Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (47 page)

This was due to there seeming to be little betwixt his skin and skeleton.

Despite its crags, his bony face was amiable enough: he had a wide toothy grin that went from ear to ear. He appeared well-seasoned to either the tropics or the sea. His hide was tanned brown and weathered, and he kept his dark hair shorter than his well-trimmed beard. I had not heard if he learned to shoot in the navy or army, but there was a manner about him that made me suspect a stint in the military; yet he did not bow or scrape or treat any of us like officers.

He stood in contrast to another of our guests, Burroughs. He had obviously spent a number of years in the army, and he was having great difficulty freeing himself from those habits. He was a big, burly man: not fat, but wide across the shoulder, with arms nearly as big as my thighs.

He was balding early, so that he appeared older than he probably was; and he had a nasty scar across his right eye and cheekbone, though the eye beneath was miraculously intact. He had not proven to have much of a gift for muskets; but he had taken to the cutlass well, and was one of the few who had given us a bit of trouble in the game the day before.

Cudro thought he would be a fine boarder.

All the new men with us were enthralled by Liam’s and Striker’s tales in their own ways: some listened with quiet amusement, and others asked questions here and there.

When Striker finished telling of our gold-laden galleon sinking in the storm, Ash asked, “I understand how that gold is lost, but I do not understand how you are all so poor if you have been at this for so long. I was told there were riches to be plundered from the Spanish.”

This elicited laughter all around.

“You’ll not get rich at this,” Striker said.

“An’ who says we be poor?” Liam added.

“Aye,” Cudro rumbled, “some of us have land, six of us own that ship, and several of us have money hidden away.”

“You do not live like rich men,” Ash said.

I shook my head. “While it is probably true that none here possesses the money your father has, or mine – well, actually, one among us does, and I still might inherit – but we are well enough for men who hardly work and spend many of our days lazing about in paradise with no one to give us orders.”

All of our cabal cheered. As I looked about I realized another aspect of the matter.

“And,” I continued, “I cannot speak for all, but I do not believe any of us came to the Brethren to seek our fortunes. I came for adventure and romance, and to escape my father’s plans.”

“I was exiled,” Gaston added.

“Pete and I were shipped here as slaves,” Striker said.

“Otter and I got conscripted inta the roundhead army,” Liam said.

“I escaped slavery,” Julio said.

“So did I, but on a ship,” Davey said.

“I came here looking for work as a pilot,” the Bard said.

“I was exiled somewhat, and then conscripted,” Dickey said after some consideration.

This brought amusement to all who knew him, as Dickey was the only one among us who had been forced – though kindly – to join the Brethren and had not sought them as a means of escape.

At this, the new men began to speak.

“I’m escapin’ my old life,” Bones said with a lethargic mien. “An’ even if I must be poor here, it’s a helluva a lot better than where I was.”

“Amen,” Burroughs said with a grin.

“My father wanted me to join the clergy,” Nickel said quietly.

I looked to Ash. “You must decide if you seek adventure or gold. If you truly seek gold, go and study the law.”

Ash sighed heavily. “I just heard so many tales.”

“And what would you do if you became rich beyond imaging?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Not study the law, and lie around on beaches drinking.”

“I’mStartin’Ta Like’Im,” Pete said with a loud guffaw.

“I had another question,” Nickel said when the laughter ebbed.

“How is it that you all came to choose the matelots you did? I wish to understand the criteria for making such a decision.”

This was initially met with quiet amusement until Liam addressed it.

“We na’ be askin’ ya ta choose a matelot, we be askin’ ya ta pair up for fightin’. A matelot be different. Matelotage be a matter of great import amongst the Brethren. A matelot be a man’s partner. Matelots share everything they ’ave. If a man canna’ speak for ’isself, ’is matelot can speak for ’im. They need na be buggerin’ one another, but more often than na’ it comes ta that in the end. “

“It is akin to marriage,” I added, and Liam nodded agreement.

“Aye,” Striker said. “You may pair with a man for fighting and then decide to become matelots later if it is amenable to both of you, and that is often the way of it; but we are not asking you to choose a man to make that sort of commitment with.”

This led to a good deal of thoughtful nodding by our guests.

“Then I will rephrase my question,” Nickel said. “How is it you came to pair with the men you did who you later became matelots with?”

This led to more chuckling and laughter among our cabal.

“Well,” Striker sighed, “Davey and Julio were the only ones of us who started in that fashion. Davey was new to us and needed a man to board with. Julio had no matelot. They agreed to pair.” He shrugged.

“They became matelots within the week. The rest of us… Pete and I met in Newgate and we were chained together for the voyage here, sold as bondsmen together, and escaped together. After all of that, we just stayed together.”

“Aye, that often be the way o’ it,” Liam said. “Otter an’ me both came by accident ta join Cromwell’s forces. As we were both good with a musket, we ended up in the same unit on the march to take Saint Jago.

Most of the men died, but we were lucky and lived ta come ta Jamaica.

By then we ‘ad gotten ta know one another, an’ since men be dyin’ on Jamaica, Otter wanted ta go to try ’is luck with the Brethren, though we knew little o’ ’em. I decided ta go with ’im. We been together since.”

“What of you, L… Will?” Ash asked.

This brought even more amusement from our friends.

“There was little practical consideration and a great deal of assumption in our partnering,” I said. “We met on a street in Port Royal one day; by that night we were committing piracy together; by the next day we decided to sail on the North Wind; the morning after that, I entered into a discussion concerning matelotage during the articles, and someone,” I pointed at Cudro, “asked if I had a matelot, and thus grounds to have the position I did on that matter – and a chorus of fools on the quarterdeck,” I flung the empty bottle at Striker, who ducked with a laugh, “confirmed for all that, aye, indeed I did.”

“It’s not our fault you two were so bloody in love with each other you were blind to the circumstances,” Striker countered.

As Gaston was sitting behind me and I was leaning on him, I could not well see his face to gauge his response, but he hugged me reassuringly and kissed my ear.

“So ya did na know the other could even fight?” Burroughs asked.

“Nay,” I said quickly. “I knew he was a swordsman the moment we met, by his stance and the weapons he carried. I did not know how good of a swordsman, but when he said he had lived here ten years, I thought it likely he was competent.”

“So none of you chose your partners, or matelots, so much for reasons of fighting,” Nickel said.

“Nay, we did not,” I said. “You have that option now, though fate and chance have limited the men you might choose to the ones on this ship.”

“Sure as the Devil not be the French,” Burroughs said, and then glanced at Gaston and added, “I mean no offense. I just… fought the French in the war.”

Gaston shrugged, and I noted another old habit Burroughs would need be broken of.

“Choose a man with skills like your own,” Liam was saying. “Some men be boarders, and some men be musketeers, an’ even though we be raidin’ towns this spring, an’ it not matter quite the same, it be best if ya pair with a man as if it would, that way there be less ta sort out later if we do be rovin’. ’Cause it na be good iffn one man be a boarder an’ the other a musketeer who don’t board, ’cause then ya get ta worryin’ about the other and neither of ya be much good.”

There was an underlying assumption in Liam’s suggestion that they would care about the man they chose.

“Unless you already have a man you do care about,” Striker added quickly, “either a lover or a fine friend that you would rather be partnered with. If that’s the case, and you have differing skills, we’ll decide which team to assign the both of you to.”

And it was also in Striker’s words. We all knew the real strength of matelotage in battle was not that we were simply pairs of men strewn about a battle field, but that we were pairs of men who would die for one another and cared more for our partners than ourselves. I realized that this was not the thing we had imparted to these men as of yet, though.

In telling them they need only pair for fighting, and not for sex or love, we were denying them the real strength of matelotage. Yet, judging from the history of the rest of our cabal, I thought it likely they simply assumed that the love would follow. Perhaps, in their experience, it always did. I wished to be alone with my friends to ask of it but we still had seven interlopers to contend with.

And those seven were appearing greatly confused.

“First,” I said, “determine if there is a man among you who you care enough for that you wish to be at their side in any battle to insure no harm comes to them. If no such man exists here for you, then choose a man you get on well with who possesses skills like your own.”

“Aye, what Will said,” Striker said with a grin.

This seemed to help them: I received thoughtful nods and not confused stares.

They began to eye one another. It was likely we should be thankful love was not involved in this undertaking: if they were making decisions with their heads, and not their heart or pricks, there would not be any dueling or other battles.

The next fortnight passed in healing bodies, training, and frolicking.

Gaston and I assisted in teaching better fighting methods during the days, and discovered new ways to amuse one another during the nights.

The new men applied themselves diligently to pairing up, though not to everyone’s satisfaction, and sometimes the fledgling pairs changed daily, if not hourly. There were no duels; however, Liam and Cudro almost came to blows one afternoon over something. I felt compelled to go and discover what the matter was; but Gaston convinced me not to meddle, and that someone would come to me if they were injured in spirit.

One fine afternoon, Gaston and I swam out to a sand bar at the mouth of the bay with Pete and Striker, who I had been delighted to learn also knew how to swim. The hours were whiled away in idle chatter and horseplay. Striker was relieved to be free of his duties for a time. Pete was obsessed with wrestling a shark if he could catch one.

Thankfully, the few small specimens we saw were apparently scared of Pete’s gangly presence in their home, and could swim far faster than he could ever dream to.

Gaston had been as sane as I could remember for the past week. He had even taken to doffing his tunic when we were about our friends, and I was beginning to grow accustomed to seeing him cavorting with Pete while naked. I say accustomed, in that it no longer gave me immediate rise. All was very well with my world.

“I would spend my days like this if I could,” I remarked to Striker as we lay in the surf with small waves lapping across our chests. We were watching what we could see of Gaston and Pete chasing sharks.

“Would you? This, and nothing else?” He sounded curious and not at all sarcastic.

“There is more?” I teased. “What else would you have of life?”

He shook his head sadly; and though I regarded him curiously, he would not turn to face me.

“Things I cannot have here,” he said quietly.

I felt the fool, as I always do when I have been floating in a cloud of happiness with little thought for others. There was a pall of melancholy about him. It was subtle, as compared to my bouts of sorrow. As I thought on it, I realized Striker had been in the grips of it for days. I wondered what had brought it on.

“Children?” I asked gently, as it was the only thing I could think of that he could not have here that I had heard he might want.

“Aye,” he sighed. “And… sometimes I think I would want a home that does not float. But it is mere foolishness,” he added quickly. “I would become bored.”

“I imagine Pete would,” I said carefully.

He sighed again, and though Striker said nothing, I sensed Pete to be at the heart of the matter.

“Is there anything you would have that you can’t have with Gaston?”

Striker asked before I could pose a question.

“A consistency of sanity, perhaps.”

He chuckled. “Well, I can see that. He seems to be doing well.”

I accepted his change of the subject. “Aye.”

“You two have been quite… amorous of late.”

“Aye.” I grinned.

“In ways you have not been before,” he teased without looking at me.

“Aye…” I laughed. “As you know, Gaston does not favor men, but his cock has at last found great favor with me of late.”

“Well God bless it,” he crowed. “But could you do me a fine favor, and be more discreet? Pete has become a bit competitive of late.”

I grinned. “And you take issue with that?”

“Four times a day. I’m captain, Will. I have duties.”

His words were light, but he would still not meet my gaze.

We laughed, but I wondered a thing or two, and I did not know how to ask for the answers I sought.

The four of us returned to camp as the sun sank low. Cudro met us. I was surprised when he professed to want to speak to me and not Striker. Then he intimated he wished to speak to me alone. Gaston would have none of it, and so Cudro reluctantly strolled up the beach with the two of us.

“I have a matter I would seek your advice on,” Cudro finally said in French when the three of us were relatively alone. He glanced at Gaston and sighed.

“A matter?” I queried.