Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter Nine: The Pirate Galley

 

We sailed between Tunis and Rabat on the North African coast, keeping well to the east of the Balearic Islands. I had my best lookouts posted, and if we were lucky, we might catch one or more of the pirate vessels out at sea. We would then try to cut off their route back to their home ports.

We had heard that a galley averaged about five to six knots when pressed, and could achieve a short burst of ten knots when attacking. We could therefore easily outpace them.

I no longer felt we needed to practise our gun teams, which had become as fast as any I had ever seen. We did engage in musket drills, however. I had quite upset the Gibraltar armoury by requisitioning one hundred of these weapons. The admiral, in reply to their complaint, had told them, somewhat grudgingly, that they were to accede to my wishes.

Loading a musket is no easy task. It can take an inexperienced shooter up to one minute. I wanted men who could load at least twice in that time. Most sailors, when told to fire a musket, simply point it in the general direction of their target and pull the trigger. I now had fifty men on each ship that could choose a target, aim, and fire. They would be the decisive force in any contest with a galley, if we got close enough.

Three tedious days passed without a glimpse of anything worthy of our attention. We even sailed in close to two of the ports where the pirates were likely to be hiding. When we saw the massive fortifications, though, we knew it would be suicide to approach any closer. If the galleys carried twenty-four-pounders, the forts most likely had even larger guns.

The early hours of the fourth day brought a sound like thunder. I bounded from my cot, for I knew instinctively it was not thunder, but the roar of a heavy cannon. I had barely emerged onto the deck when the sound was repeated. Now I had a direction – to the north and away from the coast, which is exactly what I wanted, if this truly was a pirate ship.

Luck was with us. So engrossed in attacking the merchantmen were the pirates that they failed to notice our rapid approach. I was astounded at how many oars the vessel carried, and at the way they swept back in perfect unison as the galley closed on its victim.

“Guns, see if you can lay a shot right on her bow before she rams that ship.”

Halcombe must have had the two starboard eighteens already sighted, for no sooner had I spoken than both of them roared out. Barely seconds later, the galley’s forecastle was blown to splinters. The armed men who had been massing and waiting to board were sent flying by the impact.

My men were ready with their muskets. I had explained to them that the pirates would gather near the front end of the galley. This was to be their target—and not the men at the oars, who could well be slaves.

Spencer, high up the mast, knew his task – to find and bring down their captain.

Siren and Majestic were on either side of the pirate. “First party, fire!” I yelled. Twenty-five muskets spat fire and smoke. Jensen had done the same. At least a quarter of the gathered pirates fell in those first volleys.

“Second party, fire!” Another fifty muskets blasted their shot at the enemy, who fell in their dozens.

We were now close enough to see the oarsmen were in chains. They were indeed slaves. We could not come alongside, for we would have fouled the oars and likely killed many of the rowers. I called for grappling hooks to be readied. “Snag what’s left of their forecastle. We will attempt to turn her away and then board.”

The pirates had clearly never experienced concentrated musket fire before. The few of them still standing fought like men possessed. Gradually, they were forced back by the sheer weight of numbers we deployed from our two ships. But the butcher’s bill was going to be high.

Majestic’s men boarded from her stern, and the last few pirates found themselves facing us from two directions. They must have known there was no hope of avoiding defeat. In their midst was a huge, bearded man who towered over the rest. One arm hung uselessly at his side, but the other held his scimitar aloft. Anne Bonny spread her arms wide as if to hold our men back, then pointed her sword at the giant and shouted at him. I couldn’t hear her words, but whatever she said, it gave the barbarians pause.

The bearded man turned to look across at me. I called for quiet, but it took several more shouts before the noise subsided.

I pointed at the giant, who was obviously the leader. Through my trumpet, I told him, “Your fight is lost. Lay down your arms now… or you die.”

“We die here or die where you take us,” he shouted in return. “What difference?”

They would all be hanged, of course, but that wasn’t my concern. Better to end the fight now, lest more of my own people be injured or killed. But before I could answer, a surge of bodies rose up from below. The slaves must have gained possession of the keys to their shackles. Howling with blind rage, they reached up to grasp pirates by the legs and hauled them down into the depths.

I called to my musketeers, “A volley over their heads, lads!”

This had the desired effect. Everything came to a stop, and quiet returned. Anne stepped towards the captain. I held my breath. She was taking a huge risk. The brute raised his scimitar even as I shouted, “Spencer!” The shot rang out. The captain staggered, blood staining his filthy shirt. His sword came down, but not to strike. He had stuck it into the deck. A man went to hold him upright, but was pushed away. I saw the pistol for only an instant before the captain placed the barrel into his mouth, and the back of his head burst into bloody fragments.

***

The slaves were almost all Europeans and of just about every nationality. Several had been ship’s officers. Others were notable persons who had been passengers on board the captured vessels.

I spoke with one such person, who introduced himself as Sir James Parkinson. I took an instant dislike to him and his attitude, even making allowances for the ordeal he had suffered. He was none too steady on his feet, no doubt from months of labouring at the oars. Enofe fetched him a chair, and Parkinson looked with distaste at the black man.

“You are the captain of this vessel? A woman?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It matters not, I suppose. You will take me to Venice with all due haste.”

“And why do you suppose I should do that?”

“Because I am ordering you to do so. Your flag indicates you are a British warship of some sort, although I have never seen those colours before. It does mean, though, that you are subject to my orders.”

I had to laugh at his arrogance. “You haven’t even asked who I am. Yet you assume you can order me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Brenda Dawlish, but I am also known as Sir Bren, duly knighted by the King. My colours were given at His Majesty’s instruction, and no one, not even the Admiralty, gives me orders. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir? A woman? Impossible!”

“It is, I admit, a unique state of affairs.”

“You must have deceived the King.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Allow me to show you proof of my authority, then perhaps we can begin again.” I retrieved from my desk the letter from the Prime Minister that gave my status and freedom of movement, etc.

He glanced up several times as he read, then lowered the document to his lap. “It seems, Sir Bren, what you say is true. I had no idea such a thing were possible.”

I bowed to him. “Now that we understand each other, would you tell me who you are and what you know?”

It transpired he was the British envoy who had been on his way to Venice on behalf of the government when his ship had been attacked by two galleys. His wife and daughter were, as far as he knew, still held captive. He was fairly sure his wife was in the sheikh’s harem. The sheikh was also the bearded galley captain who had shot himself. His name was Amastan Zammit. He was but a minor chieftain and had operated three galleys from a small fishing port.

“This anchorage – what defences does it have?” I asked. “The man’s base, is it fortified? How many men are there? How many ships?”

“There is one small fort – made of mud, I believe. It mounts three or four cannon. He has perhaps three hundred fighters plus a number of clerical types. His base is but a jumble of tents, in the Berber fashion. There is a small palace, also of mud bricks. That is where the harem is. He has three galleys – well, two now – and a captured brig. The galleys are all manned by slaves. The brig is unmanned and lies at anchor. There is not much else that I can tell you. You have already killed more than a hundred of his men.”

“It seems, Sir James, you were prepared to sail away and leave your family to their fate. I might have thought you would ask me to attempt their rescue. Besides all of the other European slaves.”

Most might have shown some measure of guilt at my observation. Sir James, however, was a diplomat. “Sir,” he said, “… or Ma’am …”

“Either is acceptable.”

“I would consider any rescue attempt a futile exercise. You are sailors, not an army, and most likely, considerably outnumbered.”

“Sir, I have rescued people from the prison fort in Jamaica right from under the British garrison’s nose. Why should I not do the same here? Besides, I would find it more seemly were you enthusiastic at the possibility of seeing your family returned to you. Is that not so?”

“I… well… I mean to say, Ma’am… “ His bluster was a false front. It was clear he did not care a whit for the fate of his wife and child.

I held up my hand. “Is it perhaps that you believe your wife has been sullied by this sheikh fellow?”

He protested vehemently, but I had him dead to rights. He would rather she were left where she was. I had heard enough. He had nothing more of use to tell me. I called for Mister Halcombe. “Take this … gentleman … and see his needs are looked after. Then summon all officers to attend in my cabin.”

As he rose, Sir James asked. “You have suitable quarters for me, I assume?”

I had had my fill of this man. “There are no quarters, I regret to say. You may even have to remain on the galley, Sir James, but you are now a free man once more. Be satisfied with that.”

Halcombe ushered him out of my sight, which was just as well. My patience had been tried quite enough.

***

Many of the freed slaves were seamen. A good few were in poor physical shape, but many were fit and keen to help in the raid I now planned. I distributed them among the three ships and placed some of our own crew on the galley, of which Taylor was made captain pro tem.

He cut a caper when he heard my decision. “Can I be ’avin’ a cocked ’at, Cap’ain?”

“Taylor, you are the galley captain, not its jester. Would you kindly act accordingly?”

“Yes indeed, Ma’am, beggin’ your pardon like.”

We approached from the east, edging towards the headland that sheltered the pirate’s bay and keeping a constant lookout on the coast. We saw no movement. I knew the fort was just over the brow of the hill. A number of the former slaves had said the Mussulmen never believed they’d be attacked and the fort was manned only by a few lazy layabouts.

In the evening dusk, the cutter headed for the shore with a group of heavily armed men, plus the master gunner and his mate. I acceded to Halcombe’s request that he might lead the party, and I watched as they clambered ashore, quickly disappearing amongst the dunes before the cutter made its way back.

The next few hours would be an anxious wait, and I prayed we would hear nothing to disturb the quiet of the evening. At midnight, with the ships in complete darkness and no moon to expose our position, we sailed to the mouth of the bay. There we cautiously dropped anchor and continued our vigil.

“Why don’t you come to bed, love?” Mariana said “It serves no purpose, your sitting there all night.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m thinking things through. I must be sure I’ve missed nothing. Besides, I couldn’t possibly sleep.”

“I’m sure you’ve thought of everything,” she said, laughing. “You should stop worrying. And if you can’t sleep… why don’t you come and fuck me?”

I laughed with her. “I know you’re right, but I cannot get undressed. We might be called into action at any moment. Perhaps you would join me for a walk in the night air. It’s so much more pleasant than the daytime heat.”

***

The time dragged slowly by until at four-thirty I gave the order to man the guns, which had been primed and run out before we moved to the bay. Muskets and pistols, though, had not yet been loaded, as I didn’t want to risk having one dropped and going off.

 

Suddenly, a mighty explosion rent the pre-dawn sky in a blaze of light. The walls of the fort simply crumbled away, the huge cannons dropping and tumbling. A second explosion followed, and I knew the gunpowder store had blown.

“Do you think Nateby used bigger charges than was necessary?” I asked Marianna. “Still, the fort is no longer of any threat.”

The explosion was the signal for the men to haul in the anchors, which were, in any case, already up and down. With our sails dropped and tightened in the morning breeze, we sailed toward the enemy. At only a hundred yards from the shore, we again dropped anchor. The momentum swung the two ships sidelong onto the port, whereupon we dropped second anchors. We were now stationary gun platforms, our broadsides facing the enemy.

The sun peeked over the horizon enough for the gunners to aim their weapons. Two broadsides blasted out. The enemy on shore, still rushing from their tents and taking up weapons, were hit by a ton of iron. It was slaughter. The city of tents was ripped to shreds, and our victims flew in all directions.

Our captured galley now surged towards the beach. The Berber may have thought it was their own forces hastening to their aid, but a hundred sailors, along with another hundred freed slaves, poured ashore before the pirates had an inkling that they were undone.

The former slaves, bent on revenge, attacked like savages. Those Berbers who had survived the bombardment of our cannons stood little chance. They died in droves. Others tried to run for the desert, but most were downed by musket fire before they got very far.

A detachment of thirty seamen headed for the small palace, Anne Bonny and Daphne in the lead. Their task was more to prevent our former slaves from ravishing the harem, rather than subduing the enemy.

I had worried that one or both of the anchored galleys might fire on us. It turned out, however, that only a few guards had been left to watch over the sleeping slaves. We later learned that all of the guards had jumped overboard as soon as our cannons fired.

Halcombe’s party had arrived at the port. It was he who directed the two galleys to be brought to shore and the slaves released from their shackles.

The full morning sun found me climbing from my cutter with Davy, as ever, at my side. Jensen was already organising shelter, water, and food for the newly freed slaves. I headed for the palace.

The exterior was rather drab. But once inside, Marianna gasped, “My God, it’s beautiful.”

And so it was. The dazzling colour was provided by hundreds of silk drapes. Luxurious carpets covered the floor, and the chairs and benches were heaped with shimmering cushions.

I heard shrieks coming from a heavily curtained arena and, upon ordering the men to hold back, I cautiously eased one curtain aside with my sword, concerned the harem guards might still be there to offer resistance. There were none, however, and Marianna and I stepped through. Davy remained in the gap.

The shrieking ceased, replaced by a collective gasp when they saw two women appear in front of them. They began to babble, louder and louder. “Quiet,” I shouted.

One stepped out of the crowd of about thirty women and girls. “You are English,” she said. “What are you –  a pirate?”

I saw a young girl peering from behind her. “Remind you of anything, Marianna?” I said.

“Oh my God, Bren. Yes, it does! Mother and I, all those years ago.”

I waved my hands for quiet again. “We are not pirates,” I said. “We have just delivered you in the name of His Majesty the King of England. You are Lady Parkinson, I presume?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “But how did you know? My husband – is he alive?”

I did not answer her just yet. Rather, I addressed the throng of females. “A few of my men will enter. You are quite safe. Ignore their rough looks. They answer to me and will not molest you. Raise your hand if you have understood me.”

Only about a half complied. “Marianna, please.”

Marianna repeated my words in Spanish and French. This time all but two raised their hands. These two had very pale white skin. Lady Parkinson told me that she believed them to be Icelanders. No one had been able to speak with them.

I pushed my way through to these two, who seemed frightened but defiant. I held out a hand and waited. Slowly they reached to take hold of my fingers. I bent and kissed their hands. I knew nothing of their language. All I could ask was… “Dansk, Norse, or…?“

Obviously, I had struck on something. The pale women began to jabber at me. I raised my hands and shrugged just as they grabbed hold of me and covered my face with kisses. Marianna, who had followed me, now pulled me back. She pointed at me and then at herself in a way that clearly stated I was hers. The two Nordic girls laughed, but now flung their arms about Marianna and subjected her to the same kisses I had received.

Marianna looked quite flustered once she had managed to extricate herself. I just got a glimpse of the hand that had been pressed between Marianna’s legs as they separated.

“Enough,” I said. “Please, will you all sit? I have things to organise.”

***

I called a conference of my officers. Even Taylor was invited.

Jensen had been busy talking to many of the freed slaves. It seemed it was several days’ ride to any place of significance, and he did not believe any of the pirates had fled on horse or camel. Those few who had run off on foot would not survive. The fishermen were not Berbers. Indeed, they had no love for the pirates. They had not been treated well in the least, and they were grateful our cannon fire had avoided the houses and storerooms of their small community.

This intelligence enabled me to decide that we could remain here safely for a time. There was a well with sweet water, and an ample supply of food. The men and former slaves soon built a small city of tents. A lookout station was established on the hill above the ruins of the fort. The ships were anchored with their guns pointing to sea. We had taken a few prisoners, whom we locked up safely in the small prison block.

With a guard roster set for the ships, I felt I could safely stay ashore. I made my headquarters in a wing of the palace, where Lady Parkinson came to see me. Why hadn’t she seen her husband? she asked. It was a question I didn’t want to answer. She saw my hesitation.

“I think I know,” she said. “He assumes that I’ve been defiled by that horrible man, the sheikh, or whatever he is. The truth is, I haven’t. I’m glad to say that he was too busy to bother with me or my Elizabeth. I can only guess my husband has disowned us. – There’s no need to answer. In a way, you already have. May I ask, how or where will you deliver us? I have nothing and nowhere to go. What I will do, I have no idea. The only thing I do know, and with certainty, is that you, Captain, have delivered us from these devils.” She hesitated a moment. “I see you and the one called Marianna. You are … together, are you not? I was not familiar with those things until I was brought to this place. Here, amongst us women, it is common. We give each other comfort. So far, thank God, my daughter has been spared, even though she has witnessed so much.”

“Lady Parkinson –”

“My name is Cynthia. It would please me should you not refer to me as Lady Parkinson anymore. I have no further use for the name or the title.”

“Cynthia,” I said, “I cannot yet answer your questions. Just be assured that you will not be abandoned. It is not my way.”

“Then, Captain, may I extend my heartfelt thanks. I am in your debt, and yours to command.”

Her implied statement hung in the air, but it was at that moment that Marianna pushed her way through the hanging silks. “May I interrupt?” She came and took my hand. “I have an inclination to go and to try to converse with the Icelanders. They appear to be asking for me. Besides, you seem pleasantly occupied.”

I laughed, knowing full well what she intended. “Go, love, but be aware, these Vikings can be dangerous.”

I noticed how Cynthia now stared at me. “So, you have an arrangement that allows for dalliance? And Marianne just implied you were occupied. May I ask, Captain, are you occupied?”

Before I could conjure a reply, another voice – a smaller one  – interrupted us. “The Captain, I owe her my life. She is the most wonderful and bravest person I’ve ever met. I want her to love you, Mother, but most of all, I want her to love me… to be my first.”

I sat astonished. Cynthia gasped. “Child, whatever are you saying? It is unheard of. It’s not to be conceived.”

“Oh, but it is, Mother,” the girl, Elizabeth, answered. “We would both have been taken by the sheikh, but we were saved by the grace of God. This woman, this captain, has delivered us, and she loves women. I saw that today. I have come to know that I want to be hers, if only for a day.”

“Do you truly understand what you are saying, my sweet? You are but twelve years of age.”

The girl answered by slipping her dress from her shoulders. It dropped to the floor, leaving her stark naked.

“I watched you and some of the other women,” she told her mother. “I saw what you did with them. Did you think I didn’t have feelings? Did you not consider that I might want comfort, too?”

It was my turn to speak. “Elizabeth, I was your age when Marianna and I first met and fell in love, so I know you’re not too young.” I held my hands out to them both. “Cynthia, your child has grown up.”

I led them to my curtained quarters. Two Nubians had filled the sunken bath with warm, scented water. I told them they could go, that they were free men, albeit they were eunuchs, but here they still were.

With a shout of glee, Elizabeth jumped straight into the bath. Cynthia was more reserved. I beckoned her to me. “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I seek no rewards. You owe me nothing and I will still see you safe, somewhere that suits you.”

“Captain, it’s not regret. It’s my natural shyness returning. If you would perhaps undress, then I might follow.”

In moments my clothes were laid aside, and I was settling into the water. Elizabeth watched as her mother slowly disrobed. She grasped my arm. “My mama is beautiful, is she not, Captain?”

“You both are,” I told her.

“Really?”

“I swear it,” I said. “Perhaps, young lady, it’s time you gave me a kiss. Is that not possible?”

The girl splashed into my arms, her lips searching for mine as she straddled my thighs. She was tentative at first, but her fervour mounted as my hands explored her. I stroked the length of her back, then the cheeks of her arse and the cleft between them. She instinctively rose to meet my grip as she clung to me.

I felt a hand on my leg — Cynthia had joined us. She pushed my legs apart, sliding into my crotch. There was no hesitation now. Briefly, she kneaded my pussy lips before burrowing her finger inside.

The girl began to rock. She was riding my thigh, gasping in my ear. “Oh my! This is so…nice. I knew it would be. Oh God… please.”

Then she was shuddering as her arms gripped my neck. She jerked violently as the orgasm washed over her, and I had to wonder if it was indeed her first.

“Shall you take us to your bed, my Captain?” Cynthia said. “We would like to make love… no, we want to fuck you. There, I’ve said it. And it’s true. I want to see my daughter fucked for the first time, and you … well, it must needs be you.”

It was the strangest experience when the two Nubians dried us. They regarded it as nothing more than a duty, but I must confess, it made me feel like a queen.

Once again, Elizabeth led the way. She jumped onto the bed and lay with legs akimbo, her pussy on full display. Her expression was a delightful attempt at appearing seductive.

“So, who wants to fuck me?” she said. “Mother, Captain… or both?”

Cynthia feigned shock. “Goodness, how wicked she is!” Then she laughed with me.

Cynthia wanted to kiss her young daughter, I wanted my tongue in that beautiful little pussy. We both got our wish. The child’s legs folded about my head, drawing me deeper into her slit. She rocked her pussy against my face. If this was her first time, she was learning very fast. Her clit pressed to my nose as I tongue-fucked the tightest pussy I had ever known.

Hands were exploring my naked body. Two of them were small and could not reach very far. But the other two went everywhere, lingering only a moment here or there before moving on. A touch at my arse made me jump, but then it brushed the lips of my pussy.

Elizabeth squealed in delight. “Oh God yes! Here it comes again!” Her legs gripped me, and she began to shake, wailing again and again as she climaxed.

Now, a tongue pressed to my pussy. Hands raised my arse. Cynthia sucked at the juices flowing from me. Cynthia had been taught well by her “comforters” in the harem.

Elizabeth’s young lips pressed to mine, kissing me with a new-found passion. Her hands clutched my breasts. I pushed her girl’s head down, guiding her lips to a nipple. She understood, sucking quite hungrily, then biting.

I smacked her arse.

“Bitch!” I shouted. She only bit more emphatically. I grabbed her arse this time, pressing a finger to her hole. She tensed, but I didn’t hold back, forcing my way into the tightened ring. She raised her head and gaped at me. “Oh! That’s –!”

Her expression held both shock and pleasure as I pumped her arse. But she was dry, and I didn’t want to injure her. I lifted her and swung her around, spreading her cheeks wide and reaching for the twitching star with my tongue.

Cynthia meanwhile, had been working magic of her own. My cunt spasmed as it gripped her plunging fingers, and my clit throbbed beneath her flickering tongue.

“Come, Captain,” she said. “Come for your bitches.”

“Is that what we are, mother?” said Elizabeth between joyful gasps. “Are we her bitches?”

Cynthia didn’t answer. She only sucked more forcefully as she sensed my climax approaching.

“Fuck!” I cried as it doubled me over.

I had a brief thought … I hoped Marianna was enjoying herself as much as I was.

***

I enquired after Sir James, only to learn that he had been killed in the early stages of the landing. For all of his failings, cowardice was not one. He had fought like a true knight when surrounded by the barbarians.

Cynthia did not shed a tear. Indeed, her smile neither shocked nor surprised me. “I had thought I was destitute, with nowhere to turn. His death brings me wealth and social standing. I suppose I should grieve for him, but I cannot. He chose to abandon us, and his death is my salvation.”

My foremost concern was the disposition of the harem women and the hundreds of freed slaves. Many of the women were from various parts of North Africa, and some of these were not pleased to have been liberated. They had been content enough as pampered concubines. The Europeans, though, wanted to be returned to their own countries, a task quite beyond my capabilities.

Much the same situation applied to the men. I would need a good number of them to sail the two galleys and the brig away from here. The galleys I would take to Italy, where we would be paid a bounty for them. The brig would go to Gibraltar for prize money from the British, and the funds would be shared among the slaves. Our own men hardly needed more wealth than they already possessed.

The freed slaves, though, if taken to Gibraltar, would find themselves pressed into the Navy against their will, all except the few that had some social standing. Those native to the Mediterranean could be landed somewhere suitable, whence they could make their way home.

A few of the girls had already set themselves up in business with the sailors. As one said to me, “One stork is the same as another, at least I now get paid to dip it, and I’m free to pick and choose.”Others moved to the village to seek more suitable work or partners.

That still left about seventeen others, of whom several were only young girls. One or two had more or less grown up in the harem, with no inkling as to their origins. Only their language gave us any clue. We discussed the problem between us, but as of the moment, failed to find a solution.

I allowed the women to strip the palace and share the spoils fairly among themselves. I had also discovered the dead sheikh’s strong box, which contained a considerable amount of coin and jewels. I intended to estimate the value and apportion a share, in coin, to all of the freed men and women.

Halcombe had taken a party to retrieve the cannons from the fort. I thought the Navy might find a use for them. The carpenter had carried out what repairs he could to the galley we had attacked. The four captured ships were now provisioned and ready for sea. We had no trouble in finding volunteers to crew them, as long as they would not be rowing.

There had been sufficient officers among the captives to take temporary command of the ships. I left Taylor in command of the first galley. He had done well enough, his only weakness being his inability to navigate in the event we got separated. I soon found someone who could and who didn’t object to a mere seaman taking command.

The women were divided between the Majestic and the Siren. It was an amusing affair listening to them decide who wanted to go where and with whom, but finally, it was settled.

The last thing we did was blow the palace to pieces. It would not do to leave it for other pirates to use.

When the time came to raise anchor, the crew stood by, watching the two huge Nubians as they turned the windlass on their own. They had both begged to not be left behind.

“Lay a course due northeast,” I instructed. The Siren led a convoy of six ships, making it unlikely that anyone would venture anywhere near us. We should, if the winds were favourable, make Naples within two days.

I gave up worrying about what our passengers and crew got up to. The mingling of former concubines and lusty sailors almost ensured that I had no say in the matter – unless I had the women locked up between decks, and that was not my way.

Two days of good weather and no sightings of anything that might cause us concern left us with plenty of time to enjoy the Mediterranean sun and air. It was a pleasure and a relief to be on the open sea, free from the knowing gaze of love-sick girls and petty officials, where I could wear a breeches or a petticoat, as I chose, and let my titties stand unbound beneath my shirt.

I also had time to reflect on our future. Would we hunt more pirates, or perhaps head for fresh lands and waters?

Then, on one of his visits to the Siren, Jensen handed me a sheaf of papers. “Might you care to take a look at something I’ve been working on, Captain? Your thoughts would be appreciated.”

On the top page was written, in a hand far more elegant than I could ever manage,

From Gamine to Queen of the Seas
A Nautical Adventure
by Captain Sir Thomas Jensen

The End – for now.

***

Historical Note, or Busting Myths.

 Many books have been written that detail the supposed ‘facts’ of the Golden Age of Pirates. The vast majority do little other than either repeat or add to the many myths that others invented.

The first such book was A General History Of The Pyrates, published in 1724, only three years after Anne Bonny and her compatriots were imprisoned. The author was given as one Captain Charles Johnson. A 1728 reprint was a revised edition. More rubbish detail was added, all of which is almost certainly the product of the author’s imagination – one example being the biographies of three pirate captains who have since been proven to have never existed.

There are many problems with this book, not least that Captain Johnson himself didn’t exist, either. The name was a pseudonym. It has never been established who the author was, although many attribute the book to Daniel Defoe, author of Robinson Crusoe. This early history is directly responsible for the many of the legends that subsequent authors continue to peddle as accurate history.

In 1724 it was quite impossible that a writer would know all the details he presented as fact. And be certain—they are not! Nor could he have ever met more than but one or two (if any) of those portrayed in the book.

Anne Bonny, many books claim, was born in Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. Her father is said to have been one William Cormac (sometimes McCormac), a lawyer in said county. The name of her mother, a servant, is given as Mary Brennan. Anne is said to have married James Bonny before they moved to Nassau, the Bahamas, where James is said to have worked as a spy or informant for Governor Woodes Rogers. She is often referred to as the Queen of the Pirates. Woodes Rogers’ proclamation refers to Anne Bonny, nee Fulford. So, where did the Fulford come from?

No such lawyer is registered as having practised in County Cork. Moreover, Woodes Rogers is known to have kept meticulous records of everyone who worked for him. Yet there is no record of a James Bonny. There are many stories, mostly contradictory, of James and Anne’s comings and goings, but Anne Bonny was never truly a pirate. She was a common prostitute who ran away to sea with Jack Rackham when Nassau was raided by the forces of Woodes Rogers. She spent only a little more than two months at sea before her and Rackham’s capture, and she is known to have robbed only one person, who gave evidence at her trial.

My research leads me to believe that Anne Bonny was initially a London prostitute who was lured to Nassau by the prospect of the good money that women of her profession were said to earn there. I do not believe she was Irish-born or that her name was ever Cormac. More likely, she was born with the name Bonny somewhere in the English Midlands.

Her most recent biography is Born of the Sea: The Untold Story of Anne Bonny and Mary Read by Kate Castle  – yet another heap of unsubstantiated rubbish that does nothing but perpetuate the myths surrounding Anne Bonny.

Nor do I believe any such person as James Bonny existed. There is no documented evidence of his ever having worked for Woodes Rogers, even though, as mentioned above, the man kept thorough records of his employees.

It is generally claimed that the time and place of Anne Bonny’s death are unknown. This is likely not true either. She is listed in the official register of the district of St Catherine’s (not a church), Jamaica, as being buried in the public cemetery in 1731. The cause of death is not given, which was often the case for prostitutes who died from the diseases common to their profession.

Calico Jack Rackham has become something of a legend among pirates, but the sad truth is he was a two-bit player. He achieved nothing of renown and never made any money. For the most part, he captained very small ships and attacked only tiny fishing boats that couldn’t put up a fight. The record of his ultimate capture suggests he was also something of a coward. The only truth to his legend is his eccentric style of dress.

All of the other historical characters we have brought into the story are more or less as we have portrayed them – or so it is claimed!