Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  He shook his head and frowned with thought. “I am afraid we will cast many shadows, because there are different truths.”

  “The Devil with allegory,” I said quietly. “What are the truths?”

  He met my gaze earnestly. “I love you.”

  “But?”

  “I want her,” he whispered. He flinched from what he saw in my eyes.

  “I understand, I understand,” I said quickly. “Do not… Oui, my Horse does not like it, but I understand. As I have said before, I want her too. She is beautiful. I do not wish to speak with her now, but if the opportunity presented itself for us to fuck willingly, I would rise to the occasion. I think that is a thing of our Horses.”

  “Non,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “My Horse does not want her, my cock does.”

  I nodded as I gave the matter thought. “You are correct. They are two different entities; they merely operate in concert on occasion to assail our reason: that is why I suppose I have ever seen them as one.”

  “My Horse does not like her, Will, but my reason says this is a thing I should do, and my cock wishes for it very much, and I feel great guilt over it. Which should I follow?” He shook his head irritably. “Not my cock, obviously: it has no mind and no say.”

  I sighed. “I feel this is why I was querying Pete. My Horse wants little to do with her, either; and my cock… as you say, has no say; and my reason says it is a thing that should be done. And I worry – as we have discovered in many things – that denying the truth our Horses perceive will lead us to ruin, but I do not wish to deny you a chance to… attempt things you have ever wanted and perhaps should try.”

  “Should I?” he asked. “I cannot conceive of lying with you without my Horse and my heart being involved. But her… I simply wish to fuck her until she gets with child. And that seems wrong.”

  I chuckled and he regarded me sharply. I shook my head. “My love, there are many who would say you are not a man for those sentiments.” I sighed at his frown and sobered. “Most men are creatures of their cocks, with occasional periods of reason. Just as most women are creatures of their hearts, with occasional periods of reason. We are centaurs – though I have lived many years as a man like any other – but we are different, now. For me it is easier, as my cock favors men; but for you, there is a dichotomy in your soul about the matter, just as there is in Striker. In order to have the love our Horses desire, our hearts and souls desire, we must rein in our cocks with the iron hand of reason. I have become so accustomed to doing so because… It would be dangerous to live among the Brethren if I behaved as I did before coming here.

  “When I traveled Christendom, I would have set about seducing Pete when first I saw him, whether I had a lover or not; and if I had a lover, I would have assumed he was doing the same. It was that way with Alonso: we would tease one another and even wager on who would be successful first. The only aspect of the matter that ever gave me pause was if I encountered a man who insisted on bestowing, and then my old fears, and thus my Horse, always trumped my cock.”

  Though he had frowned with the Horse’s jealousy at the mention of Pete, my matelot had remained silent, and moved away to lean against the wall with a thoughtful mien. He nodded. “My Horse rules my cock in the matter of you.”

  “I know,” I said, and went to him to lean with my hands on either side of his shoulders. I pressed my forehead to his. “And I thank the Gods for it,” I whispered. “Let your cock play for a while, my love. Reason has a very strong hand in this matter – and I do not mean to hold the reins, but very good cards. We know that. You can make a child. You can give your father an heir. It aids another, who, though she is a silly child, does need help to find happiness in this life. We will… endure and conquer. Our Horses… They are strong. They can carry this for a time, oui? They can pull the extra weight in the cart. As long as we know it will end. We will need to treat them with great care and respect and give them many treats, though.”

  He smiled at that last, and moved enough to kiss me. “I will not have you angry with me,” he said somberly.

  I was minded of another time when we had stood thus against a wall, him with his back to it and me bracketing him. I had said I feared he would hate me for my cock’s desires. “I will never hate you for what you desire,” I said. “Never.”

  He gave a heavy sigh and embraced me. We stood thus for a time. I wished to hold him forever. Though my words had been said to calm my Horse as much as his, I felt I lied to the animals, just as I had ever done when my mount became startled and I knew damn well it should be, as I knew a fight loomed, or it would rain, or I too could see the snake – or madmen – on the road ahead. But sometimes men must press on to confront or pass obvious danger in order to reach some safe haven or obtain some goal that will make the whole of it worthwhile: things horses cannot understand.

  And so we at last parted and went to collect women. Henrietta had returned from the market and shops with new stays, linens, shifts, stockings, shoes, and every other accoutrement her lady might need, and an old gown that she thought might fit Vivian; but she was afraid to show it to her mistress as it was drab, wool, and not at all stylish. I took the bundles from her and went to the parlor.

  “This is the best Henrietta could do today,” I told my wife. “To do better, we will need a seamstress to take your measurements and make you several gowns.”

  She eyed the dress with dismay, but to my surprise, did not squawk or make complaint. She took it from me with a resolute nod.

  “Will you remove these chains so I might dress,” she said quietly. “And send Henrietta in… or else I will need your assistance.” She sighed.

  I tried to remember where I had put the key. “Let me fetch the key, and I will send her in. I am accomplished at assisting young ladies in disrobing, but rarely the other way around.”

  She smirked, and then regarded me curiously. “So you intend to go to the church now? Is Jamaica not sleeping?”

  “Need she be awake for this?” I asked.

  “I suppose not.” She shrugged, but then that nonchalance fled her and her expression became earnest. “It will be just us, correct? Just you and me, and… Lord Montren, I suppose.”

  “Well, actually, we were hoping to make only the one visit to the church and see to Gaston’s marriage at the same time.”

  “Nay!” She sat, as if that would stop me from moving her, like a donkey does when it decides it will work no more. “I will not be seen by that bitch. Not like this. Not when… She will gloat. Do not make me do this,” she wailed.

  I cursed quietly and sighed. “Nay, nay, I will not force you to… face her. It was incredibly foolish of me to think that… Never mind. We will go alone: just the three of us. We will fetch Jamaica from the Theodores’ and go to the church.”

  I left her, and went to find Gaston. He was speaking with Christine, Agnes, and Sarah at the top of the stairs.

  “Apparently your sister’s dresses do not fit her well,” Gaston said with a tired sigh.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “She is taller and wider across the shoulders.”

  “And all of mine are not… They are just not.” Agnes sighed, and did not explain her gowns’ specific inadequacies.

  I excused us, and put my arm about Gaston’s shoulder to walk down the balcony a short distance before whispering in his ear. “Vivian does not wish to see her. She would go to the church alone with us and not be seen by anyone. As… you do not wish to brave your bride’s monthly flow, do you feel your wedding can wait until the morrow, when perhaps another dress can be found?” I pulled away enough to regard his face.

  He was grimacing, and he had colored slightly. “Oui.”

  I nodded, and began to pull away, but he clutched my arm.

  “Will,” he hissed. “The thought of blood in the bed, and… I cannot see… I can see… my sister, when I think of…”

  “Oh Gods!” I pulled him into my embrace. “I am sorry, my love. I was not thinking at
all.”

  “I had…” He sighed and held me tighter to whisper. “I did not think of it at first, either. I merely felt very uncomfortable and disturbed by the notion: the crowing of my cock was louder, though. And then… I did think of it, and now I know it will be difficult enough despite the urging of my cock.”

  “Well, the more time you have to prepare yourself, the better,” I sighed and kissed his cheek.

  “And I know how… Lady Marsdale feels,” he said. “I can feel them staring at us even now. Gods, Will, we have told her nothing. In all the…”

  I swore. In all the chaos this day, we had forgotten the things we most wished to address with any prospective bride: his madness and his scars. “Well, this delay is surely a boon granted by the Gods to compensate for our forgetfulness in the face of today’s drama.”

  He pulled away and nodded with a rueful smile. “We would have remembered on the way to the church.” He met my gaze. “You must speak with her,” he said.

  I did not see how that would go well. “Now, or after we attend to the baptism?” I asked.

  “Now,” he sighed. “I would have the matter decided now. I will… Is there much that must be done with… Lady Marsdale?”

  I smiled. “She stumbles on your title as much as you do on hers: call her Vivian and be done with it. I said I would send Henrietta in, but we need the key to her chains, and I do not remember…”

  “I put it with the one for our manacles. I will fetch it.”

  “That is a relief,” I said. “Fetch Henrietta as well, unless you wish to assist Vivian with her stays.”

  He shook his head and hurried down the stairs.

  I turned to find three women regarding me with curiosity in his wake. “It appears we will see to the baptism this day, and address the matter of the wedding when it is more convenient to do so. And I must speak with Miss Vines, alone,” I said.

  Christine frowned, but Agnes and Sarah nodded and began to walk away.

  “Wait,” Christine said. “Why?”

  Sarah and Agnes paused.

  “There are things Gaston wishes for me to discuss with you,” I said. “Before you marry. In the… madness of events this day we… forgot to address some very important matters which might bring about a different agreement.” I sighed and shrugged.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I will not make any agreement with you.”

  I sighed again. “That is not my suggestion, Miss Vines. My suggestion is that you hear me out, and using the information I shall impart to you, choose to alter your agreement with Gaston, or not, as it suits you.”

  “You should listen to him,” Sarah said, and led Agnes away.

  “Fine,” Christine said, with her hands on her hips. “Speak.”

  I looked about. I could, of course, suggest that we enter Agnes’ room and talk; but with all else that had occurred, I did not feel comfortable with such a breach of decorum. All others on this floor of the house were engaged elsewhere; and if I kept my voice low, no one who might be below the balcony would be likely to hear.

  I closed the distance between us. She stood her ground with more bravado than confidence: staying firmly rooted in the doorway, even when I was less than an arm’s length from her.

  I gazed upon her feigned haughty mien and wondered what I could say, or for that matter what I wished to say. I did not wish to divulge any secret of my matelot’s to the little bitch standing before me; yet, I knew this adopted demeanor was a mask to hide her pain and anger. Beneath it lay a girl I had once thought I could fall in love with. That girl was still there, and my initial appraisal of her had not been misguided. I felt she would feel compassion for Gaston’s woes, but I also felt that I would see little of it, as she was angry enough to kill the messenger this day.

  She waited impatiently while I considered and discarded several versions of the truth. She had begun to turn away with annoyance when I at last decided what I would say.

  “Gaston suffers from a malady of the mind. He possesses a great sensitivity of spirit and very poor control of his emotions once they are aroused. This malady is often seen as madness by those who do not know him well. We even refer to it as madness; but, depending on what you might know of madness, that definition might not be accurate in your interpretation. Suffice it to say that he has always suffered from it; and that it has led to his being abused by nearly everyone he has known, especially while he was young. And that has resulted in his being badly scarred, both physically and in his heart.”

  Compassion replaced the anger in her eyes: as I had hoped it would, both for Gaston’s sake, and for the sake of validating my appraisal of her character. The tension drained from her, and she leaned against the doorframe with a thoughtful mien.

  I continued. “His mother suffered the same malady, as did his sister, and we feel any child of his is likely to as well. That is why we wish to raise them personally, to insure that the effects of it are mitigated as much as possible, and that they are never ill-used because of it.”

  She nodded, but did not raise her eyes to meet mine. “I understand about the children now. How will this affect… a marriage?”

  I shrugged. “If he becomes distraught or is behaving in a strange manner, you should urge him to seek me, or you should seek me. He can be quite… dangerous when he is in that state.”

  “And what if you are not available?” she asked with a little of her earlier rancor. “Can I not aid him?”

  I thought of the Marquis’ thoughts and wishes on a wife being a more suitable caretaker, and I suppressed a sigh. “Not unless he trusts you, and that trust will take time to gain.”

  She frowned, but acquiesced, only to frown anew. “How is he scarred? I have seen no evidence of…”

  “It is easily hidden beneath even a buccaneer’s garb. He bears deep whip scars from his shoulders to his knees.”

  “Whip scars…” she breathed. “How? Was he imprisoned? I thought the buccaneers never used the lash.”

  “It happened before he came to the West Indies. If he someday wishes to share that tale with you, then he will,” I said firmly. “Until then, you must not ask. It was a very dark day for him, and recalling it… often leads to his madness.” That was not necessarily as true now as it once had been, but I hoped it would stave her off.

  She did not appear to be pleased about letting that matter drop, but she changed her questions readily enough. “What does he do when he has gone mad? Or is suffering from his madness, I suppose?”

  I sighed. “When he has completely lost himself, he lashes out at all around him, caring not if they are friend or foe. And to those that even in his madness he does not wish to strike, he will often say things that wound far worse than any blow he might have landed.”

  “Is it as if he is possessed?” she asked, finally meeting my gaze.

  “Aye and nay,” I sighed. “In a manner of speaking, he is, but not by some otherworldly demon, but by the darkness that lurks in his heart: a darkness placed there by others. When he is thus, he sees all around him as the ones who hurt him. That is why you will not be able to help him or control him if he loses himself to it.”

  “How do you control him?” she asked with a touch of challenge that raised my hackles.

  “Damn it, girl,” I sighed. “This is not a game or contest. He loves and trusts me now, even when he is at his worst. It has taken us years to achieve that. He has stabbed me and struck me and we have fought one another with swords. He has said things to me that made me wish to die.”

  She crossed her arms and awarded me a look that said I had just thrown a gauntlet before her.

  I leaned close to hiss. “If you truly loved him, you could, of course, weather all that as well as I have – and gain his trust. But you are not marrying him because you love him, and he is not marrying you for love, either. And if he doubts your sincerity when he is in that state, he will likely kill you.”

  She flinched and turned away. “If I am to marry any man, I wish to be a good w
ife and do all for him that I can.”

  “Good, that will be appreciated if you still wish to marry him.”

  “I do,” she said with conviction.

  I wondered what reason she employed in that decision: because it struck me as being madness. Where was her Horse trying to go? Where did her mind think the path lay? And what the Devil did her pussy want? I felt she was as much at odds with herself as we were on the matter, and yet she was calming her Horse and marching on. Or was her Horse the part of her that wished to pick up that gauntlet?

  Answers to those questions were boons I felt the Gods would never grant.

  Sixty-Six

  Wherein Motivations Are Exposed

  Gaston anxiously awaited me in the foyer. Without speaking, he led me outside and down the street, well beyond the hearing of anyone we knew. I soon determined we were actually on our way to the Theodores’, and not merely avoiding eavesdroppers, and he seemed oddly reluctant to ask the obvious question concerning my meeting.

  “She still wishes to marry you,” I told him. “She is sympathetic to your malady, and to your being scarred because of it.”

  He nodded, and continued to regard me with the eyes of a man fearful of bad news.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Why are you angry?” he asked. “What else did she say?”

  I sighed. “She wishes to assist you in your times of madness, in the name of being a good wife. I instructed her that she should seek me if you behave in any extraordinary fashion, but… Well, I feel she views my warnings of the danger you pose as a challenge.”

  He was shaking his head emphatically. “Damn her! Is she a fool?”

  “Perhaps. Or mad in her way. As Pete said, we cannot know, can we? We cannot know her heart, or Horse, or… We can only see what she does. And I did not understand the warnings of others concerning you when first we met, either.”

  We stopped in front of the Theodores’, and Gaston sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish you could be there to guide me. Then I could give you the reins and have nothing to fear.”