Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (49 page)

“What?” I asked with surprise.

“Nay,” he said with more conviction. “I feel it is more that he hates women so that he will not lie with one, and so he has only been with men. It was what he learned as a boy from other boys. And I feel that is what rankles me the most, that he wants me to be womanly after a fashion. He takes great pride in caring for me, and in how I care for him.

It is… I don’t know if I can explain it. You know he rarely receives me.”

I nodded. “I have noticed, and you have made light of it.”

“Aye, I jest about it, but truly I do not find it a jesting matter. He is ever quick to let me know how much his yielding to me is a gesture of his love. I feel it is a thing he has done with no other. He just…”

He was deep in thought and did not continue, and so I let him lie there and think while I dallied with my own thoughts.

I had met a woman once, a widowed baroness, who had been so abused by men she refused to lie with them. She turned to women instead, though she did not naturally find favor with them. She professed the needs of her body were such that she desired some form of human solace and pleasure, and since she could find no comfort with any man, she chose women. And I had known courtesans over the years who, though they did not eschew men entirely, did not take them as lovers, but only as clients, preferring loving relationships with other women to provide them with companionship and delight, even though they did not prefer their own sex in the matter of sex.

So what Striker implied was conceivable to me: that Pete had simply turned from women out of pain and hatred. He chose men, and not feminine men, as that would probably remind him of women; yet, deep inside, he might long for a woman, or someone who behaved as one.

And Striker did care for him. Striker was always the one seeing that their needs were met: that they were fed, clothed, housed, and had money. Striker seemed to take to the role quite well, he made a good wife after a fashion, or perhaps a good mother in a certain sense. Their partnership worked well, in all but this matter of Striker’s Horse being none too keen about being perceived as a thing it was not.

I returned my attention to Striker and found him still staring at the heavens.

“Would he yield regarding the matter of a woman if the alternative was not to have you?” I asked.

“He would rather kill me,” Striker said dully.

“Truly?”

“Aye, I believe he would kill us both before losing me to a woman.”

He sat up and shrugged. “As it stands, he feels I am falling prey to the other captains; but I do not yearn to become a planter, or acceptable, or a gentleman, I just want a woman now and again, and children. Damn me, but I do want children.”

“Has Pete ever expressed any interest in progeny?” I asked. “Gaston took me by surprise with his desire for them. I have never wished for any, but I know I am uncommon among men in that regard.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We cannot discuss it. Or rather, he will not discuss it.”

“Not to give myself airs, but do you feel he might be willing to discuss it with another?”

Striker gestured toward the camp. “Please, I wish you success in the endeavor.” Then he sobered. “Actually, he might speak with you.”

“If the opportunity presents itself, I will do what I can, without divulging the specifics of what you have relayed, of course.”

“As devious as you are, I believe that,” he said with a smile.

I was taken aback. “Devious?”

“Clever?” he offered.

“I will take clever over devious, but truly I like neither.”

“I meant no insult, Will.”

“I realize that, I am just troubled to be viewed so.” Though I supposed it was true and I was often viewed so.

“How would you name it?” he asked.

“Diplomatic, perhaps?” I tried.

He awarded me a lopsided grin.

I sighed. “Devious.”

He threw his arm about my shoulder and pulled me close to kiss my cheek. “I love you, Will, like a brother. Thank you. If ever I might repay the favor.”

I embraced him in return. “We are well now, but I am sure I will need to avail myself of your offer at some future date.”

Most of our cabal was sleeping by the time we returned, except for Gaston and Pete, of course; they sat a little beyond the others, talking.

Their eyes were expectant as we approached.

Striker leaned over and kissed Pete deeply. In return, Pete made no move to grab him. When their lips parted, their eyes met, and in the flickering firelight I could see the bond between them. It was a thing to be reckoned with, and I felt that Striker misunderstood Pete’s devotion. I thought it likely that Pete would indeed do anything Striker asked, as long as Striker asked for it in a way Pete would hear. But then I am a romantic, and Striker’s revelations as to the flaws of their relationship had been disheartening, and I very much wanted to see some reassurance that all was not as bleak as he said.

Gaston and I moved away to the bowl of sand we had taken as our own. My matelot did not reach for me, either; instead we curled up nose to nose by mutual accord.

“Pete fears he is losing Striker to the forces of civilization,” Gaston said.“If he is not careful, he will lose Striker to the forces of Striker’s Horse.” I quickly relayed the gist of Striker’s complaints and needs.

“They do not talk,” Gaston said thoughtfully when I finished. “None of them talk: not as we do. That is why they make jest of us for doing so.”I nodded. “Oui, it is a thing unfamiliar to them.”

“As we have discussed before, it is a thing of centaurs,” he said.

“Oui,” I sighed. “Do you feel Pete would yield on the matter, or do you feel he might actually harm Striker and himself? Is his Horse so very…”

“Will, Pete is his Horse, there is no man,” Gaston said with conviction.

“I suppose that is true.” I chuckled.

“We discussed the sharing of our matelots with women,” he continued somberly. “It is different for each of us, though. You do not favor women, whereas Striker does. And Pete is aware of that. And he fears it, because it is a thing of such a fundamental nature that he knows neither he nor Striker can combat it. It is as if he views his eventual demise in Striker’s life as inevitable because of it: he feels he fights a losing battle, yet, he knows of no other way to exist. He has battled much in his life, Will, as I have.”

I kissed Gaston’s nose. “I am not pleased as to the nature of this kinship, but I am pleased you have found one with Pete.”

He nodded seriously. “I am surprised and pleased also. I feel as if I have made a new friend; though he was friend before, it was not to the degree I feel he is now.”

“I feel the same concerning Striker now. He offered to allow me to unburden my soul upon him…”

Gaston nodded. “Please do not discuss events concerning my sister.

All else…” He shrugged.

“Agreed,” I said and kissed his nose. “And I likewise agree to your discussing anything you might need to with Pete.”

“I have already told him of all that occurred with the Brisket, and my desire for children, and that they have a proper dam: one we would want issue from. He understands all of that; yet, he does not feel he could do the same. He cannot conceive of sharing Striker with a woman, because he does not trust that Striker will choose to remain with him under those circumstances. He feels it must be one way or the other.”

“So, it is not so much that he hates women?” I asked hopefully.

“Non, it is. He feels the woman will do much to divide them, and Striker will fall prey to his desires and her wiles.”

I cast about for a path through that thicket. “What if Striker was to marry some mousey thing, like Agnes? Someone who could not be considered an opponent in the least? How do you feel he would react?”

“I feel a situation of that nature could be suitable for both parties,”

Gaston said after some thought. “But would Striker find favor in a woman such as Agnes? And she is no woman, merely a girl, and she does not favor men.”

“I did not mean her in specific. But, non, I do not see Striker finding favor in one such as her. What of you? Would your Horse consider one such as Agnes a formidable opponent?”

“Non.” He frowned and considered me carefully. “Could you find favor with her?”

“Someone like her; or her specifically?” I asked.

“Agnes,” he said.

I shrugged. “Perhaps, but I would have her age a little first. Why?”

“She is intelligent and talented,” he said.

“I suppose so, yet…” I sighed. I remembered my interest at envisioning her with charcoal smudges all about, but that had been laudanum–induced fancy. Now I could not evince any interest on the part of my manhood by envisioning her with a womanly figure.

“We will see what the future holds,” I said. “And in the matter of assuaging my father, she would not do at all.”

“Oui. It was merely a thought,” he said.

I thought it interesting that it was a thought he had entertained, but I was distracted from pursuing it. Trying to envision an adult Agnes had led to my envisioning things I could have and not merely fantasize about. I reached for him. I do not know what he had been thinking of, but his response was swift.

As my capacity for rational thought melted beneath his kiss like wax before a flame, I hoped the Gods took pity on the new men, and mitigated the curse we had laid upon them by instructing them to pair.

We remained on Cow Island throughout January and the beginning of February of 1668, by either calendar. The French decided to sail directly to Morgan’s February rendezvous in the cays south of Cuba.

Striker wished to return to Port Royal briefly to determine who else had sailed, and perhaps offload some of our men to another ship in the name of giving all of us a little breathing room. The matter was put to a vote, and though many men did not wish to set foot on Jamaican soil due to debts, the motion was passed. All were assured they did not need to leave the vessel, and we would eat of the provisions aboard her, and thus not have to spend money in port.

Striker did not speak of frustration and women again as he had that night, but I felt he no longer needed to do so as much now that he had drained some of the poison gnawing at his heart. Gaston and I strove to be a bit more discreet; and, either Pete and Striker spoke some of the matter, or Pete had the good sense to back off, as they soon seemed at ease with one another again.

On other fronts, Cudro did not take a matelot. Dickey recovered from his guilt. The French stopped glaring at Gaston. The ships were careened. All three vessels were loaded with salted beef and boucan.

Our new men became proficient at both buccaneer battle tactics and the skills necessary to exercise them. And everyone seemed loathe to leave the place.

As for my matelot and I, we could scarcely remember arriving there, chained together, over a month ago. Gaston’s madness of that time now seemed a distant thing, as did my fears of never having anyone as I had him.

Thus we sailed.

I was appalled anew at the size of the cabin, and the vessel for that matter. Spread along a beach, our number had not seemed so great. As we got underway, Gaston and I joined our cabal on the quarterdeck, and found that space crowded more than it had been: but not merely within my perception, but because our cabal had acquired four members over the course of our stay on Cow Island.

Ash, Nickel, Bones, and Burroughs were ever about these days, and though we had not truly accepted them into our cabal per se, we accepted their presence and did not seek to exclude them. And though they were four in number, they were not specifically two couples. Ash and Nickel were childhood friends, and Burroughs and Bones had much in common in history and age, but Ash and Burroughs would be considered boarders, and Bones and Nickel were musketeers. Things were further complicated by the fact that Ash and Burroughs shared a similar demeanor, as did Nickel and Bones, such that if they did pair, the former couple would be ever taking on the world with little to temper them, and the latter would seemingly retire from it. As of yet, no one had seen need to press the matter to see where they would end up, and they seemed reluctant to make any decisions of their own.

Gaston and I settled in, with our backs to the starboard rail, and watched the sails fill and Cow Island slide away behind us. The Virgin Queen raced with the evening wind into the setting sun, our bow aimed at the blazing orb as it sank from the orange sky. It looked as if we were sailing to the edge of the world, as sailors had once believed. My gaze traversed the ceiling of the heavens toward the azure sky of the east, and then down again to the slowly shrinking smudge of green in our wake. I was suddenly gripped by claws of anxiety, and I wondered if we could still swim back to the island.

“What?” Gaston asked.

“We should have stayed,” I whispered.

He was not the only one who sensed my duress.

“Did ya ferget somethin’?” Liam asked from beside us.

“Nay, nay, I am just reluctant to return to Port Royal,” I said.

“Me, too,” Bones said.

“As am I,” Ash said.

“You now enjoy the buccaneer life so much?” I teased. “Or are you poor?”

“Poor,” Ash said quickly.

“Debts,” Bones said the single word with deliberation.

“With taverns?” Striker asked.

Bones nodded slowly.

“Stay on the ship,” Striker said with a grin. “They’ll sell a man to the plantations, you know.”

“I heard o’ that,” Bones said.

“Well, I for one am quite in anticipation of gaining news in Port Royal,” Dickey said. “We shall learn if the stores for the haberdashery arrived.” He paused and grinned. “And Belfry’s bride.”

“You will lose your bet,” his matelot said.

This brought amusement to all who knew Belfry, but I was not party to it. My heart had skipped a beat at Dickey’s last word. As Gaston held me a little tighter, I knew he too remembered what I did. Belfry’s bride might not be the only one arriving from England. How could I have forgotten that?