Fresnel laughed. “Sink me, Copain, but I wonder you come to sea at all!”
Copain waved Fresnel away with an airy sweep of his fingers. “Even a ship needs a reminder of civility! And now, with Monsieur le Comte here, the voyage will be far less tedious! Do you fancy the poetry of Malherbe, monsieur?”
André chuckled. “If you are looking for civility, I shall be poor company. Firstly, I am André on this voyage, and none other! And then I have spent a year with the Huron; I can scarce remember the taste of wine, let alone the sound of poetry!”
Copain sighed. “Eh, bien! We must manage as best we may!” He bowed elaborately, his hands making small circles in the air. “At your service, monsieur. I am Robert Copain, master’s mate, ship’s navigator, scholar, teacher, philosopher extraordinaire. I am enchanted to make your acquaintance—André,” he finished in disgust.
“Mon Dieu!” laughed André. “A born aristocrat, haughty to the core! Would you trade places with me, Copain?”
“Only if I might have your hat!”
André shook his head. “Never! And now, Master Fresnel, if I may see my cabin—”
“Will you go ashore again?” asked Fresnel. “The sun is still high and we do not set sail until the evening tide—”
“No. I have said my farewells.”
“Well then—Gunner!” The bosun nodded, hefted André’s sea chest onto one shoulder, mounted the steps to the quarterdeck, and motioned André to follow. There were two cabins flanking the passageway that led to the Great Cabin in the stern. André imagined they must be for the other officers, since Master Fresnel eschewed the Great Cabin, traditionally the captain’s quarters, for the roundhouse above. Gunner set down André’s chest in the middle of the room, then tugged politely at his forelock before going out and closing the door. André glanced about him. It was a fine cabin that ran the width of the ship, its sides curved inward to follow the shape of the hulk, its beamed ceiling hung with a large brass lantern. At the stern end of the cabin was a wide bank of windows, small paned and leaded, with a padded window seat beneath. Tucked between two bulkheads on one side was a large bunk covered with a thick straw pallet and several coverlets; on the opposite wall was a small desk and chair, bolted to the carpeted floor. Above the desk there were two or three small shelves protected by a guard-rail, empty save for a pewter flagon, a stout tallow candle, and a book of prayers. André set his sea chest beneath the desk, wedging it firmly so it would not dislodge in rough weather. There was no point in unpacking; he had few enough belongings—a fresh shirt and several pairs of stockings, a leather jerkin, his shaving things, his writing case, a long warm cloak should the weather turn bad. He slipped the small leather wallet from his belt, checking the coins within before tucking the pouch under a corner of the mattress. He nearly took off his cape and sword and fine hat, then thought better of it. There would be time enough on the voyage for plain clothes and sensible attire; he wished to enjoy feeling elegant for a little longer. He heard Fresnel calling up to the rigging, the voice so loud that André knew he must be using a speaking trumpet; then he heard the bosun’s silver whistle piping out commands. There seemed to be a great deal of stir and bustle on deck; perhaps he would go topside and watch them loading the ship.
The Olympie was buzzing with activity. Gunner stood in the waist of the ship, at the port gangway, calling down orders over the side. André strolled to the quarterdeck railing, the better to see the pinnace, its sail now furled, drawn up to the hull of the Olympie. Close beside it was the long boat, larger even than the pinnace, and manned by half-a-dozen oarsmen. Both boats rode low in the water, weighted down with cargo and supplies which, by dint of much shouting and barking, Gunner was contriving to have hauled aboard. A score of seamen sweated with ropes and tackles attached to the ends of the yards, swinging up to the deck bales of furs—sleek beaver and seal and otter—and casks filled with dried codfish. There were provisions for the passage: slate of salted beef and pork, pickled meats and fish, peas and beans, and hardtack—the saucer-shaped dried sea biscuits that would withstand most vermin on a long voyage. There were barrels of fresh water and ale, cooking oil and salt, onions and dried apples, and as much fresh meat and produce as could be used in the first week or two before they rotted or turned fetid. There were even cages of pigeons and several large chickens, flapping and cooing and clucking. There was lumber for repairs and fuel—in the galley the cook built his fire in a pit of sand—and a large tree trunk, newly stripped of its leaves, to replace a mast, should that calamity arise.
As the supplies were swung on board they were carried to open hatchways, to be stowed away and lashed down in storerooms beneath the main deck and the forecastle, the large cabin in the bow of the ship that housed most of the men.
At last, the hubbub having died down a bit, André ventured down from the quarterdeck, joining Gunner, who now stood firmly planted in the middle of the main deck, mopping at his neck with a large handkerchief.
“By my faith,” laughed André, “I would rather arm a regiment to do battle than supply a ship!”
“True enough,” said the bosun. “Your men can always forage in the countryside! There is no help for it if we should run short on the high sea! Many’s the time I’ve eaten wormy bread, and glad of it too, I’ll be hanged!” He smiled and swept his arm toward the men who swarmed about the hatchways, then cast his eyes aloft to the dozens more who clung to the rigging, tying ropes and stays, making last-minute repairs in the canvas sails. “But ’tis a good crew, and Master Fresnel is a fine captain to sail under!” He smiled as a sudden gust of wind ruffled the plumes in André’s hat. “Will you stow that topsail when we are under way, André? I’ll be hanged if the crew has talked of aught else since you came aboard!”
André bristled, defensive at the unending jibes directed toward his hat. “I shall wear it as it pleases me!” he said a little pompously.
Gunner tugged at the grizzled curl that hung over his forehead. “Begging your pardon, Monsieur le Comte. Master Fresnel and Copain are on the poop deck, reading the charts. Mayhap you will find their company more to your liking.”
“Indeed,” said André coldly, feeling rebuked, yet unwilling to let go of his pride so easily. He moved away toward the aft ladder, meaning to join Fresnel.
“I’ll be hanged,” muttered Gunner half to himself. “Where is that lout Michel? Half the day to fetch a coil of hemp—” He looked up at the main mast that towered just above him, squinting his eyes at the bright sunshine. “You! Michel!” he shouted. He had no need for a speaking trumpet.
About to climb to the quarterdeck, André turned, looking toward the main topsail. Above the crow’s nest, the basket-enclosed landing at the very top of the mast, appeared a dark head of hair.
“Blast you, Michel, I want you now!”
Michel scrambled out of the crow’s nest, waving to Gunner and making his way down the rigging as fast as he could. André took him to be a lad of about sixteen, no more, his face scarred by the blemishes of youth, his hands and feet too large for his body. He looked frightened as he stood before Gunner, but when the bosun merely cuffed him on the side of the head and sent him on another errand, he grinned in relief. He smiled slyly at André as he passed, and looked up at the mainmast.
“Gosse!” he shouted.
Another head appeared in the crow’s nest, shaggy and yellow as hay on a midsummer’s day. The lad who climbed out of the basket seemed to André to be even younger. Fourteen at the most, and clad in a white shirt and breeches that were far too voluminous for his gangly frame. He waved back to Michel, and called something to the seamen who were strung out across the main yardarm. Then, without warning, he wrapped an arm around a boarding rope and leaped clear, a hundred feet above the main deck, landing in the rigging of the mizzenmast, which rose up through the quarterdeck.
There was a loud gasp from Gunner. “Gosse! You blasted fool! Would you kill yourself?” The bosun’s cheery face had gone white, and he looked in
panic toward Master Fresnel.
Safe on his new perch, Gosse grinned. Then, boarding rope still in hand, he launched himself through the air and swung directly toward André, the movement so sudden and unexpected that André had no time to duck before the figure swept past him, kicking off his glorious hat and landing lightly on the deck some paces beyond him. There were cheers from the sailors in the rigging; Gosse, his back turned to André as though the man scarcely existed, waved triumphantly back.
Gosse, thought André, his blood boiling as he surveyed his hat—the crown now soiled and crushed—lying before him. Gosse. The boy was aptly named: Brat. “Pick up my hat, boy,” he said, the voice quiet, deadly. For answer, Gosse spit on the deck. Michel snickered. “My hat!” André growled. Gosse, still turned away from André, stuck out his backside and wiggled it insolently. There was more laughter from the seamen who had begun to gather around. André sputtered in outrage. “By my faith!” he roared. “I’ll box your ears!” He advanced menacingly toward the boy.
“Well, Gosse, you heard the gentleman!” Michel could hardly contain his laughter.
Even Gunner had begun to grin, the color returning to his face. “Come, boy. Do your duty!”
Gosse shrugged and swaggered to André’s hat. He stooped down and picked it up; then, with a sudden gesture, skimmed it across the railing and into the water. There was a chorus of hurrahs from the rigging.
“Now, by God!” said André. “You will fetch it!” He strode to the boy, picking him up by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants, and marched to the railing. Gosse squirmed and squeaked, his voice a high soprano.
“Hold!” cried Fresnel, rushing from the poop to put a restraining hand on André’s arm just as he would have pitched the boy into the water. “I beg mercy for my daughter! Pray do not drown the maid!”
“Maid?” André put down his struggling burden, setting the creature on her feet. Gosse snarled and wheeled away, but André set his hands firmly on her shoulders and turned her back, his blue eyes traveling over her in amazement. He saw now that what he had taken for the soft, unformed features of a young boy were, at close view, unmistakably those of a girl, some years older, though obviously still a child. She was tall and thin; whatever feminine shape she might possess was swallowed up in the looseness of her shirt and breeches, so her bare arms seemed to dangle awkwardly beneath the rolled-up sleeves and her ankles appeared almost fragile in contrast to her drooping stockings and coarse shoes. Her sun-bright hair, without a hint of curl to it, was jaggedly cut and hung—lank and matted—over her forehead and just below her ears. Her skin was rosy and alive. Indeed, the vivid pinkness of her flesh and the clear yellow of her hair made her seem an innocent cherub, like some dimpled angel in a painting in the Louvre Palace—until one noticed the malevolent gleam in her amber eyes. Cat’s eyes, crafty and mischievous. She was incredibly filthy.
Fresnel smiled sheepishly. “Monsieur le Comte, you must forgive my daughter Delphine. She did not mean—your hat—it was an accident—”
“Ha! Sink and scuttle me, father, if I did not mean to do it!” Her eyes twinkled merrily, sending out golden sparks. “For look you, says I, there’s a hat that should be fed to the fishes!” André glared at her. “Be of good cheer, my fine cockscomb,” she said. “Michel will fetch your hat!” She snapped her fingers in command. The boy picked up a grappling hook, leaning carefully over the railing and fishing in the water until he had snagged a corner of André’s hat. He hauled it, dripping and bedraggled, onto the deck, and handed it to Delphine. She marched to André and plopped it unceremoniously at his feet, so it sent up little splashes onto his boots. At André’s scowl she grinned, then bent down and ripped one of the plumes from his hat, straightening and fanning herself delicately with it. She threw back her head and laughed. “Ah, Monsieur le Comte, you look as sour as a man whose whore, legs spread to the points of the compass, has—”
“Nom de Dieu!” interrupted Fresnel quickly. “Hold your tongue!” His voice was almost pleading. “Please, Delphine—”
She whirled to her father, her eyes filled with sudden fury. “I am Gosse!” she shrilled. “Gosse! Delphine is a fool’s name—fit only for mincing ladies who go about with faces like dead mackerels!” She sneered at André. “The kind of ladies favored by monsieur, no doubt!”
André’s lip curled contemptuously. “I have spent a year with the Huron savages and their women and children. And never a one so foul tongued, foul tempered,” his nose twitched, the wide nostrils flaring in disgust, “foul smelling, as you. By my faith, I should have pitched you into the river, to see if you could come clean!”
Delphine squeaked in anger and swung back a tight-clenched fist, meaning to strike André, but Fresnel clutched at her arm. “Come, come, Gosse,” he said, his voice soft and conciliatory. “There is time before we set sail. Remember the creek where you and Michel swam when last we were in Quebec? It is a warm day, and you have worked so diligently all the morning in the hold—a refreshing swim—” He smiled thinly.
“No.” Stubborn chin thrust forward.
“I shall send Gunner for fresh things from your cabin. The pinnace is below, and ready—”
“No!”
“If we are to read Ronsard this evening, you cannot come to my cabin smelling of bilge water.” Robert Copain’s voice was low and mild, but Delphine turned at the sound of it, looking suddenly shamefaced.
She shrugged, pretending indifference. “I suppose it is a fine day for a swim, and the creek is pleasant. Come, Michel!” She made for the gangway and swung herself over the side, her feet finding the rope ladder. She hung there for a moment head and shoulders above the deck. “And then,” here she waved the plume insolently in André’s direction, “I have had my sport with yon prancing puppy—”
André strode to the edge of the deck and knelt in front of her, his face close to hers, sapphire eyes burning. One strong hand clamped about her wrist; with his other hand he pulled the plume free from her fingers and tossed it into the water. “Take care,” he said quietly. “The puppy is an old dog!”
She struggled for a moment against the hand that clasped hers, opened her mouth to curse him, then kept silent. Something in his blue eyes held her transfixed, shaken as she had never been in all her life, imprisoned in those azure depths. A look that was almost fear flitted across her face; her own glance faltered and she looked away.
“Damn your gizzard, Michel!” she growled. “Are you coming, or must I stand in for shore alone?”
Chapter Two
Delphine scowled up at the treetops, her arms crossed in front of her, rigid jaws chewing ferociously on the last piece of dried apple. She swallowed, then dislodged a bit of fruit from between her teeth with one grimy fingernail.
Seated beside her on the bank of the small creek Michel sighed, glancing at her surreptitiously out of the corners of his eyes. At last he spoke, his voice petulant. “You have scarce said a word since we left the Olympie. I stole the apples for you this morning! If we are found out, it is I who will get the beating! You might at least talk to me, Gosse!”
“Pah! Who taught you to steal so you would not be found out? I am minded of the first day you came aboard, all runny nosed and whimpering! Who showed you the secret trapdoor into the galley? Who listened to you crying all that night and fed you with the cook’s best cheese? Sink and scuttle me! I had not thought a ten-year-old boy could be such a mewling babe!”
Angrily Michel jumped to his feet. “I am a babe no longer! I am almost a man!”
She smiled up at him, her face twisted in a patronizing smirk. “Sixteen?”
“Near seventeen!”
“You lie! You shall not be seventeen until January next! Whilst I—” She dismissed him with an airy wave of the hand. “I have been eighteen for ages!”
“Since last month!” Michel laughed, then ducked as Delphine hurled a clod of dirt at him. “Are you coming in to swim?” he asked, and kicked off his shoes. She turned her
head away, nose in the air. He pulled off his stockings. “I know the why of your black mood,” he said mockingly. “The great monsieur frightened you!”
Her golden eyes glowed in anger. “God rot your bones for such a lie!”
“He is a man to be reckoned with!”
“Pah!” She threw herself back on the bank, hands behind her head, and stared up at the treetops and the deep patch of blue April sky beyond. Blue. Like the color of his eyes. Glowing sapphire. The sea in the shallows of the Bermudas. She had felt as though she would drown when she looked into them, reading strange secrets in their unknown depths. Perched on the ladder of the Olympie she had shivered, a trembling that had seemed to begin deep in the pit of her stomach, yet was not so much trembling as the fluttering of wings, a gossamer creature trapped somewhere within her vitals, frantic to be released.
“Come on!” said Michel, tugging at the lacings of his breeches. Delphine sat up, idly watching him shed his clothes. How strange to look at was the male body! Though her own body scarcely pleased her—the more it took on the contours of womanhood, the fuller became her garments to cover it—still, there was a certain pleasing rhythm in the rounded form of a woman. But a man’s body—ugh! She had seen them all at one time or another: the fat cook, bare rumped, squatting in the scuppers (that open grating that hung over the front of the ship) to relieve himself; the sturdy seamen naked on the deck in the middle of a summer storm, stripped bare while they rinsed their salt-stiff garments in the soft rain; the drunken blacksmith behind some seaside tavern, perched above a frowzy wench, his thin backside contracting violently as he pumped in and out, in and out.
She had not been as open with them. Her father had been uncharacteristically stubborn about her guarding her modesty, and her own disgust at her developing body had kept her well covered in front of the crew. But Michel was different; they had grown up together. Now she watched him in amusement. What a bother it must be to carry around such a drooping ugly thing! She must ask him one day if he noticed it when he walked!
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