Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (79 page)

We returned to the church, and Gaston made his way around to every patient. We did not bother to have someone watch over us with muskets ready this time: if any had dared assault us, a dozen of their own would have struck the assailant down. They were all restless, scared, and hungry still. We could do nothing for those ills. Once the wounds were bandaged anew and medicines dispensed, we withdrew, grateful to escape now that our duty was done.

It was then late afternoon, and we followed Striker and Pete to a house the Virgin Queen’s crew had claimed. We found our cabal there, save Liam and Otter, who had been sent into the woods again: this time as scouts and not as hunters. Striker settled in at the head of the table, and began answering questions and doing much to add to the general morale, by listening to good-hearted complaints and concerns from his men.

Gaston and I took a hunk of meat and a tankard of ale, and found a place to sit and eat next to Cudro. We listened and relaxed. As the night wore down, Gaston commented that we should boil water for the march on the morrow. We took a lamp and retired to the yard and cook house.

The cistern was nearly empty, as someone had obviously dug about in it for valuables. We wandered further until we spied a well. The ground was quite muddy about it, but at least it had filled itself with water again. We hauled up a couple buckets and went in search of a pot.

A good hour had passed before we had all of the necessary components in one location with the wood burning so that the water might actually boil. We sat outside the cookhouse, and I played with Gaston’s shaggy hair, which was intent as it usually was on going every which way. He handed me a knife, and I trimmed it to stubble.

“I rather liked playing with it,” I teased as I rubbed my hand over the result.

“I rather like you playing with it.” He ran his fingers through my unruly spikes.

I handed him the knife, and he trimmed mine.

I listened to the buzz of insects and the pop of the fire. I felt at ease, and then I felt should not. I tried to summon my concerns of the night before; but they would not come, though they had dogged my thoughts off and on throughout the day.

At my eventual sigh, Gaston asked, “How are we?”

“Troubled,” I sighed again, “more so in that I cannot name precisely why. Not that there is not enough to be troubled about.”

He sheathed the knife and wrapped his arms about me. I leaned into him, and felt safe despite everything.

“If you felt that all here was as it should be, I would worry,” he murmured.

“You are as you should be,” I said.

He kissed me, his hands reaching and caressing. I endeavored to forget for a time that anything else existed, and succeeded so well we nearly let the water boil away.

In the aftermath, we napped as the water cooled, until we could fill our flasks and skins and drink until our bellies sloshed. Sated and comforted, we curled together in the yard and slept deeply once again.

We woke to a bugle call. I recognized the sound and was only momentarily confused by it. The light appeared to have just turned gold with the breaking sun. Gaston’s lips were upon mine before I could consider much else. He was hard against my belly as he covered me.

“I must relieve myself, and I believe we are to muster,” I gasped with amusement when he let me breathe.

“I am well mustered,” he grinned.

He had me up against the cookhouse wall. As my member finished throbbing in Gaston’s hand, I glanced over and found Pete and Striker watching us with amused expressions.

“I’ll be pleased to get you two back on a ship where you’ll be easier to find,” Striker said.

“We were mustering,” I protested, as I pulled my breeches up.

Gaston snickered.

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” Striker said with a thoughtful nod.

“Why were you seeking us?” I asked.

Striker sobered. “I would have a favor of you.”

“If it is mine to grant.” I eyed him curiously as I strapped on my belt and baldric.

“Discover, if you can, Pierrot’s heart on the matter of leaving us once the booty is divided.”

I sighed, and Gaston shook his head, not in negation of Striker’s request, but to the futility of it.

“His men were not all in favor of this venture and the treasure is less than expected,” I said.

“I know,” Striker shrugged. “Yet, is there a thing that would make him stay?”

“Larger shares,” Gaston said.

Pete snorted appreciatively.

“Striker, do you wish to know this, or does Morgan?”

He frowned. “I want them to stay. Our chances of doing better are poor without them. Morgan thinks we can do without and Bradley would have us hit smaller targets. I want a great deal of gold in one juicy pluck, and then I wish to be done with it for the year. I don’t see that happening without the French.”

“I see your point. We will spend time with him on the march back.” I looked to Gaston and he nodded.

I then told Striker, “I would appreciate your assistance on a matter when the booty is divided. I want that Negro slave.”

Striker grinned. “I guessed as much. He did not seem a proper one for a plantation.”

“He is lettered in Spanish and Latin.”

“And might have some use once you teach him English,” Striker teased, as we walked around the house to the street.

“Well, it did well for you, did it not?” I riposted.

“Bastard.”

The square was filled with buccaneers, including the wounded.

Morgan stood upon the cistern lip, and all fell silent to listen to him.

“As many of you know, we are ransoming the town,” he said. “I have told the Spanish I will burn it if they do not produce more silver.”

This brought applause.

“Four of their worthies were sent to procure this money, and are due back today or they will forfeit their families. However, while we have waited, we have learned the Spanish are marching on us from Saint Jago.”

This sent a ripple of concern through the crowd, and I realized how few of us knew what was afoot.

“As I see it,” he continued, “we have two options. One, some few of our number can move the booty we have now to the ships whilst the rest of us remain here to insure the Spanish give us our due. Or two, we abandon this place and retreat to the shore with hostages and attempt to ransom them there.”

This was greeted by anger and derision.

“I would give you all half an hour to think on it and discuss it amongst yourselves, and then we will vote,” Morgan finished.

A great deal of discussion ensued, producing such a cacophony that my vehement curses were drowned in its roar.

“He has culled the truth quite nicely,” I said to Gaston. “He has couched the entirety of it so as to arouse their greed and pique their pride. I cannot fathom what he thinks to gain by holding the town.”

Gaston shrugged. “He is a leader. Like you,” he grinned, “he can convince men to do many things.”

I was hurt by his jest. Seeing it, he embraced me in apology.

“Sheep need leaders, Will. So do dogs.”

“I hate that they are sheep or dogs,” I muttered.

Soon, Morgan stood on the cistern again and we voted. I was not surprised when three quarters of our number were in favor of holding the town.

Though I thought there little danger in remaining another day or two, I still wished for us to go with the booty to the ships. I was tired of this place. I soon realized we would not be allowed to go with the party that took the treasure and slaves. I was needed to translate.

So, an hour later, we watched a hundred and fifty men leave with several booty-laden carts, a line of slaves lashed together, and our wounded. Unfortunately for Striker’s favor, Pierrot headed up this party.

After they departed, the rest of us milled about, uncertain of what to do next. Thankfully, Gaston and I had the distraction of the wounded in the church.

The prisoners were agitated, and we spent much of our time allaying their fears of the church being burnt around them – even though I could not aver this was not their fate in my heart. Still, I thought Morgan would not be such a fool as to kill so many without reason. It would raise ire even amongst the English.

Sometime later, Davey and Julio came to summon us. Apparently the ransom delegation had returned. I was as curious as anyone as to what would occur.

Magistrate Escoban and the others protested at length of how they had ridden to the surrounding towns begging for succor, and none could or would provide them with the ransom. They swore they must go farther afield and that would require more time.

Morgan slapped Escoban with the letters.

The man read the one addressed to him with horror. “I swear, sir, I know nothing of this,” he stammered when he finished.

He let the other Spaniards read them. They blanched as white as he.

I could not tell if it was from genuine surprise that the mayor of Saint Jago was sending an army, or consternation that we had discovered it.

“It matters not,” Morgan said pleasantly. “We have taken what we have, and to insure our departure, we will take the four of you, along with a few others. And we will burn the town in our wake unless...”

I translated, and they regarded him with breath locked in their lungs, we all did.

“Unless, sir?” Escoban prompted and looked to me as if perhaps Morgan would not understand that little Castilian.

“Unless you provide us with five hundred head of cattle at the shore, and the salt and barrels necessary to ship the beef,” Morgan said.

My initial thought was imprudent, and Gaston kicked me lightly to stay my lips, as if he had heard me think it.

There was a great deal of muttering among the buccaneers close enough to hear, and all eyes were on me as I translated. The Spanish blinked and frowned. Morgan gloated as if he had performed some coup.

“You want us to drive cattle to the shore, today, with salt and kegs?”

Escoban asked.

Morgan looked to me, and I translated, as I did not wish to simply answer the question for him.

“Aye, that is precisely what I wish,” Morgan said. “You will meet us at the shore tomorrow morning. Actually, you will already be there as a hostage, your men and the cattle will meet us.”

Escoban and the others scoffed when I finished.

“We can not move that many so quickly,” Escoban said.

“I would suggest you start now, then,” Morgan said.

“We will need the men in the church,” Escoban sputtered.

Morgan nodded, and they were off. Thankfully, I did not have to follow, as I did not need to translate for anyone in the church, and I decided not to interpret any of the shouted imprecations and discussion I heard from within it.

Soon men slipped cautiously from the church and ran off in several directions. Morgan gave word that no women or children were to leave, and he had the delegates and several other wealthy-looking men pulled aside. Soon another party departed for the shore; this one included the hostages, Morgan, Gaston, and me. I was pleased it included most of our friends as well, at least those who had not accompanied the booty.

Just as we had traveled on this road before, we did not stop when the sun set. We lit torches and kept our pace. We knew the road now, and we were following another party – who were in turn following scouts: we would have been able to make far faster work of the journey than we had on the way in, if not for the hostages. They were not well-suited for jogging down roads by torchlight. I thought it likely they were all a bit thinner by the time we reached the shore in the morning. I was thankful none of them had collapsed.

We found Pierrot’s party at the shore. They had arrived not long before, as they had experienced an even slower go of it with the carts and wounded.

Gaston and I considered searching for Pierrot, but it was likely he was sleeping amongst his own men; and we were exhausted. We found a place to rest on the periphery and took turns napping.

I was quite relieved to see the ships sailing in soon after. I was even more pleased when at last they were close enough for us to exchange waves with the Bard and Dickey.

We had most of the cargo loaded when the cattle began to arrive in the afternoon. I was called to translate, as the men bringing the herd asked for the hostages. Morgan refused, and said they would only receive their men when the meat was salted in barrels and aboard the ships. He did, however, send men to tell the buccaneers in Puerto del Principe to leave the town unmolested. The Spanish were greatly relieved.

Thus the slaughter began, with the Spanish working shoulder to shoulder with the buccaneers to speed the process. I truly felt I had seen enough dead beasts to last a lifetime on Cow Island, but as my matelot was quite skilled at butchering them, I was blood-spattered and knee-deep in offal for most of the day.

Sometime toward evening, the work was disrupted by an altercation, and many about us were happy for the distraction. The cattle were abandoned as men, English and Spanish alike, hurried off to see what all the ado was. Gaston and I were curious; but initially we did not wish to add to the chaos of armed and warring men running amuck, listening for hearsay or trying to force their way closer to the source of the matter. We thought that if we were needed, someone would come and find us; and sure enough, someone did. Young Nickel was the one they sent.

“What is amiss?” I asked the panting youth.

“Burroughs is in a duel,” he gasped. “Striker says to come and help with the French.”

“A duel?” I asked.

“Aye,” Nickel said sadly. “He took the marrow bones of a steer other men slaughtered. There was a fight. One of the men, a Frenchman, challenged him to a duel.”

“Over marrow bones?” I asked with amusement, as I wiped what I could off my hands and picked up my weapons. “What else did our hot-blooded friend do?”

“Taking another’s marrow bones is a serious matter,” Gaston said with sincere gravity as he abandoned the side of beef he was working on. “That may be, but worth dueling for?” I asked.

Gaston shrugged. “He dislikes the French; it is likely he said a thing he should not.”