Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (72 page)

His fingers were on my lips. “The madness that accompanies it has always resulted in more harm being done to me, and more anger. With you here…”

I nodded and kissed his fingers before pulling them away. “I understand. Perhaps I can assist you in allowing the battle to draw the poison out without adding any more in its stead.”

“Oui,” he said thoughtfully.

“Then I will nurture your anger and madness in this endeavor.”

He shook his head and frowned with bemusement. “That does not sound as it should.”

“To me either.” I grinned. “Let us see how it plays out, though.”

Lights blazed on a ship off our starboard bow and dismissed any comment he might have made. We watched with surprise as the now-lit sloop dropped its boat and several canoes. Armed men clambered aboard the smaller craft and raced off into the night, with lanterns on poles at the bows. They were looking for something in the water.

As we were fairly near the lit sloop, I sent two men in a canoe to inquire of this activity. They returned a short time later with irksome news. The Spanish slave who did not speak English, the one I was possibly to assist in interrogating in the morning, had chosen to escape.

He had dropped over the side and swam. They had not realized he could swim, either. I thought it likely he could also understand a good deal of English after a year. And even more likely that if he could not speak English, he could definitely recognize the name of a Cuban town such as Puerto del Principe.

I did not call out an alert; but a number of the sleeping men woke at the activity of lowering the canoe, and soon the deck was awash in quiet discussion of the damn Spaniard’s chances of making it to shore. I thought it likely, with the number of cays and bars. All he had to do was swim from one to the next. Then the question would be whether or not he could find someone appropriate to warn, or worse yet, make Puerto del Principe before we did.

I woke Striker and relayed all to him as the predawn grey seeped above the horizon. The Bard had us in motion before the first true rays of the sun burst above the sea. We drifted closer to the shore on the small tropical tide. We saw to our weapons and cached our valuables, so as to avoid any confusion or claims of withholding plunder.

A longboat arrived from the Mayflower as we were lowering our own.

Morgan wished to land all as soon as possible, as we might have lost the element of surprise. Needless to say, we were not surprised. We made fast work of landing our men. Gaston and I were on the last boat across, and we bid farewell to the Bard and Dickey.

“Take care,” the Bard said. “I don’t envy you.”

“I do not envy you,” I replied. “You will be sitting here like ducks for the slaughter with barely enough men to man the guns.”

He snorted. “Have a little faith, Will. We’ll hide in the cays. The only thing we’ll have to fight is boredom.”

“Then I do envy you, as you will not have to combat sore feet and aching limbs.”

As the men of the Virgin Queen were some of the first ashore, Striker had dispatched a scouting party to the north: to locate the town the maps showed there and the road that led to Puerto del Principe. Both thankfully proved to be where they should.

Within two hours, all were ashore except for the skeleton crews, and I watched the ships weigh anchor and raise sail. Though there were nearly six hundred of us milling about, I felt somewhat abandoned at the sight of our ships’ departure.

Soon we proceeded to march north and inland, in somewhat orderly groups: bypassing the small village on the coast, and heading directly to the road that led through the hills to Puerto del Principe.

Striker had opted to place us in the lead, and Gaston and I soon joined Liam and Otter and two other men in scouting ahead. I spent the rest of the day just trying to keep up and stay quiet as we ran beside the road ahead of the vanguard. So, by evening, I was quite surprised when Gaston knocked me flat and held his hand over my mouth. When I had submitted enough that he was assured I would not make noise, he let me up; and I saw Liam motioning us ahead in the waning light. We stayed low and worked our way forward to discover what Otter had: a group of Spaniards felling trees across the road.

We snuck closer, and I listened and interpreted. They were preparing for us. This was the foremost party. Others were building ambuscades farther up the road. Some of the men in this group thought their efforts might be a waste of time, and that the army on the plain would surely stop us. Another man, the leader, argued that the mayor would not have time to gather that army if they did not delay us here.

Further discourse proved they did not think we would arrive today, or even on the morrow.

Apparently, our army would not be able to surprise Puerto del Principe with anything other than speed.

We sent one of the men back, while the rest of us crouched in the gathering twilight with muskets aimed on the Spaniards we could see. There were too many of them for us to take them all without the possibility of some escaping to warn of our rapid approach. Especially since they all had horses. A good steed would have made short work of the length of this road, and I imagined the village the escaped slave had reached must have sent a fast one to Puerto del Principe.

Morgan, Striker, Pete, Pierrot and a group of presumably fast and stealthy men arrived sooner than even I expected. We made quick work of capturing the tree-felling Spaniards, and thereby learned our exact location and that we still had a good ten miles to traverse. Thankfully, this information did not come at the cost of whipping anyone, as Gaston was at my side the entire time.

So were the others. As one we looked to the sky. The sun had set.

There would be a moon, but it was not full. The sky would be clear, though.

“I’ve already ordered the men to use this time to rest a bit,” Morgan said. “We should press on, though. Keep the vanguard alongside the road, with two large scouting parties to find the ambuscades. The main party can work their way up the road. Once we reach a mile or so from this plain they intend to meet us on, we will stop and rest until dawn. I will stay with the main party. Keep me informed.”

“I want the rest of my men in the vanguard, then,” Striker said.

“I’ll send our good scouts up to you,” Pierrot offered.

And so it was settled. Gaston and I saw little of the rest of the arrangements, as we were back to creeping through the woods again: this time by moonlight, with ten other men instead of four. Alone, I would have blundered into any ambuscade the Spanish cared to set, and I probably could have stumbled through their hastily-assembled redoubts without seeing them. Luckily, I was not alone. I was Gaston’s shadow and he was the shadow of death. At the first ambuscade, as we quietly dispatched the Spaniards dozing in wait for us, I literally stumbled on the body of a man he had killed as I tried to keep up with him. My blade only tasted blood if there were two Spaniards close together and Gaston felt like throwing me a bone.

Across the road, either one of our brethren was stupid or his opponent was especially wary and skilled. Shots were fired. After that, we did not find any Spaniards waiting for us. They had withdrawn. We had once again lost the element of surprise.

Finally, we came to edge of the hills and forest, and saw the lights of a town across a plain. It was several hours until dawn. We sent messengers back and settled in for a much-deserved rest. Even as aching and exhausted as I was, I could not sleep immediately. I wondered what the morrow would bring.

As usual in such situations, I only knew I had slept when I woke disoriented. I did not remember dreaming, and I did not feel rested.

The sun had broken the horizon. The gentle morning light revealed a great number of men in a distant, ragged line across the plain. There was drumbeating and the stamp of hundreds of bare feet behind me on the road. Gaston handed me an apple and a hunk of boucan, and I hurriedly ate without tasting any of it. He was checking his weapons, and with meat hanging from my mouth, I began to do the same.

He was focused on the task at hand, and as distant as he had been the previous morning. Once my weapons were ready, I touched his shoulder. He regarded me with a frown that slowly became curious as he noted my agitation.

“It appears we are actually going into battle like an army,” I said.

He shrugged, and dug into his belt pouch. “It is the way these things are done. Once we are past them and in the town, it will be much like it is on a ship.”

I studied the line of distant men. “I have witnessed armies in battle, when the drums and bugles and orderly lines give way to chaos. I have stood on a safe castle wall and watched from above, and heard my companions shout with glee as the side it was in our best interests to cheer performed this or that tactic. And I would look at all the men running about in the smoke and not understand what in the name of God they were talking about or how they could tell. Until finally I saw one color or the other surge forward enough and leave a great number of bodies in their wake. I suppose in a way, it is much like taking a ship, yet… I perceive combat as I have always engaged in it as an orderly thing governed by skill and confidence. The victor is oft decided before the matter is even joined. But on a field of battle, with so many running amuck, one can handily defeat all one sees and still be felled by a ball meant for another.”

I turned back to him. He was watching me with a frown I could not read. When I paused, he began to dab black paint about my eyes. I smiled and held still.

“It will be like the ship, Will, you will see,” he said doggedly.

His eyes were kind.

My gaze clung to them but I shook my head. “I have known good men to die for no good reason, men as proficient at arms as I. And people called them brave… and I secretly thought them fools. And always it is for some damn political ploy. And here we are. And I recall Striker’s words about the gold making the death and risk worthwhile.

Morgan marching us into battle on some damn agenda of Modyford’s just curdles my gut. This town had best be rich.”

Gaston took a deep breath. He was not amused. I had almost forgotten how damn shadowed his eyes became when he painted them.

“Must I strike you?” he asked.

It took me a moment to fathom his meaning; and then I smiled and shook my head.

“Non, I will rise to the occasion. What would you have of me?” I asked.

“You will stay behind me,” he said with more patience. “This first part will be like the bull. You will fire while I am loading.”

“The bull was not firing at us while charging,” I noted.

He smirked. “Do you feel any of them can hit anything?”

“Some most assuredly can,” I said. “They have to have men with military experience. Or hunters. And there are always the vagaries of fortune.”

“Some,” Gaston scoffed. “And oui, luck is always a factor.”

I did not attempt to defend myself when he got a strong grip on my jaw and pulled my face to his.

“I have survived dozens of these battles without you,” he said fiercely. “You will live through this one with me.”

Then he kissed me deeply and I was flooded with shame.

“I am…” I started to say but he stopped my words with his fingers.

“When the battle is closer, you will insure that no one gets behind me,” he said intently. “And I will insure that no one gets close to us from the front. We will move with the others. It is just as a ship.”

I pulled his fingers away. “I am a fool.”

He grinned slowly. “Not for that.”

I smiled as I remembered the first time we had made that exchange.

It seemed an eternity ago.

“Do not die,” I whispered.

“We will not die. We did well on the galleon, non?”

I nodded. “I will not fail you today.”

“You had best not,” he said seriously, “or we will be arguing about it for a very long time in Hell.”

He turned away and led us to join our companions.

Our brethren had begun to spill onto the plain in a widening crescent. We joined Striker and our men as they passed. The Virgin Queen’s crew was to be the left flank of the buccaneer formation. Cudro asked for order, and we obediently formed into volley lines, one matelot ahead and the other behind. I stood behind Gaston; and the calm I often felt before a duel descended over me.

I was a fool to be concerned. The men around me could fire faster than the Spaniards could approach. If the Gods wished me dead, They had been given ample opportunity many times before this.

I looked about and listened, and realized that every man here had done this before. Liam and Otter were beside us; two men I could not name but knew were to our left; Julio and Davey stood beyond them.

Cudro anchored our far end.

Striker and, to my relief and amusement, Pete, walked the line.

Striker made eye contact with every man and clasped hands with many.

I knew he would lead us from the front. Pete looked like a lord taking a stroll of his grounds. I was pleased to see Gaston was correct: though Pete would not allow them to be called matelots, I thought none would harm Striker while he lived.

I stepped forward far enough to lean out and look across the front of our army. Morgan was walking amongst the Mayflower’s men with Bradley. Both were as heavily armed as any here. So he would actually fight amongst us. My respect for Morgan raised a notch, so that perhaps I gave him the accord I would give a cur.

While I was beside him, I regarded my matelot. He was studying me.

I smiled jauntily and kissed him. He was smirking when I withdrew.

“You are well now?” he asked.

“Oui. I am fine now.”

The bugle signaled an advance and we started walking forward. I was amused: no drilling or training was required to keep us in order.

Every man among us was experienced and knew his weapon’s length, his matelot’s height, and the amount of space he needed about him to reload.

Over Gaston’s shoulder, I could see the Spaniards advancing toward us. Soon it was possible to discern what a rabble they were. I could not think of the buccaneers as an army, at least not in comparison to the ones I had seen in Christendom. Yet there was uniformity amongst us, in weapons, bearing, and even our attire. The Spanish we faced were a hastily-assembled militia. Though we were not close enough to see their weapons clearly, I imagined many carried dubious matchlocks handed down from their fathers. I also noted the Spaniards merely matched us in number; they did not exceed us in any way.