by Vivienne Cox
“James?”
“Mmmmm?”
“Did you teach Will Thompson to fence?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why did I teach him, you mean? Because he asked me. He felt it would make him a better swordsmith if he understood more clearly the uses of the blades he was crafting. The boy makes fine swords.”
“He does. He’s a skillful fighter, as well,” said Alexander, “He damn near had me once. It was touch and go.”
“Yes, there is little more I can teach him,” Thomas said, simply, “he has surpassed me.”
“If he has, it is not by much,” chuckled Alexander, holding up his arm with the fresh scratch, “as I am living proof. I wouldn’t want to meet either of you in deadly earnest. Twice now you have had me at your sword’s point. Although,” mischievously, “you might have done so in order to say to me, as Theseus to Hippolyta: ‘I wooed thee with my sword, / And won thy love, doing thee injuries.’”
Thomas smiled; answered without thinking, “Concordia discors.”
“Discordant harmony, indeed,” said Alexander, “but Audentis Fortuna iuvat – Fortune favours the brave.”
Abruptly, Thomas sat up, dumping Alexander onto his back and leaned over him, pinning his shoulders to the sand with urgent hands. He stared into fathomless dark eyes as Alexander smiled up at him and waited.
“You quoted Shakespeare,” he breathed.
Alexander nodded, “Aye, and you Horace.”
“And you Virgil,” Thomas’s mind roiled. Latin and Shakespeare, from Alexander? He spoke as an educated man, a gentleman. For long moments James hesitated – unable to reconcile this new idea with his perception of the pirate as a barely-literate bumpkin with a deplorable, common accent. Watching Thomas’s struggle, Alexander’s smile widened.
“Who are you?” Thomas whispered.
“Captain Alexander Cruise, pirate and scallywag, your service.”
“Don’t toy with me, man. For once in your life be serious,” and his hands tightened unconsciously; insistent. “Where were you educated?”
“The wide world has been my school, love, these many years, and Life herself my tutor,” Alexander said softly, “and though she can be an ungracious jade at times, on the whole she has done right by me, I’d say.” He laid his palms flat against Thomas’s chest and moved them gently, soothing and distracting. “I am as you see, James. Don’t vex yourself with wondering. ‘What’s past is prologue, …’”
“’…what to come / In yours and my discharge,’” Thomas completed the quote automatically, without fully taking in the sense of it, as Alexander drew him down and kissed him, effectively shattering his concentration.
After a few moments, Alexander stirred beneath him and broke the kiss. “Let me up, mate,” he murmured, shoving gently at Thomas, who complied dazedly. Alexander sprang up and headed down to the water with a purposeful stride.
“What is it?” James called after him.
“Hungry,” Alexander said over his shoulder, “want feeding. Come help me fish.”
For a moment, Thomas gaped blankly at his retreating back before getting to his feet with a chuckle and a bemused shake of his head. The man was quicksilver, he thought, completely unpredictable and impossible to contain.
* * *
Alexander was in high spirits as they prepared and ate their meal, singing snatches of the pirate song aloud and insisting that Thomas join him. “Oh come now, love, surely you remember the chorus at least?” he cried. Dismissing Thomas’s demurral with an airy wave and a laugh. “Well then, I’ll just teach it to you again. Here, have some rum first,” he coaxed, “You sing charmingly under its sway.”
But Thomas, refusing to rise to the bait, was steadfast in his refusal and in time Alexander turned his attention to his food and dropped the subject.
As dark fell, they built up the fire and sat quietly for a space, each busy with his own thoughts. As on the previous evening, Thomas indulged himself in a small mug of his good brandy, savouring it appreciatively. Alexander sipped his rum with equal contentment and moderation. Neither man seemed inclined to drunkenness this night.
After a time Alexander stretched and grinned at his companion. “James, did I ever tell you the tale of how I stole the buttons off the Governor of Tortuga’s coat?”
Thomas smiled and shook his head. Alexander’s tales, however improbable, were nothing if not entertaining.
“Well, this was a good few years ago, back when I was younger and inclined to be a bit reckless, you understand, not having grown into any discretion or commonsense.”
Thomas laughed out at that and Alexander’s answering smirk was mischievous.
The Governor at the time,” he continued, “was Monsieur d’Ogeron the Younger, his father having recently died at a ripe age. How indeed the colonial governorship came to be passed from father to son is a story yet to be told, but it caused a good deal of gossip at the time. The younger d’Ogeron was somewhat less of a nonentity than his father. He was idealistic but inept, and susceptible, as are all the officials of government in that place, to the corrupting lure of pirate loot. And he was unwisely haughty to the Brethren. He placed himself and his sister (now respectably widowed but with a past rumored to contain nothing less than an elopement with the infamous scoundrel Levasseur, if you please) on so high a form as to make any social intercourse with the pirates that formed the economic backbone of the colony quite impossible. This state of affairs continued for some little while to the satisfaction of no one, unless the d’Ogerons, keeping the solitary state they felt due their rank, were content – and to be honest we didn’t much care if they were or not. A meeting was held…”
Alexander was well away, eyes alight and arms waving animatedly as he embroidered and elaborated with relish. Thomas soon lost the thread of the tale, preferring instead to study Alexander in the firelight as the varied emotions of the story swept across his expressive face and body in a sort of dance. Alexander was beautiful, he realized; that was the only word for it. He watched a while longer, leaning at his ease on one elbow, content merely to exist in the sense of sight.
Suddenly Alexander paused in his narrative and his eyes sought Thomas’s across the fire. As the glittering gaze locked with his, he felt a jolt that shook him from head to heels and his own eyes went wide. With devastating simplicity the words formed themselves in his head: I love him, and with that the world seemed to stand still.
The frozen silence drew itself out, paradoxically full of the thunder of his heart, until Alexander, seemingly unaware that aught was amiss, resumed his tale and James, as if released from a spell, drew a shaking breath. He took a steadying sip of brandy, but hastily set the cup down when the trembling of his hand threatened to spill the contents. He risked a glance a Alexander – still deep in the tale of the Governor’s buttons – but looked away again before his eyes could give him away. I love him. Like a chant it ran in his mind, crowding out for a time all rational thought.
He clenched his fists and forced himself to take long, slow breaths, laboring for calm. With another effort he stilled the clamor in his brain. How had it come to this? He reviewed the last few days with a kind of detached wonder. A welter of images tumbled through his mind like pieces of a puzzle: Governor Mullen’s carpe diem, the challenge of sea and sky, the long slow days of peace aboard the Gull, and Alexander’s presence in his dreams and in the flesh. “The only true sin is wasting your opportunities.” The pieces slotted together, but the shape of the finished picture was yet unclear.
He heard again Alexander’s voice from this afternoon, suggesting that he, James, should take Theseus’s lines: ‘I wooed thee with my sword, / And won thy love, doing thee injuries.’ …‘And won thy love…’ Was this Alexander’s way of telling him that he, too, loved? And what had he said next? ‘Fortune favours the brave.’ Well, that was plain enough, he supposed. The picture was becoming clearer. And Alexander’s last quote, appropriately from The Tempest: �
��What’s past is prologue, what to come / In yours and my discharge.’ slipped into place with a snap. The future was theirs for the shaping, it seemed.
On that thought, he looked up to find Alexander watching him, amused. “Wool gathering, James? Where did I lose you?”
As he looked across the dying fire at his lover (yes, his lover) James felt his heart turn over and the world tilted with it. It was as if he rode a wave of love that flung him toward an unknown shore, but beneath the sparkling surface there was a swell of something darker, primal – a desire to claim, to mark, to possess. His.
Something of this must have shown in his face for he saw Alexander’s smile fade, to be replaced by a flickering look of interest. “James?” Without quite knowing how it happened, James found himself on his feet, standing over Alexander. Wordlessly, he reached down a hand and Alexander took it, rising lightly into his embrace. “What is it, love?” he murmured, but fell silent as James pressed two shaking fingers to his lips, and he kissed them. A moment they stood thus, a current of understanding flowing strong and sure around them. Then James closed his hand on Alexander’s wrist, gently imperative, and led him the few steps to their blankets.
“I want you,” James breathed, as his hands slid up Alexander’s back, under his shirt, “I want to see you.” And he lifted Alexander’s shirt over his head and away in one smooth motion, reaching next to undo his breeches and slip them down past his hips and to the ground. Alexander stepped out of them and stood before him naked in the firelight, fully erect already. James felt his heart lurch again. “Beautiful,” he whispered and bent his head to kiss Alexander’s shoulder, pulling him close and gasping as their erections pressed against each other through the barrier of his breeches. Alexander’s arms were around him caressing his back as his mouth worked its way slowly across Alexander’s chest and up to his throat; licking, nibbling, sucking hard enough to bruise before claiming his mouth in a consuming kiss that held nothing back and demanded everything. And Alexander matched him, meeting force with force as their tongues battled, teeth clicking, bodies straining together.
When James felt Alexander tugging at his shirt he broke off just long enough to shed it and his breeches with trembling haste before reaching out to pull Alexander to him once more and into another kiss. They sank to their knees and James laid him down, laid him out like a banquet for eyes and hands and lips. His. Biting again at the offered throat, he moved slowly downwards, inch by inch, across the smooth, hard chest nibbling gently at first one nipple then the other. Alexander groaned softly and arched his back, stretching like a cat into his touch. He continued his exploration, across the flat belly to toy briefly with Alexander’s navel, bringing another groan and a whispered “Please,” that made him smile. Patience. He kissed his way down to one hip, biting lightly to hear Alexander gasp before nibbling southward once more.
Alexander’s thighs parted decadently under his touch and he moved to place himself between them, running his hands softly from hip to knee and back again, feeling the tremors in the hard muscle sliding beneath the skin. Teasingly, he followed the same route with his mouth, first one leg and then the other, careful not to touch Alexander’s twitching cock, until Alexander was twisting beneath him, breath catching on bitten-back sighs, half out of his mind with need. James took him by the hips, stilling him, leaned forward slowly, so slowly, and ran the flat of his tongue up the underside of Alexander’s cock before taking him into his mouth. Alexander cried out and bucked upwards as James, still slowly, took him deeper before pulling back with a hint of teeth. Alexander groaned and his hands came up to cup James’s head, “Don’t stop, please.” The merest ghost of a laugh puffed warm breath across wet skin and James took him again, sucking this time, first gently then harder, maddeningly without rhythm. Alexander whimpered and his hands tightened in James’s hair.
But James had other plans; his searching hand found the little flask of oil Alexander had used the night before and he poured some onto his palm. He smoothed it over his own cock and coated his hand. Reaching downward, his fingers found what they sought and he entered with first one and then two. Alexander’s head snapped back and when James added the third finger he gave a strangled cry and pressed himself down onto them before thrusting up into James’s mouth. So ready for him. James withdrew his fingers and moved up, letting Alexander’s cock slip from his mouth as he spread Alexander’s legs wider still and positioned himself at the entrance, pressing slightly. “Mine.”
He was unaware he had spoken it aloud until he saw Alexander nod once, dark eyes huge. “Yours,” he agreed.
Slowly, he thrust forward, forcing his way carefully past the tightening muscle, holding his breath, holding himself back with everything he had. He gasped as the tight heat surrounded him, waiting for Alexander’s signal. Alexander nodded again, and James’s breath left him with a rush as he began to move, rocking slowly in and out. He wrapped one hand around Alexander’s cock and began to stroke him in time to his own thrusts. Sparks shot across his vision as, control slipping at last, he thrust harder and faster. He heard Alexander’s hoarse cry as he felt the hot spill of his seed over his fingers, against their bellies. Alexander’s convulsion sent him over the edge in turn; emptying himself into Alexander’s body for shuddering eternal seconds, back arched, his mind the perfect scintillating blank of ecstasy.
When he came to himself, he was sprawled across Alexander who lay, breathing hard, eyes closed, with a small, satisfied smile on his lips. James kissed him and rolled onto his back, feeling his heartbeat slow as tiny jolts of pleasure tingled through him.
Beside him, Alexander stirred and opened his eyes. “I must remember to spin tales more often, love, if this is the consequence.” James smiled without answering. He brought his hand up to brush Alexander’s cheek with his knuckles in the lightest of caresses and dropped it again, felt his fingers close lightly about Alexander’s wrist. They slept.
* * *
James awoke to the sound of his name, hallooing up the beach. He sat up to see Alexander splashing boisterously and waving from the shallows. “Safer to wake you from here, love,” he called back over his shoulder as he waded into deeper water. “I haven’t forgotten how cross you can be,” he laughed and struck out swimming.
“Wait for me, you villain,” James shouted in mock outrage, “I’ll show you cross.” Leaping up, he ran into the water and set out in pursuit.
For a time they romped like boys, splashing and ducking each other, playing the fool and shouting gleefully into the sunrise. Then, refreshed, they returned to the beach and ate breakfast, still chuckling a little.
Later, they sailed the Gull across the strait to the main island, to replenish the water casks for both boats. It was an acknowledgement that their time was almost up, this preparation for journeys, but neither spoke of it yet. And James was mulling over a plan.
The day went lazily by. They had an enjoyable time poring over James’s charts of the south coast of Spain. Alexander was able to correct them in certain particulars, especially in the area west of Black River, which James found helpful as he did not plan on sailing farther west this trip. It was a good thing, he thought, that Alexander had given up raiding English settlements, else this minute knowledge he held might well be dangerous.
As before, they spent part of the afternoon lying in the shade and it was then that James broached the subject of letters of marque. He did so with mixed feelings. It was true that Governor Mullen was issuing letters of marque to privateers willing to raid the Spanish, but James could never quite rid himself of the feeling that it was tantamount to sanctioning piracy. In the past he had approved them most reluctantly. And yet, if he could get Alexander to accept one, a part, at least, of his own dilemma would be resolved. With Alexander acting under the semi-official authority of the British government he would be protected from capture and execution by the Royal Navy and he, James, would rest easier for that knowledge. Accordingly, he made Alexander the offer. And was stunned whe
n Alexander refused it instantly and unequivocally.
“What? Alexander, you must be joking!”
“Not at all, mate. I trust I made myself clear.”
“But… why? Why refuse me without even hearing my reasoning?”
Alexander sighed. “Because, love, your reasons are unlikely to interest me.”
“Will you not hear me out, at least?”
Alexander stretched out on the sand, hands behind his head with the air of one willing to be amused and glanced at James. “Fire away. Let’s see what sort of a case you can make for yourself.”
James thought for a moment. “First, you would be protected from the Navy.”
Alexander grinned. “the Swift Siren is the fastest ship in the Mediterranean – not even the late, lamented Interceptor could outrun her. Why should I fear your Navy?”
“What about mishaps, bad luck? You are not invulnerable, Alexander.”
“Aye, that’s true, but I’ll trust me luck a bit further yet. Next reason?”
“Secondly, you would have the authority to re-victual at any English port. It would considerably increase your range.”
At this, Alexander laughed outright. “Now you know and I know, love, that there isn’t a port in all the Mediterranean, including Port Merrian, where gold is so unwelcome that it’s refused as coming from pirates. We can restock anywhere we wish as it is. You’ll have to do better than that. Next?”
“Patriotism,” he offered, rather forlornly, “King and Country.”
“There’s hardly a man of my crew with reason to love your king, mate, and what’s more you know it. Are there any more of these so-called reasons, because if not, I want to take a nap.”
“You could base yourself in Port Merrian…,” James began, and stopped as if he had bitten his tongue at the look on Alexander’s face. He felt himself flush but stubbornly refused to look away.
“Ah, so now we come to it at last. James, love, I have been a rover with no home port for many years. Why d’you think I’d want to base myself in Port Merrian, of all places?”