Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (79 page)

I shrugged. “I feel perhaps that people ride as they… ride. Or, at the least, it may be an indication of it.”

“Ah,” Gaston said with a somber nod. “So you truly feel he rides his Horse such that it never wishes to go anywhere without him?”

“Well… That would obviously make it a very docile animal, or him a very powerful man.” I shook my head. “There is nothing docile about Alonso. Theodore’s Horse is docile. Alonso’s is…”

“A dangerous weapon.” Gaston was frowning at the door. “Especially in the hands of a man who believes he cannot sin.”

I had never viewed Alonso in that manner before. “The only thing I have ever heard him express remorse about is me.”

Gaston shook his head tiredly. “We will surely have to kill him.” He flopped back upon the mattress to gaze at the ceiling again.

I wondered what Alonso’s Horse would do if it got the bit in its teeth, or threw him. The idea chilled me, because I realized I often did see his Horse, the power of it. Alonso’s iron grip on the reins had allowed him the patience to carefully seduce me time and again, but then having to finally let his Horse act, he had not cared if I bled when at last he took me – and I had always seen that in his eyes at that moment. I had always thought it lust; and it was, of course, but now that I understood Horses, I understood a great deal more.

“Oui,” I whispered. “He is a danger to me, not you. His Horse wants me.”“You did not know that?” Gaston asked with surprise.

I frowned down at him. “Non. Did you?”

He gazed up at me with incredulity.

I sighed. “I was concerned about the Man. I know what he is capable of. I thought I was a desire of his… misguided heart. I thought I was something he rationalized that he wanted out of guilt or nostalgia for our past. I did not realize his Horse was involved.”

“I see it watching you,” he said softly. “You never see how others desire you.”

I knew he meant Christine. I sighed. “I never understand it.”

“You are a wild and free thing that we all wish to ride,” he said, and sat to face me. He kissed me lightly.

“Or capture and tame,” I said bitterly.

He pulled away to regard me with concern.

“Not you,” I said quickly. “Christine and Alonso.”

He nodded. “But you are mine,” his Horse whispered before his mouth claimed mine.

We proved he was very correct, as he gently pushed me down and rode me to his content.

Though the activity made my shoulder ache, and I did not find my pleasure in it, my Horse was as content with the endeavor as his was. It, we, I, was wanted. The knowledge had always been there; I had simply not viewed it in that light before. I could be wanted even when I was not needed. And even though I could be wanted by those I did not wish to have want me, I knew I need not bow to any save my matelot: not kings, or admirals, or fathers, or even Gods.

Seventy-Seven

Striker returned near midnight. He was drunk: all who had gone to the Oxford had apparently been plied with spirits in the hopes they would succumb to the siren song of alcohol-induced good fellowship.

But whereas Striker had been seduced and beaten by the fruit of the vine – such that Pete had to carry him to their hammock – Cudro was thankfully conscious and coherent, and merely appeared tired from the battle. The Bard, Dickey, Gaston, and I followed him and Ash into the cabin to join Pete and Striker.

The big Dutchman sat heavily on his hammock and smiled indulgently at Ash, who crawled in behind him and curled up to fall immediately asleep. Then Cudro glanced at each present in turn, until he seemed satisfied at our number and composition.

“Morgan wants the ship, all right; but it’s the Oxford he wants, not the Cour Volant. There is much uneasiness between him and the Navy man, Captain Collier. I feel – and this is not confirmed by the man– but I feel that Morgan would have used what enticements he could to get the Cour Volant to sail with us, and he would not have taken her outright had it been his decision. And it is evident he rankles that it was not his decision, just as Collier bridles that Morgan should be Admiral.

Meanwhile, Collier’s officers are greatly curious about how much booty they can reap from the Spanish.”

The little room was filled with a collective groan.

“We’re sailin’ nowhere!” Striker yelled.

I was surprised he was still awake and not lost to the living until noon.

“With starvin’ men!” he continued. “’Til they quit snappin’ at each other’s arses!”

Cudro nodded sadly. “The Oxford has provisions from Port Royal.

Some of the other captains are angry that she should be provisioned and they should not. They’ve been sailing in defense of the colony for longer. And some think we’ll sail now and find victuals fast enough for it not to matter. And some…” He sighed and shook his massive head.

“Hell, no one is ashore hunting cattle. Those who would put men to the task do not wish to be the first, because their men will likely desert for other ships where no one is working, lest they be tasked with providing for all. And Morgan will not organize the matter, or give another leave to do it.”

“We should leave,” the Bard said. “There are better ways to make a living than taking this shite.”

“We have ninety men aboard, and they want to rove,” Cudro said.

“Otherwise, I would agree with you.”

“And it’s our right!” Striker growled from his hammock, and flopped over so he could look down at us. “If Morgan can’t lead, then someone should take his place!”

“ShutUp!” Pete snapped and grabbed his matelot’s jaw.

“Ya Be Drunk!” He looked down at Cudro. “’E Be Talkin’Like This There?”

“Nay,” Cudro said with an amused shake of his head. “He was very diplomatic until he realized there was no reason to be had, and then he started drinking to drown his anger. I brought us home before he started talking.”

“I’m not stupid,” Striker snarled. And then in the mercurial manner of the drunk, he flopped onto his back to whine, “I know we can’t win.

They’ll destroy us all. And if it isn’t them, it’ll be Sarah’s damned father.”

There were sighs and uncomfortable glances all around, and Pete clambered into their hammock to smother his matelot against his chest and murmur things we could not hear.

Cudro looked to the Bard and then me. “Morgan is calling for a great party on the Oxford in honor of the New Year tomorrow. He wants all the captains to attend. He says they’ll decide then where we rove.”

The Bard frowned. “You going? Or just Striker?”

Pete moved to the edge of the hammock, where he could lean over and regard Cudro. Striker was now lying still and quiet beside him.

“’E Na’ Be Goin’ Alone,” Pete said firmly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Cudro said. “But Morgan wants him there.”

“That Be Because…” Pete stopped, and glanced over his shoulder at his matelot. When he looked back at us, his eyes were guilty and tired.

“They Think They Can Mold’Im. An If TheyCan’t…” He eased his way back to the floor: Striker remained still, a boneless mass suspended above us.

Pete squatted with his back to the windows and kept his voice as low.

“ISee ’Em Lookin’At ’Em . Judgin’Whether”E Be Like ’Em . Whether”E Be A ThreatTo ’Em .”

“Aye,” I said as I saw what he meant. “The other captains are easy to control. They are wolves, but weak-willed ones. Like Bradley, they think that if they do as they are told, they will be rewarded. They think they want the trappings of an orderly society. But Striker is not a planter, and does not want to sit about and sip chocolate and discuss slaves and become the kind of man that they perhaps feel has always stood above them. He has different ambitions. Despite the wife, he still holds to a matelot and the old ways. He comes from a long line of pirates, not men who feel they were cheated from an inheritance, or robbed by some lord, or whatever battle the other captains feel they want recompense for.”

Pete nodded. “Ya Be Right. I Heard TheirTales. They All Think They Be OwedSomethin’. That They BeenCheated. ItWeren’tAlways That Way. But Them Be The Men MorganGathers. MenLike’Im. It Na’ Be That Way With Myngs Or Mansfield.”

Cudro and the Bard nodded solemnly.

“Things have changed,” the Bard said. “We need to move on, sooner rather than later. But… I can’t see how we can just sail away, either.

Cudro’s right.”

The Dutchman shrugged. “We could send the men who truly want to rove with Morgan to the other ships; and provision and go in search of lone vessels or the fleets this spring. But we would never sail with Morgan again. And though that seems a blessing, I’ve been thinking about how close the damn bastard is to Modyford, and what that will mean to our business.”

The Bard cursed. “Aye. That’s why I don’t think we can just sail away, not unless we collect all that we have and move on to Tortuga.”

A cannonball had formed in my gut as I listened to them, and I saw Modyford telling me he would not sign my declaration to my father.

Gaston’s hand was on mine, and I knew he was thinking the same.

“It is not how close Morgan is with Modyford that we must fear,”

I said sadly, “but how close Modyford is with my father. They are all ambitious men. I am sorry.”

The Bard snorted. “No one blames you. It’s just been our good fortune to know you.” He grinned.

Cudro chuckled. “Aye, the Fates, you know they be fickle bitches.”

Despite my fears, I found humor in that. “So what shall we do?”

“Well, we should at least see what is decided – if anything – on the morrow,” Cudro said.

“Speaking of Will’s father, and plans,” the Bard said and looked to Pete. “What do you think will happen with Morgan and the others if things we planned occur, such as Striker stepping down?”

Pete glanced up at his now-snoring matelot, and the weight of a thousand years seemed to descend upon his shoulders and fill his eyes.

“HeWon’t.” He looked to Cudro. “’E Can’t Bear It. There Be Things ’E Thinks ’E Be Owed Na’ By Other Men, But By God. An’ Bein’ A Captain Like ’Is Father Be One O’ ’Em .” His gaze traveled about the rest of us. “ButIffn’’EDon’t StepDown, Morgan’llKill’Im. Morgan Knows Striker Be Braver Than The Others So’E’llSend ’Im Where The Others Will Na’ Go.”

“And eventually the Fates will have their due,” I said.

Pete nodded. “We Must Make’Im Step Down.” Guilt fully suffused him now, and it hurt to gaze upon it.

“Before the meeting?” Cudro asked with concern.

“Nay,” I said quickly, and looked to Pete for support.

The Golden One nodded. “After We KnowWhat Be Decided.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Maybe We BeLucky. Maybe We All Sail Away’

Cause All See Morgan For AFool. ButI Doubt It.”

I did too, and I did not suppress my sigh.

Gaston’s fingers were reassuring about mine. “So we will meet again after this party,” he said.

All nodded agreement.

“Good,” he said. “Then Will and I will take the watch. The rest of you should sleep. You will need to be awake late into the night tomorrow.”

Dickey had wrapped his arms about the Bard, and was holding him as if we faced battle on the morrow. Cudro shed his weapons and eased himself down to lie next to Ash. Pete followed Gaston and me from the cabin.

Though the deck was awash with snores in the moonlight, I could see and feel dozens of eyes upon us.

“There is to be a meeting tomorrow night on the Oxford for the captains,” Gaston said: his broken voice carrying only to the men closest to us. “They will decide how we will provision and where we raid.”

His words were quickly passed in murmuring waves amongst all who were awake, and the men closest to us nodded their thanks at this information.

We retreated to the quarterdeck; and though it was also full of sleeping or quietly talking men, we were able to find a somewhat private section of rail. To my annoyance, Alonso joined us; and to my surprise, Farley too.

“The men have been saying that no one is ashore hunting cattle,”

Farley whispered.

I nodded, and explained what I felt they should hear of the situation concerning the captains sparring for position, making no mention of anything we had said regarding Striker’s place in all that.

“So we know nothing until after they meet tomorrow,” Alonso said when I finished.

“Nay, we do not,” I sighed. “And all we learn from the meeting may well be that we must make our own decision.”

He snorted. “Is that not always the way of it?”

“Often,” I admitted.

“We Be Knowin’ThatNow,” Pete said thoughtfully. “I Be Goin’With’Im Tomorrow.”

I recalled Morgan’s previous meetings with his officers – the ones I had attended – and how a voice of reason had often seemed needed. I sighed. “I should go; but I should not.”

Pete snorted and nodded. “Aye. Best Ya Don’t. ’EDon’tLike Ya None.”

“Nay, he does not,” I agreed. “I ever tell Morgan that which he does not wish to hear – or worse yet, that which he does not wish for others to hear.”

Alonso laughed. “Aye, Will; you cause trouble wherever you travel.”

“Nay,” Gaston said coldly. “Will evokes consternation in those who govern poorly because he is compelled to speak truth.”

“Si, trouble,” Alonso said with a defiant shrug and grin.

I rubbed my matelot’s shoulder, but his gaze remained fixed upon Alonso.

“What is this?” I murmured in French at Gaston’s ear.

He sighed and turned to meet my gaze, but his words were still hard.

“He is not allowed to make jests at your expense.”

It was a pronouncement straight from his Horse, yet I could not stop my smile. “Should I tell him that?”

Gaston shook his head, and a rueful smile graced his lips. He gave Pete and Farley a nod and led me around two sleeping men to another place upon the railing. “I do not like his familiarity with you.”

“Oui, oui,” I murmured. “It seems as if he ever seeks to remind all how well he once knew me. And I look at him now and feel embarrassment that any should know.”

“I want to shoot him,” Gaston said thoughtfully. “But I suppose it is jealousy: a thing I should suppress.”