Isabelle
The sun beat down on Thomas, for the fourth day in a row, there had been no shade for most the journey. He waded in dry grass as high as his waist day in and day out with his group. Til finally they reached jungle.
Thomas was no longer a pale sapling, he now had the tanned rough skin of a seasoned pirate. His muscles bulged underneath them as if they had a life of their own. If not for the scar on his left cheek you would never mistake him for that scoundrel from so long ago.
The group of twenty men he traveled with rested within the local village nestled within the lush jungle.
After long exchanges in French and Swahili the two leaders had agreed on price and the band was back off to the ship. The men like Thomas carried heavy, long wooden crates filled with unknown treasure. By the end of the long days, their backs ached, their joints complained, their feet felt as if they had been walking on hot coals, and they could not complain. They ate what little they were given, and slept in the open taking turns on watch.
Several times a lion was spotted and shot. A few times they feared elephants. Luck graced their every move and they traveled with the winds to and from England on regular schedule.
Often when at port Thomas would check on his dearest Isabelle. Peering into her windows late at night after all had gone to bed. Sneaking into the manor, as he had the fateful night he met her. Watching her sleep in peace.
Every time he stood there he longed to wake her. To raise his voice and call out to her. Yet all he did was watch with contentment.
He would return to her one day, a made man. Someone she could marry and be married to. She would hold her head high when she walked through the markets. He never wanted to see that angelic sleeping face hide in shame.
The years moved slowly for Thomas.
Over time the sailors and the tribal women began to become acquainted. Many of the men had taken some as second wives. Thomas was not immune to the female persuasions, and he soon became the fascination of the high priestess’ daughter. Though he denied her vehemently, she was undaunted.
He would sleep and wake with her lying beside him. As beautiful as she was with her dark ebony skin, laying in the lush African grass under a full moon. Thomas stared at her many nights as she laid in hopes of seducing him. Thomas was often admiring the perfection of her youth, and the strands of silk she had adorned herself with. Occasionally she smelled of flowers, other times of heavy sweat. Yet she lay there beside him as if his wife, every time he visited the village. Yet, Thomas never touched her.
One night she arrived in front of him carrying some salve on a leaf. She spoke no words to him, she just smiled sweetly and began to run the ointment on his skin.
The mixture was oily after applied, and slightly gritty. It had a definite nutty smell to it. He allowed her access to his chest and back, but no further would he allow her to go. He did not trust this woman in a child’s body. She finished by rubbing the ointment on his leathery face. She lay again beside him and slept without a word. Every night the girl continued this strange ritual.
After four days it was time to return to ship.
Thomas noticed as he dressed to leave, his skin was softer than before. Many of the small scars on his wrists from years of being in irons were slowly fading. He was puzzled slightly and wondered if this witch’s daughter was casting some sort of spell over him.
The girl rushed to him before he could join the others. She handed him a leather pouch to carry with him. She bowed down to him as if he were her king.
“She gives you a gift.” A passing crew member explained.
Once aboard the ship, Thomas looked inside the pouch. It was an ample supply of the salve.