Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (77 page)

I had thought that love. That someone would seek me out for the unthinkable, the unmentionable, when I was so wrong and repugnant to them. That had to be love for him to go against his nature so.

And Alonso, he had wanted me enough to be patient, to tolerate my protestations and fears and the conditions I placed upon our lovemaking. Had I loved him even more because he did not want me to touch him in front of others? Had I truly thought his hypocrisy proof of his love?

And what of Gaston? Was I not most pleased when he threw me on my back and plundered my mouth just minutes ago? He did not even favor men, and yet he was with me. Had I not just considered that the most valid proof of his love?

I was filled with self-loathing over the self-loathing my life was filled with. I could hear Shane’s snarled words, “You want this, you want this, you want this…. ” one repetition for every thrust. Alonso’s gentle chiding was a chilling counterpoint, “Will, relax, you know you want this. ” They were correct. I did want it.

And now I wanted it from Gaston. I wanted him to become so overcome with lust for me that his manhood would spring to life and he would be compelled to plunder my very soul. Because that was the thing a man could do that a woman never could.

The shame was bile I could not rid myself of fast enough. I was distantly aware of vomiting, and Gaston’s hands upon me and his whisper in my ear. “Will, I love you, please. What is wrong?”

I could not tell him. I did not want to possess the knowledge myself.

I crawled into his lap and clung to him. The Gods had shown me something tonight, and I wanted none of it.

VI: Roving - June-July, 1667

Wherein We Careen In Peril

I woke in the hammock under Gaston’s watchful eye. His hand was on my shoulder, and I realized he had shaken me awake. He did not look as if he had slept. I did not feel as if I had. The remembered ache in my heart had spread through my bones and head, until I felt as if I had been kicked for hours. His eyes were full of concern. I do not know what he saw in mine. I was afraid to give any emotion a foothold, lest it overtake me completely.

“Do not ask,” I whispered.

He nodded and caressed my cheek tentatively. “It is dawn. I have packed. Pete and Striker have left already.”

I captured his hand and kissed his palm. He appeared relived by this gesture. I sat. Our bags and weapons were by the door, and everything had been returned to the trunks, leaving the room neat and empty. There was a wet area on the floor where he had cleaned. I stood on legs that were firmer than I thought they would be. I dressed.

We were silent as we left the house. We nodded at Rachel. She did not seem disposed to speak with us, so it was just as well we were not talkative. Still I decided a more congenial housekeeper might be in order when we returned.

The streets were busy, and we were forced to weave around people and carts.

“May I speak on the condition I do not question you?” Gaston asked quietly in French as we walked. “With the exception of that question.”

I guessed at his concern. “I am not angry with you.”

He did not seem to believe me. “I was wrong to think such things. I was being foolish. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“That is a question.” I tried to smile, but the jest fell flat and took on an unintended meaning. “I forgive you,” I said, quickly and firmly.

We had stopped walking. I felt on the verge of speaking, and I knew if I started that it would all come tumbling out and I would become deranged again, this time in the middle of the street and right before elections and articles and provisioning and all of the damn business we must attend to.

“I cannot talk,” I said. “Not now. Later. Please.”

I could see the understanding strike as his eyes widened. It was immediately followed by guilt.

“Stop,” I said with exasperation that was only partially mocking.

He gave me a small smile and kissed my cheek, before taking my hand to lead me up the street. I forced myself not to think.

I counted eighty-four men on the Mayflower, including Gaston and me. All of the survivors of the North Wind were present, save Bradley and Cleghorn. Belfry and Tom stood ready and enthusiastic amongst the others, replete in their new clothing and earrings, along with a resigned Dickey. I was happy for the busyness of greeting everyone.

Striker stood amongst the men and called for elections first.

Cudro nominated Striker as captain. To our relief, there were no other nominations, and Striker was resoundingly approved. This vote was followed by quartermaster, which Cudro won handily, although Hastings did make his bid again. The Bard was confirmed as Master of Sail, Michaels as cook, and a jolly man named Gusset as carpenter. The Frenchman Cudro had recruited became our gunner. He called himself De Morte. I thought it interesting he was “of death” as opposed to “the death.” Gaston was voted in as surgeon, though this did cause some concern amongst the crew and was by no means unanimous. He took the dissension well.

I had been placed in charge of writing the articles, and Striker delegated the reading and negotiating of them to me as well. There were no arguments, and we approved all as they had been on the last voyage of the North Wind, with only a few variations in wording as I had not remembered the exact phrasing of the last set. Striker did, however, receive fewer shares as he did not own the ship and was merely captain.

Mention was also made of reimbursement for any expenses prior to the sharing of the booty. All agreed to this.

Striker explained our intended prey and the matter of provisioning.

Then there was much discussion and argument. Many did not wish to purchase provisions, as it could so thoroughly reduce the profitability of the voyage. They were of a mind to spend less time sailing and more time provisioning, and would rather increase the risk of having nothing in the end in order to owe nothing in the beginning. Others agreed with Striker that we should sail as much as we could, and increase our chances of prey even though the cost of the provisioning would decrease the shares. The Bard stepped in with the argument that won many of them, by pointing out that the money being ventured would come from men who were sailing on the vessel and not creditors on shore, and that we were not charging interest. The chance of something over nothing finally won; but many were disgruntled, and six men left before signing the articles.

So we sailed with seventy-eight men and a hold full of salted beef, sea turtles, fruit, fresh water, beer, and rum, which ran Gaston an outrageous hundred and seventy pounds. It made me wonder seriously why the buccaneers as a whole did not simply pillage the fat and rich merchants of Port Royal, as that is where all the money ended up.

Striker had spent a similar amount on sails, powder, good lumber, pitch, tar, tools, and other repair items. I calculated that, in order to give each man a share of two hundred pieces of eight, or roughly fifty pounds, we would need to take booty valued at eighteen thousand pieces of eight or four thousand five hundred pounds. This amount would cover the expenses plus eighty-five shares for the men, including the additional shares for captain, quartermaster, and master of sail, and the monies paid above shares to the surgeon, carpenter and the like.

I shared this delightful information with Striker and asked him what cargoes, short of gold or silver, could provide that amount of money.

He said, “Will, they’re not getting two hundred pieces of eight each.

We’ll do what we can.”

I was saddened by this. In concert with this news, I was very happy we would not be sailing back to Port Royal to give the crown ten percent of our earnings.

With all the chaos of provisioning and getting under way, Gaston and I were not able to speak. And then we were not alone. That night, we lay curled in our large hammock in the master cabin and listened to Pete and Striker make love in the bunk. Striker was atop; there was a difference in sound, depending on which one of them was doing the riding. Pete tended to grunt a lot when he rode Striker, and to make contented little moans when their positions were reversed. Striker was not prone to noise other than panting, and that did not seem to vary much whether he was giving or receiving; though on occasion Pete elicited a groan or two from him.

I was aroused by it all, and slipped my hand in my breeches to let my manhood know I was not ignoring it, though I was not actively attempting to ease myself either. Pete made a particularly plaintive sound and I was suffused with as much amusement as arousal. I tried to stay silent as I laughed. Gaston joined me in this, and soon we found ourselves clinging to one another with the whole hammock shaking in an attempt to laugh in silence. He finally bit my shoulder with such ferocity that I gasped and all humor was driven from my mind. Then he kissed me thoroughly. My hand was still upon my member and I was sure he was aware of it. I stroked in earnest, as his kiss left my mouth and slowly trailed down my neck and across my bare chest accompanied by little nips and caresses. I came when he found my right nipple with his tongue and sucked it hungrily.

I lay there afterwards greatly relieved, as I had been afraid he would not wish to do anything upon the ship. I had also been concerned that the fragmentary memory that had driven him to discomfort would remain and keep him from touching me as he had just done. And all day I had been even more afraid that I would not wish to succumb to his touch until I sorted through my own thoughts. Apparently none of these fears were worthy.

Still, we could not talk. We could hear Striker and Pete whispering to one another between creaks of the ship. I was unsure as to whether the discussion necessary would end in my becoming overly distraught yet again, so I did not wish to risk it. I explained this very quickly to Gaston and he agreed to let it lie.

He woke me sometime later.

“It is before dawn,” he whispered. “Striker and Pete have gone up.”

I cuddled against him and wondered why that was important. I began to drift back to sleep.

He kissed me on the lips. “Will, talk to me, please.”

I remembered what we were to speak of and came fully awake. His eyes were inches from my own. In the dim light seeping through the windows I could see concern and little reflections of myself in their depths. I could not watch him watch me while I spoke. I closed my eyes.

“I discovered a thing within myself that I am deeply ashamed of,” I said.He caressed my face, and his fingers settled lightly along my jaw.

I did not know how to proceed. I took a tentative step, not sure if it was the correct path to take.

“There is a thing that a man can bestow on me that a woman cannot.” My heart cringed. I did not wish to make him feel inadequate, yet I reminded myself it was not truly a thing he wanted, so what did that matter?

I stumbled deeper into my thoughts, looking for the next words. I found the things I had not allowed myself to explore the night before.

“I do not know if that is what I initially wanted from a man. I know I was quite smitten with Shane, yet I do not recall ever harboring fantasies of his touching me in that manner. I never considered buggery at all when I was young. I had no knowledge of it. I had not seen it. Once I discovered my cock, I was interested in bestowing its affections upon others, not having them bestowed upon me. And when I first discovered the delights of touching another, with Shane, I was enamored with the shared pleasures, and not a specific act.

“I recall watching a dog go at a bitch one afternoon, and it brought forth memories of things I had half seen in the stable and pantry amongst the servants. I knew the fundamental relationship between my manhood and a woman’s privates. And I wondered that day if such a thing occurred between men. And then I realized that this was the thing called sodomy and a number of other things became very clear to me. I became quite excited, yet I dared not mention it to Shane, as he would not discuss the very fact that we touched at all with me. And as I had heard this act of sodomy whispered about, I understood it was not a thing that many approved of. Shane was ahead of me, in years as well as in all things. Apparently he decided that it was a thing he was interested in trying.

“By then, he disapproved and reviled me publicly, far more than even my father did. And yet he sought me out. He told me it was my fault for leading him astray. He told me I wanted it as much as he did.

He would tell me over and over again I wanted it while he….”

I shied off the memory before it sank its fangs in me. But it was too late in some regards. I tried to rally my anger to hold the tears at bay, but it was to no avail. I was simply tired and sad. Gaston smoothed the seeping moisture away with gentle strokes. I still could not look at him.

I soldiered on, knowing the worst was yet to come. “I do not know which of us he was trying to convince, but in the end he did indeed convince me. I did want him. I wanted him to... take me. I saw it as proof that he loved me, proof that he was so enamored with me that he must have me even though it shamed him to do so. And that…. And that is what I can not forgive myself for. That is why he is not dead. That is why I thought I loved Alonso. That…” I could not say that. I could not say, And that is what I want from you.

I pressed closer and he held me until the tears subsided. However was I going to separate what I wished to share with Gaston from those memories, now that I had this knowledge? Did I still wish for Gaston to sodomize me? Or was that a thing now forbidden to me, because I desired it for the wrong reasons? Did I desire it separate from the reasons?

“I love you,” Gaston murmured. “And I wish I could prove it to you.”

“Non! Non Non Non…” My eyes were open, and I found his gazing back at me, slightly amused and challenging. He had lured me out.

“But it was wrong,” I sighed.

“Oui, what Shane did was very wrong. I am not sure about this Alonso. I think I shall hate him anyway, but…”

“Non, what I felt was wrong. That was not love.”

He shrugged. “It was desire, non? Though they are not the same, it was proof of desire. They wanted you even if it went against their reason. So you thought that love? You know better now.”