Easton's Gold Read Free

to stare directly out at him. The oar bumps against the rim and is about to fall into the river until he lunges for it and hauls it, dripping, into the boat after him.
    Fool! She won’t make you out from there
! But his heart thumps hard, and he remains hidden. She seems to notice everything, that girl, and she has spotted him before.
    Fleet shifts onto his back as the oar drips beside him. He stares at a dragon-cloud overhead. He remains there, listening to the gentle bump-bump of the ripples against the planks, trusting the navigation of the other riverboats.
    Soon the dragon-cloud trails ribbons of fire. The surrounding sky darkens, and lantern ghosts skim the water. At last Fleet pulls himself up, repositions his oar and stares out at the newly burning lights of the Marquis’s home.

C HAPTER T WO
    M y veins pulsate like roots in spring; my fingers and toes tingle with reawakening power. It’s as though some life-giving elixir has been added to my blood. I can raise my head more easily than I have done for days. I do this now as Gabrielle turns from the window to face me.
    The candlelight flickers upon her face, giving her skin a bronzed hue. Her features are eastern, her nose aquiline, her eyes deep brown. She approaches.
    â€œSwallows and kingfishers are weaving in flight along the banks,” she says softly. “Fishermen are still at work in sailboats and punts. But the sun is setting fast, and the river will soon be silent and in darkness.”
    I love the rhythm and tone of her voice. Her words are like a lullaby and soothe me to the core.
    â€œIt sounds like summer has come,” I say as she settles down again on the side of the bed. My heart rolls for a second as I feel the dip in the mattress.
    â€œYes, we will have long warm days, and you will feel the sun again.”
    I long for the touch of Gabrielle’s breath upon my face. I close my eyes imagining the sensation.
    â€œAre you comfortable, my lord?” she asks in a whisper. I can hear the sound of her soft lips parting then coming together again.
    â€œOh yes,” I sigh, opening my eyes once more.
    â€œI was afraid you were in pain.”
    â€œNot pain,” I say.
    â€œSadness then?”
    â€œGabrielle,” I begin and then pause. I am not sure where my words will lead me, yet it surely sounds as though I mean to reveal something important. I hold back for a moment and weigh the danger. Then I continue. “I was not always an old man…”
    I glance up and catch Gabrielle’s expression; she is smiling.
    â€œI had suspected as much,” she says.
    â€œNo, listen, Gabrielle. You know what they say about me.”
    â€œThey say you were a pirate!” She leans toward me and widens her eyes as though telling a story to a child. “That you were once feared all over the world, from the Indies to Newfoundland, from North and West Africa to the great English ports of Bristol and Falmouth.”
    â€œYes,” I sigh and my breath heats my lips. “It’s true.”
    â€œSo, you have dark deeds that you must tell me about?”
    Her smile has turned to a grin. I wonder if this is really all I am now—an old man with wild stories. Indignation rises for a moment, but then it dies away as quickly as it came. I do not want to be a dangerous man any more, do I? I yearn not for glory but for redemption. Yesterday a fly’s suffering brought me an anguish I had never known. The pain of every living thing in the world seared my soul like red-hot irons. The thought came into my head:
I am not Easton. He is merely the man who haunts my memories. Like St. Paul, I am a creature reborn. I have cast Easton aside, just as St. Paul cast aside Saul
.
    I look up at Gabrielle’s smiling face once more. “I am paying for my sins,” I say, and I see her face turn from humour to pity again. Hot tears spill from my eyes and roll down to the bedclothes. I was not expecting this at