?”

“Tonight, late…there’s going to be an attack on Port Royal.” To Elizabeth it seemed he picked his words with undue care.

“Tonight?” she whispered, stunned.

“Yes.” Will covered her hands momentarily with his and she read the sincerity in his dark eyes. She felt her hands trembling in his, fearing his next words. “I talked Jack into stopping long enough to get you…I didn’t want to take the chance that you might…”

Jack Sparrow! She pulled free and finished tying the two ends of the bunting about the arm just below the wound. He drew a painful breath as it tightened.

“Will, you can’t be a part of it!” Elizabeth looked up from her task, her expression one of concern bordering on urgent appeal. “If you give the commodore….or my father…any reason to think you’ve lifted a weapon against Port Royal or the British Navy, they’ll hang you!” Her expression turned from fear to helpless anger. “This is Jack’s doing.” She reached out to check her handiwork. “I can’t believe that you would agree to anything he might suggest.”

“I’m not here to raise a weapon against Port Royal…or the British Navy,” Will interjected vehemently. “And neither is Jack – or the Pearl.” Seeing disbelief in her expression, he continued, “but neither can I stop it.”

“There’s still time to warn the garrison…”

“What could they do, if forewarned?” He reached past her for his shirt. “Without the Dauntless or the Interceptor, they have only small single-masted sloops for patrolling the coastlines. Even if they dared launch them in the dark of the moon, they would be blown out of the water before they cleared shore. The Marines are short-handed and, with Norrtington away, their best and only chance is to remain in the fort and man the gunnery positions covering the harbor.”

“And Port Royal?” she asked. “What of the people? They have to be warned!”

“There isn’t time,” he repeated. “Even if they would listen to me.”

“They would listen to me!” she insisted.

“Would they?” Will answered bitterly. “Without your father or Norrington to back your words, they are no more likely to listen to you than they are to me…the son of a pirate.”

“Will, it’s not like…” Sensing the hurt and rejection in his words and suspecting he was right, she fell silent. Since her fall from the garrison’s ramparts and her rescue by the pirate Jack Sparrow, she had seen more than one head turn from her to sneer or mumble behind her back. Sadly she was forced to accept the truth of his words. It was all too possible that the people of Port Royal thought no more of her than they did of Will Turner and only her father’s position kept it from being outwardly exhibited.

They had fallen into an uneasy silence, each immersed in their own thoughts spoken and unspoken, when the Pearl ran aground.

“The shoals!” Jumping to his feet, Turner grabbed his shirt, struggling to get his wounded arm into the torn sleeve.

“Here, let me help.” Elizabeth took the shirt from him, guided the sleeve up and over the wounded shoulder and held it while Will eased into it. With shirttails flapping, he led her to the rail where they watched in fascination as the galley extended her oars and struggled free of the sandy shoal protecting the shores of Lime Cay.

Taking stock of their surroundings, Elizabeth reached an urgent hand towards Will. “This is the backside of the cay! That’s why I didn’t recognize it. Will, what’s going on?”

“Jack’s taking no chances, it’s daylight now and – as you mentioned – we are only three miles out.” Turner watched the small islet coming ever closer. “To avoid being seen, it makes sense to keep the cay between Port Royal and the Pearl.”

“Assuming anything Jack Sparrow does makes sense,” Elizabeth murmured under her breath.

Together they watched the Pearl empty her sails and ease serenely into the sheltered cove.

“Looks like we may be dropping anchor here…” Will commented unnecessarily.

“What has he told you?” Elizabeth pressed, not to be put off again.

Will hesitated, picking his words carefully, unsure of how much Jack Sparrow would want revealed. “Only that I am to distract a man…a pirate named Pease…and keep him from his ship while Jack and his crew take it.”

“Distract him.” Elizabeth frowned. “As in…fight? Does that have anything to do with what I interrupted earlier?”

“Pease is said to be a good man with a blade, ” Will uneasily admitted.

“Good with a blade,” she repeated, she eyed him closely. “Better than Jack?”

A shout, the sound of anchor rope running free through the windlass and a mighty splash heralded the descent of the Pearl’s anchor to the bottom of the cove. Using the distraction to cover yet another question he was reluctant to answer, Will turned away, unwittingly exposing the deep scratch hidden before by the waistband of his breeches.

Elizabeth gasped. “Will, your side!”

At her exclamation, he self-consciously touched the long shallow cut left by Sparrow’s blade. “It’s nothing…a scratch.” Quickly brushing her hand aside, Will walked hurriedly back toward the hatch where they had been seated earlier. When he returned to her side, his shirttail had been shoved hurriedly into his breeches and he carried both jerkin and his sword.

“Nothing!” Elizabeth murmured, remembering her thoughts as she dressed his shoulder wound. And then there were two… her lips tightened in a grim line.

“Mister Turner, are you ready?”

They both turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Miss Swann.” Sparrow gave her a mock salute with his naked blade. “If you intend to remain topside, I will expect you to heed our earlier conversation.”

Fearful that Sparrow might carry out his threat and remembering the disaster she had almost caused earlier, Elizabeth nodded curt agreement. But soon, she promised herself, she and Captain Jack Sparrow would have an accord of their own regarding the care and safekeeping of one William Turner. Remaining at the rail she watched uneasily as the two men stalked purposefully to the center of the main deck and slowly backed away from each other with swords drawn.

With an expression of immediate distrust and vigilance, Will Turner stepped cautiously into a loose en garde position. One look at his opponent told him the current session was not to be the same as the last. Jack Sparrow stood before him stripped to essentials, no cocky hat sat atop the bandana, no greatcoat graced his shoulders, no belted pistol or scabbard rode at his waist. With legs shoulder width apart, the captain of the Black Pearl, held his sword carelessly at his side and, for the first time, Will Turner faced what others before him had…a pirate. The hair rose on the back of his neck.

Behind him he felt the crew of the Pearl gathering, heard their excited shouts of anticipation, some calling out odds, while others offered to raise them as they all jockeyed for the best positions along the rails to watch the contest. Grimly Turner wondered what they thought of his chances against a man he had once considered little more than a fop and a pirate in name only.

From the beginning face-off, Will Turner was allowed no time to size up his opponent’s attack, no chance to anticipate his moves. Only instinct and lightning reflexes protected him from the first brutal lunge, followed swiftly by a hard body slam and a sharp elbow to his wounded side; another pass and a thrust he blocked only at the last moment locked both blades at the tang. Blade against blade, bodies pressed to the attack, arms straining for the advantage, both men fought silently and in earnest. This time there was no finesse in the fighting, no slow circling or careless banter, only brute strength, fast footwork, and the rapid clash of naked blades.

Along the rail, shouts of encouragement and cheers of admiration were sent up as first one and then the other swordsman expertly blocked a hard-driving thrust or missed an opening quickly closed.

Further down the railing and apart from the rest, Elizabeth Swann watched in growing unease. This was not the same sparring she had witnessed earlier. If she had thought the first to be ruthless and dangerous, the second was proving to be merciless and potentially deadly. She gasped as Sparrow’s blade came within a hair’s breadth of Will’s body, turning her head away as Will’s blade forced Sparrow to pivot and block the thrust before it found flesh. Another merciless blow to Will’s side, the sight of fresh blood on his shirt and she tightened her hold on the rail, praying for the fight to end quickly before a careless thrust or a block delivered too late ended the life of one or the other.

Jack Sparrow no longer found the easy openings and his ability to maneuver his opponent became more and more a matter of luck than skill, but his experience kept the younger man on his toes and laboring to keep him at bay. They had each other’s measure now and the blades clashed with ever increasing strength and speed; any misstep or mistake by either could instantly prove fatal, yet they fought on.

Along the rail, the shouts slowly subsided and the crew watched in spellbound silence as the trading of feints, thrusts and parries escalated into hard body contacts, quick passes, lightning fast blocks, engagements and disengagements a breath away from deadly intent. With each clash of the blades, physical contact became rougher.

Elizabeth Swann no longer looked away from the fight for fear of missing the fatal blow that might take down one of the men locked in battle. More than once she stifled a scream as one slipped or a blade cleaved the air too closely to the flesh of the other. Morbidly, she marveled at the grace, the speed, the precision and timing of their moves, while, heartsick, she wondered how long before fatigue or a misstep would bring the fight to a tragic end.

Silence had fallen over the ship as the men fought on. In one heart-stopping moment, Sparrow stepped backward, retreating from a hard thrust from Turner’s blade, and slipped. Tucking his head, the pirate rolled into the fall a heartbeat before the flash of the younger man’s blade struck the spot where Sparrow had stood.

A soft moan cut short of a gasp and quickly stifled drew Elizabeth’s attention momentarily away from the two men. On the rail behind her stood the slight figure of Ana Maria, her features as pale under the natural warmth of her coloring, as Elizabeth feared her own to be; under the wide-brimmed hat her dark eyes and her stance reflected Elizabeth’s own fear and trepidation. For a brief moment, Elizabeth felt a bonding with the young pirate. A gasp from the onlookers and she hurriedly shifted her attention back to the action.

Both men were tiring, the lunges and thrusts no longer fluid and effortless, but ragged and badly timed. The near misses no longer skillfully timed, but mere strokes of luck. Still the strong arm of the younger man pressed on and the quick sidesteps and acrobatic moves of the older managed to stay disaster, while still carrying the fight.

Badly spent, his breathing labored, Sparrow stumbled backwards under the strength and pressure of the younger man only to find the mizzenmast at his back. As he raised his blade in anticipation of a crashing blow, something dark with a wicked broad blade whizzed past his right ear and hit with a hard thump next to his head. The power and precision behind the throw caught the fluttering sleeve of his shirt, driving Sparrow’s sword arm back and pinning the fabric to the mast. Sparrow turned his head and stared in wide-eyed amazement at the darkened handle of a boarding axe deeply embedded in the mast. Before he could rip free or shift his sword to his free hand, the sharp tip of Turner’s blade touched his throat. Opening his hand, he dropped his cutlass in surrender.

Will Turner backed away breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight, unmistakable satisfaction on his handsome features as Sparrow, hard against the mast, attempted without success to pull the axe from the mast. Unable to do so from his awkward position, he struggled to rip free. The axe, having pinned the shirt close to his arm, resisted all his efforts. Finally giving in to the inevitable, Sparrow relaxed and threw Turner a look of resigned surrender followed by a grin of wry humor. “I could use a mite of help here, mate.”

Will sheathed his sword and hurried to Sparrow’s side. Pressing his shoulder into the pirate to hold him firmly against the mast, Turner wrenched the axe free. Released from the pressure of the blade, a slow trickle of blood appeared to stain the sleeve of the pirate’s shirt. Turner frowned. “Jack, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to put it that close…”

Sparrow stepped clear of the mast, stooped to retrieve his sword and quickly sheathed it. “Truth in breeding, mate, and a move to make any member of the Brethren proud.” His grin widened. Spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the young blacksmith, Sparrow instead offered a hand that was quickly and eagerly taken. “We’re square, mate.”

At the hand clasp between the two men, the crew rushed forward shouting, to encircle them, some pounded one or the other on the back, others laughed and bragged of monies made on wagers won, while still others grabbed Will Turner and hoisted him high on stout shoulders and playfully ruffled his hair and poked at the bloody shirt in good humor. Excited crewmen rehashed the fight, reliving the moves, bragging on first one, then the other of the combatants.

Apart from the festivities and feeling very much alone, Elizabeth silently witnessed the camaraderie between captain and crew, which now eagerly and willingly included Will Turner. More troubling still was the sight of Will Turner and Jack Sparrow standing side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Something had changed between the start and the finish of the fight she had just witnessed, there was a respect, an equal sharing and a comfortable give and take between pirate and blacksmith that had not been there before. Was this how it had been between Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill Turner, Will’s father?

As much as Jack Sparrow might wish it, she argued in her own defense, Will Turner was not Bootstrap Bill, but the child he had left behind; the boy she had seen pulled from the sea after a near fatal attack by another pirate crew. Desperately, she searched for that wide-eyed child in the man who stood so confidently among the Pearl’s crew. She saw instead a man comfortable with his surroundings, easy in the company of a buccaneer crew and frighteningly skilled with the weapons he carried.

The late afternoon breezes of the Caribbean entered the cove and gently toyed with the strands of hair around her face, lifting them to allow its caress like the soft touch of a lover’s kiss, on her neck. Unwillingly Elizabeth shivered and sadly bade good-bye to that wide-eyed boy who once lay on the British deck and fearfully gasped his name to her…eight long years ago.

“It’s as if he be back from the depths…” The words almost reverently spoken were touched with wonder.

“What–?” Elizabeth turned to the woman who had stood forgotten at her side during the fight.

“Tis like seeing Bootstrap again…” Ana Maria made a strange sign across herself not unlike a religious benediction.

“Will looks that much like his father?” Elizabeth asked, her heart heavy with the anticipated answer.

“Aye.” Again there was that touch of wonder in her voice…and something else. Sadness? Regret?

“Will may look like his father, but he’s not like him. He’s not a pirate!” Elizabeth’s chin stiffened in denial, her eyes alone reflecting her doubt as she watched him standing beside Jack Sparrow among the crew sharing in their laughter and back pounding.

Ana Maria settled a look of pity on the younger woman. “Then we not be seein’ the same man, lady.” She nodded toward Turner. “Bootstrap was the only man among the Brethren who could throw a boarding axe with such accuracy. Look at him, look at your Will Turner,” she urged. “He’s a part of this now, you can see the rightness of it in his eyes…the love of the sea…the love of its freedom.” Sadness and the poignant understanding of her own changing status, superceded by the growing bond between the two men, touched her voice. “He has found his place in this world, lady, and – like his father before him – it be at the side of Jack Sparrow.”