Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (65 page)

“That we purchase food, and sit and wait until he comes or goes through this gate.”

We found a shaded spot beside a storehouse, and Gaston left me to watch while he went in search of food. As we had passed a vegetable market of sorts on the way, he thankfully did not have far to go. He returned with a bottle of watered wine and several wrapped bundles.

“These things grow here,” he said as he presented the packages.

I understood his intent and tasted everything. I was not fond of the cassava, finding it a bit plain, but I devoured the fried plantain. I was already familiar with and found great favor in pineapples and mangoes.

Thus we whiled away the afternoon talking of foods we liked and why many of the English were stupid for refusing to eat the native foods.

I spied Creek entering through the gate as the evening came upon us. He was dressed in a way that was now familiar, in breeches and vest with a kerchief upon his head. He wore no weapon belt, but carried a cutlass in a crude scabbard over his shoulder, supported by a leather thong across his chest.

The four men he walked with were similarly attired and armed.

Except for the lack of weaponry, they looked like any group of buccaneers as they strolled casually through the gate laughing at some jest. I pointed him out to Gaston and stood. My matelot was a shadow several paces behind me as I walked into the road to intercept Creek’s path.

“Mister Creek, I would have a word with you,” I said amicably.

He frowned at hearing his name and studied me with curiosity. Then his eyes went wide with recognition.

“Lord Marsdale,” he breathed. His eyes flicked back to assess his distance from the gate.

“What’s this, then?” one of his mates asked.

“He’s… he’s…the lord o’ the plantation,” he stammered.

“Well, actually, it’s my father’s and…” I shrugged.

The other men quickly grasped the situation and fanned out defensively, or perhaps menacingly, though I did not feel threatened as Gaston was behind the two to my left. None of them had noticed him as yet. I was not sure how much of an asset they would be to any ship they sought to sail with.

“I.. I.. uh, well, my Lord…” Creek stammered with no end in sight.

I smiled pleasantly. “You either need to return with me or pay the money for your passage.”

“He’s a buccaneer now,” one of the other men said. “He don’t owe you nuthin’.’” He was to my right, large and looming.

“So am I, and I beg to differ.” I kept my eyes on Creek. “So, what ship do you intend to sail on? Most are out hunting the treasure fleets now. But I hear Morgan is looking to organize a large raiding party this winter. Will you be living out there in the trees until then? And what are you doing for money? Beer and wine are horrifically expensive in this damn town, because they expect all who buy here to be buccaneers or planters.”

“I can’t go back, my Lord,” Creek said with quiet fear.

“I guarantee you will not be branded or flogged.”

“He don’t need no guarantee from you,” the man who had spoken earlier said. “He don’t need to go nowhere.” He was the only one with a weapon belt, and he pulled a cutlass from a beaten scabbard. I had hoped things would not decay so quickly.

I felt more than saw something dart through the air. Then there was a knife in the man’s right shoulder. He dropped his blade with a muffled curse.

Creek and his mates finally noticed Gaston. I grinned at their consternation. My matelot now had both pistols drawn. I pulled one of mine and aimed it at Creek’s head.

“Now,” I said with the same pleasant tone I used before, “I care not for the rest of you. I only have business with Creek. I do swear he will not be abused over this misadventure, and if all goes well, you will likely see him again. However, if things go poorly here this moment, you will all likely see one another in Hell.”

The man to Creek’s right proved to be far wilier than his fellows.

He stepped back, and I thought he was withdrawing. Then he pushed Creek toward me, and the fellow on the other side of him somewhat toward Gaston. Unlike men with a wavering commitment to violence, my matelot and I fired simultaneously. We only swore in the aftermath, when three men lay upon the ground, one of them Creek.

The man to Creek’s left ran. The man with the knife in his shoulder began to do likewise.

I pulled my second pistol. “Hold! The knife! Return it. Do not be stupid in how you do.”

The man stopped, gingerly pulled the blade out of his shoulder, and dropped it on the ground. Then he too was away.

I joined Gaston in reloading while considering the wounded men.

The one that had been pushed toward my matelot was shot in the right buttock. The one doing the pushing had blood spreading from his shoulder. Creek was dead. I had put my ball in his eye. I blamed too many damn years of dueling.

“Well, that did not go well,” I muttered.

Gaston smirked. “He is a fine example now. I doubt any will consider running.”

I rolled my eyes and discovered ten curious yet cautious members of the militia advancing on us from the wall.

“Oh bloody Hell,” I sighed.

It was near night by the time Theodore finished laying it all to rest.

Thankfully, we were able to claim our own defense, and only one man was dead. Gaston even went so far in aiding the situation as to dig the shot out of the wounded men: one of whom proved to be a runaway and was promptly returned to his plantation. Still, despite our exoneration, or perhaps because of it, I felt great guilt.

Finally we sat with Theodore in his yard, on the bench he recently purchased, and shared a bottle. Creek’s body was shrouded in burlap by the fence. I found I could not stop staring at it, just as I could not ignore the knowledge that he would have gone with us if his companion had not chosen to act.

“In the future,” Theodore sighed, “if this event does not deter all others who might consider running, what would you like done with those who do?”

“I would know why,” I said, as I now had given the matter a great deal more thought. “If a man has some reason beyond not wishing to work, I would know of it before passing judgment. If he is merely trying to avoid completing his contract, then I would have him apprehended and returned.”

Theodore sighed again. “You do realize that the stipulation of knowing why hinders my ability to hire men to bring one back.”

“I will see to it.”

“Will, I feel it would be far less expensive to send someone else.” He laughed.

On my other side, Gaston was chuckling quietly. I elbowed him and took the bottle from Theodore.

“I will plan better next time. Truly, I am well steeped in guilt over this event.”

They quieted, and Gaston’s arm stole around my back.

“You are a good man, Will,” Theodore said. He stood and regarded us. “Stay here tonight. The boys moved to your new house.” He left us.

“I do not wish to face the men at the plantation tomorrow,” I said. “I have killed one of my sheep.”

Gaston pulled himself closer so that his lips were at my ear. “I love you.”

Initially I thought it alleviated nothing, and then I realized it meant everything. For once in my life, I was loved no matter what I did.

I stopped staring at the shrouded body and turned to face him. “May I touch you?”

He sighed and considered it before murmuring, “You need not ask...

ever again. Though…”

“I will endeavor not to ask more than you wish to give,” I murmured.

“I will not take offense if you stop me.”

“Offense, non, yet…”

“I did not say I would not become frustrated, just that I will understand.” I grinned.

He chuckled and I led him inside and upstairs. It was the first time we had been alone in a room since before we sailed. We crawled into a hammock together. I did not attempt to bring him to life; I merely satisfied my need to explore him in the dark. He seemed to enjoy it, and even allowed me to remove his tunic. As my fingers ventured where they would, his did the same; and I soon forgot the events of the day for a time.

In the morning, Gaston went to the apothecary to purchase a few things to treat the men. I went with Theodore to review the plantation’s books, at the home of a clerk he engaged for that purpose. Griswold, the clerk, was a tall and lean man with stooped shoulders. He seemed very fastidious, and his script in the ledgers was quite neat. He left us alone at a table in the corner, and returned to hunching over another book across the room.

After seeing the appalling mount of money spent on provisions, I asked, “Do none of the planters grow food here?”

Theodore shrugged. “If they have the men. Most absentee planters, such as your father, view the entire endeavor as a business venture.

They are willing to invest money into their plantations until the first crop is produced. They always expect it to be an enormous success. The truth is that it sometimes is not. Growing anything is a fickle business subject to the whims of weather and blights – and even rats, here. Since the land is free, the greatest expenditure is labor. All other expenses are secondary. They wish to get a crop planted as soon as possible, and thus reap profit as soon as possible. With more and more of your bondsmen dying,” he grimaced and sighed. “And I did not mean in that fashion. You have fewer men to clear and plant. Since cane takes a year and a half to grow before there’s even a chance of profit, pulling the men off planting the first crop to plant provisions would slow the process.

And quite frankly, your father does not care. He planned on importing all of the provisions. He has set aside lines of credit with merchants in England, to keep the plantation supplied until it begins to make a profit.”

I knew some of that, but as usual I had not considered the implications. Though I have been privy to discussion of many business dealings, I have no head for it. Still, this sort of planning seemed shortsighted.

“Do you think that wise? It seems to me that, well, should not a farm

– which is essentially what a plantation is – should it not be sufficient unto itself? It is growing food, after all.”

Theodore smiled and shook his head. “Nay, it is growing money.

Sugar cane is not food; it is muscovado, molasses, and rum. You can consume them, but truly it is alcohol and another form of spice, albeit a very sweet one. Think of it more as a mining endeavor, and you will begin to understand the thoughts of those that invest in it.”

“Ah, that does shed a different light upon the matter. Yet, would it not be better if the miners grew their own food?”

“Aye.” He grinned. “When the time presents itself.”

“Is there not a time after the field is planted that…?”

He shook his head. “Will, do you remember anything Donoughy told you?”

“Nay,” I scoffed. “That was months ago and I was quite feverish.”

He chuckled. “Once the cane sprouts, it must be weeded and fertilized, though not so much with a new field. By next year, you will want a number of livestock penned somewhere to provide the manure.

But this year, whatever acreage is cleared will be planted and then weeded until the cane is too large to walk through. When the men are not engaged in that, and after it is of sufficient size, they will be involved in building the mills, boiling house, curing shed, and distillery.

And then they will clear more acreage, so that another crop can be planted next year. And then they will plant the second crop and ready themselves to harvest the first.”

“Oh, good Lord,” I sighed. “We need more men.”

He clapped my shoulder and smiled. “Aye. I am authorized to purchase as many Negroes as I can when they become available, or bondsmen if they present themselves.”

“How often is that?”

“There have been three ships this year; and I have been outbid, or there were previous contracts, on all of their cargos.”

“Outbid?” I teased.

“In one instance, two planters conspired to buy the entire lot for an outrageous sum. It was truly foolish. In another, I did not bid a great amount because the lot of them appeared sickly.”

The true nature of what we discussed occurred to me. “How are the Negroes treated?”

“Will,” he sighed in a chiding fashion. Then he relented. “Truly, most do not view them as men. If they did, they would have to treat them as such.”

“As you may well guess, I will view them as men. I have had dealings with men of color before, and found them to be much like any other men.”

“I guessed as much.” He smiled ruefully. “So when will you be returning to sea?”

I swore quietly, and he chuckled.

Gaston was waiting for us when we returned. I was surprised to see that he had not merely purchased a few herbs, but a medicine chest for the plantation. Theodore was surprised at this as well. Then Gaston listed the various ailments in existence there, and how he had bought the prescribed remedies. Theodore quickly reimbursed him, even though it was a goodly sum of four pounds and six shillings.

“Are you truly a physician?” Theodore asked.

“As much as any other who claims it.” Gaston sighed reluctantly.

“Well, at least you will have a trade when you tire of roving.”

Theodore shrugged.

Gaston glared at him and took the medicine chest outside.

I shrugged apologetically to Theodore. “He is not fond enough of people to wish to aid them.”

“And yet he’s treating the men at Ithaca, and he saw to those men he wounded yesterday.”

“Aye, I know,” I sighed. “We will hire a cart to take Creek’s body back, I suppose.”

“I’ll send Samuel to fetch one. Should you return his body?”

“Despite my guilt and reluctance to face the lot of them with this news, the endeavor was mounted in order to deter other escapes. In that regard, I feel their seeing his body will impart far more of a lesson than my merely telling of his death.”

“You realize you are as fickle as your matelot?”

“How so?”

“He wishes not to be a physician and yet he cares for the ailing and wounded; and you avow you do not think things through, yet you do when it suits you.”

“Have I mentioned that you are not what I expected from my father’s barrister?”