Sailing Over the Wine-Dark Sea: A Pirates of the Caribbean Story

Part I

Part One

But the queen—too long she has suffered the pain of love,

Hour by hour nursing the wound with her lifeblood,

Consumed by the fire buried in her heart

His looks, his words, they pierce her heart and cling—

No peace, no rest for her body, love will give her none

— Virgil, The Aeneid

***

Lord Oliver Quincy, 3rd Viscount of Avonshire, arrives in Port Royal a sunny afternoon in December. Voyaged all the way from England, Father tells her, as if Elizabeth hadn't lived there eight years of her life. Elizabeth cares not for the pleasantries and affairs of the English court, but her father does, if only out of a sense of duty rather than personal conviction.

Thus, they greet Lord Quincy as he strides down the gangplank of his ship—a sleek little schooner named Victorious—and walks down the docks toward them, swinging an ivory walking stick as he goes. Oddly enough, the gaggle of personnel Elizabeth is accustomed to seeing attend men of Quincy's standing is absent, replaced by a pair of burly sailors who flank their employer like guard dogs. Standing between them, Quincy seems distinctly out of place in his purple justaucorps and fine leather shoes.

"Governor Swann," the viscount says, doffing his hat in a magnanimous bow before them. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

"Please, Lord Quincy, you're too kind," Father begins graciously, but the viscount has already moved on. Elizabeth barely has time to proffer her hand before Quincy seizes it and stoops to bestow a kiss. His hand is smooth and pale—indications of a wealthy gentleman unacquainted with hard labour.

"And you must be Miss Elizabeth Swann," he purrs. His eyes pale blue eyes glitter beneath his tricorne. "In all my travels, never have I beheld a woman with such breathtaking beauty as yours."

Discomfort squirms in Elizabeth's belly at the viscount's touch, but she has had too much experience with ambitious sycophants to let this one's fawning unnerve her. So she merely offers a courteous smile and says, "You flatter me, Lord Quincy."

"It is true, all the same," the viscount replies. His gaze never leaves her face.

Elizabeth's hand, still enveloped in his, begins to sweat.

"I trust the reason for your visit to Port Royal is an amicable one?" Father enquires, saving Elizabeth from having to respond.

"Business matters, I'm afraid," Quincy replies. Elizabeth takes the distraction as an opportunity to shift her hand just enough to alert the viscount of its current location. Blessedly, he senses the motion and releases her hand, masking the sudden movement by tugging primly at his justaucorps. "When my father died, the role of principal organiser of the company was left to me. Time has flown by so quickly since then; I can hardly believe it's been six months since his passing."

"You have my deepest condolences," Father says sympathetically. "He was good friend and an even better man. I received the news of his passing only a month ago, or I would have sailed to London to pay my respects." 

"His death was a blow to everyone," Quincy says softly. "The company in particular."

"If you should need anything at all," Father starts, "I am more than willing to—"