Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (104 page)

Perpetual Platonic friendliness did not seem to be the only avenue chosen by all, though. Ash was ever at Cudro’s heel, and I saw much promise of future matelotage in the way Cudro behaved around our beaked – and now somewhat less sallow – youth. For his part, Ash did not blanch or make denial if some goading or teasing comment was made concerning the two of them; occasionally, he flushed.

Since I could not talk, and there was much to do, I found no opportunity to approach our Dutchman or the others – even with paper and quill – and discuss the matters with them, as I was so very wont to do. Gaston found some amusement in this. Initially I found irritation in that, but as time passed, I discovered I was actually relieved at not being the one expected to speak. Not constantly spewing forth words forced me to consider how much really and truly needed to be said.

Though there were times when my need to mend was truly tested, as it had been with the matter of Otter going to Hell, and at those times I carefully committed words to paper and left Gaston to the dispensing of them.

I did not write him such a missive concerning Striker, though: I still did not know what needed to be said. Striker went about acting as if nothing untoward had occurred, except for those moments when he thought no one was looking and I found his gaze upon me filled with guilt and regret. For my part, my anger and ill-will did pass, but I still felt betrayed and confused as to the how and why of it. I spent many an hour watching the sails and wondering if the lie I blamed him for was told in all the kindnesses and loyalty he had shown Gaston and me since my arrival on Jamaica, or if the lie was the words he had spoken that afternoon in Porto Bello on the wall. He obviously regretted his words; but was it because they were truth, or was it that they were ill-considered? I could not fathom the workings of his soul, and was not sure if he could on this matter either. I did not know how I would ever know what he truly felt, except through witnessing his actions over the passage of time.

And thus, that matter was as unresolved as Alonso. In the end, I resolved that it was quite true that a man’s actions spoke far louder than his words. Striker loved us – both Gaston and me – and in time, Alonso would discover how very much I loved Gaston.

As for Gaston and me, we were well together: our cart seemed stronger for all the jostling we had given it, and I thought perhaps it had settled a bit and found the true places of all its parts. I ruminated on the nature of anger and love as much as any other topic, and came to much the same conclusion as I had concerning Striker and Alonso: the actions of our hearts had always spoken louder than any other voice, and yet we were still together; and thus we must always strive to speak the truth of our hearts, whether they be angry or not. As we had discovered, all things must exist in the light; we could not afford to turn our backs to it.

And so we arrived at the large island of the Caymans with great elation. During our journey there, many men hale when we boarded had become sick, and now our ships seemed rife with the pestilence we had sought to sail from. We were all relieved to be reach land again – land free of fetid air, swarming insects, and foul water. Though the island surely had its bog, it was not near the pristine white beach we frolicked upon once we landed, and we could smell none of it in the evening breeze.

With my jaw as it was, I was relieved – both personally and by duty - of having anything to do with the sharing out of the treasure.

Gaston and I went down the beach and built sand versions of the manor houses in which we had been born. I stomped all over mine once it was complete. We discussed slipping away and marooning ourselves on this fair isle. There was ample fresh water, and fish and other small game, including the cayman lizards it had been named for. We at last decided against it, but we knew without doubt we would not return to Port Royal with the others.

When the treasure was shared out, all the men who had survived Porto Bello were wealthy beyond their expectations. It was the most treasure many of them had ever seen. The fact that this was due in part to there being far fewer of us now than had first sailed was simply overlooked as a thing that there was no remedy for, a cost of battle and glory: Morgan made a speech to that effect. The men laughed and drank and ridiculed or pitied the French for not remaining with us. There was so much love of life and money in the air that I was sure they would have sailed to the Rome and requested Morgan’s beatification had they been Papists. As it was, I knew it would take much to shake him from their hearts, and I drank to solace my melancholy over that matter. I saw the ruin of all about me in it.

Finally, after days of debauch, we sailed for Jamaica. Gaston and I informed Striker of our wish to disembark at Negril Point. Our captain was distraught but accepting of it, and asked what he should tell those waiting for us at Port Royal. Gaston informed him that since Sarah was Striker’s wife, Striker could tell her what he would; that Theodore knew where to find us; that Rucker and Agnes were welcome to visit, with the dogs; and, that if she were truly with child, the Damn Wife should be told I saw little need to see her until after the babe was born – and if she were not laden, that she should be told I was wounded such that I could not perform my marital duties for a time. We knew that last might cause complications later; truly, all of it could lead to unforeseen problems, but we had resolved not to care for a few months. The future could wait.

At last we returned to our home upon Negril Point. The roof was in need of repair, but little else seemed amiss: the few chickens left about had obviously found it a safe and dry place to roost. With great relief, we deposited our bags and weapons inside and made our way to the rock overlooking the sea to watch the sunset.

As the golden light lit Gaston’s hair so that it appeared to be afire, I was minded of the first time I had sat upon this rock, nearly a year ago.

It was the day Gaston had told me he would leave me alone whilst he disappeared into the forest to contend with his madness.

Now, Gaston wrapped his arms about me, and nuzzled my neck before whispering, “I will not leave you, my love.”

With a happy smile, I settled into his arms and watched the sun sink into a golden sea. I wanted to be nowhere else in all Creation. I did not see portents in the shining waves, or hear a siren’s call from the gulls swirling in silhouette against the fire-hued clouds. Nay, instead I felt as if the glorious light was the beneficence of the Gods shining upon us. For though They were surely not done with us, for this moment we were at peace, and all was right with the world.