Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  I knew not what to say. Pete’s gaze met mine and I knew I need say nothing. All would be done that could be done: I only need have faith in the Gods, a great golden lion who was Their avatar, and my matelot.

  Then the Brethren were gone, and we were left alone with a house full of disgruntled mercenaries and Thorp, who stood staring at the doorway with a touch of awe.

  “Well, damn,” Thorp said at last. He gathered himself and turned to Jeffries and the rest of his men. “Let us get them to the ship, quickly, before those damn fools regroup and try to rescue them again now that we have no other hostages.”

  “What of the boat and children?” Jeffries asked.

  “Hah,” Thorp said. “We cannot pursue it now—whichever direction they went.” He looked pointedly at Sarah.

  She pawed her tears away and thrust out her chin to smile. “Pete told me to delay you.”

  Thorp laughed with sincere amusement. “Well, I hope to meet him again someday.” He pointed at the balcony from which Pete had dropped. “Do we have any men there?”

  “There be three dead, sir, and Wally there,” a man reported from the stairs and pointed at the body that had preceded Pete over the rail.

  “They did say that one be the worst, followed by the Frenchie,” Jeffries said apologetically.

  Thorp gave a disgusted snort. “I do recall that. Thank you, Jeffries. If I ever deal with this motley set of colonials again, I will try and remember that occasionally they are a good judge of a man’s talents.”

  Two men hauled me to my feet; Thorp instructed one to hold a pistol to my head as we walked, and the other to keep a knife at my throat. Thorp snatched Sarah to her feet and held his pistol to her jaw. The rest of Thorp’s men packed closely about us as we made our way out the door and down the street. I could not see anything beyond the press of men and their torches as we made our way to the wharfs on Thames.

  I was not resolved in my decision to go with them. My fear mounted with every step, and I nearly told the Gods that I wished for someone to ignore the agreement and rescue us, even if it meant my life. But that was a coward’s recourse. Was I not a better man than that? I reassured myself with the faith I had felt when I looked into Pete’s eyes. The Gods were with me, and my love and my friends would find me.

  Eighty-Five

  Wherein I Battle Demons

  We were placed in a longboat and rowed to two ships anchored in the harbor: one a fine twelve-gun frigate, and the other a nimble-seeming sloop with eight guns. Despair and fear blossomed anew: the frigate would not be easy for the Virgin Queen to take with the sloop as escort. My father, or perhaps Thorp, had prepared well for facing pirates.

  And then a new chill gripped me as we drew alongside the prison that would carry us to England.

  “Is my father here?” I asked Thorp.

  Sarah’s breath caught at my words.

  Thorp regarded me with incredulity. “Nay, of course not. A lord does not travel to the New World for matters of this type.”

  “Lord Montren’s father came to collect his son last year,” I said. “And he is a Marquis.”

  Thorp snorted and shrugged dismissively as he stood to take the ladder. “I have never understood the French.”

  “And is our cousin here, Jacob Shane?” I asked: pleased my voice remained level.

  Thorp paused in leaning down to pull Sarah up. “Your cousin does not travel.” His tone was curious.

  “Good,” Sarah said softly.

  Thorp looked to her. “I understand you are responsible for that.”

  “Good,” Sarah said firmly.

  Thorp seemed to find amusement in this.

  We were soon aboard. Thorp led Sarah toward the cabins, and I was escorted below by Jeffries and several of the mercenaries. Once in the hold, I was taken to a room of sorts: formed by the hull, a bulkhead, and stacks of crates and barrels that reached to the ceiling. There was a thin pallet in the corner, with a big hoop for a chain bored into a beam. Jeffries passed me to two bald, ugly, and burly men equipped with clubs; one huge and older; the other younger and smaller, but quite muscular. The big one was introduced as Watkins, the smaller as his assistant, Lots. I was told they were to be my gaolers.

  I was thankful for Sarah’s sake that she would have a cabin. Then I was annoyed that—as she was a woman—they would not consider her a sufficient threat to keep in chains. Then I realized that was possibly to our advantage. Thorp did not appear to be a stupid man, and he had seen her mettle, but many of the other men aboard this craft could surely be swayed by feminine wiles.

  Watkins and Lots removed my bonds and replaced them with manacles and leg irons which were attached to the iron hoop in the beam. They were indeed gaolers, or perhaps slavers, as they seemed experienced in the handling of a man as if he were a piece of livestock; and were quite cautious in insuring that I was never free to strike one of them without the other being in a position to exact retribution and prevent my taking advantage of a chance at escape. I saw nothing to be gained in earning their ire at this juncture, so I behaved docilely and sat on the pallet when they finished.

  They seemed curious about me, though they would not meet my gaze or address me. They had examined my scars while they worked, and then retreated to sit at the room’s table and discuss me in quiet whispers I could not decipher above the noises of the ship. I decided I really did not wish to speak to them, either, nor hear what they might think of me. It was likely we would have at least two months to become acquainted.

  I could not sleep, even when my gaolers turned down the lamp and Lots took his turn at watch while Watkins slept in a hammock strung in the other corner.

  I listened hopefully for any sound of a rescue, and knew it was foolishness. It was quite possible I would see England before being delivered from imprisonment. The Virgin Queen might have been pursued, or the Bard and Cudro might have heard of the trouble at Sarah’s and sailed to safety to await the outcome. It could be days before all who would want us saved might rendezvous and devise a plan. And it was entirely possible that this vessel and her escort would sail on the morning wind. If she did, and the Queen was not in a position to observe her leaving the harbor, she might have to search for us; or race ahead and lie in wait in the most obvious straits we would traverse. I knew how bloody hard it could be to find a Spanish fleet with a dozen buccaneer vessels looking for it. One ship seeking another could be a fool’s errand, even if the pursuer knew the routes the quarry might take.

  I was alone. I must accept that and make the best of it. I had spent most of my years as a man alone: and in truth, most of my childhood and adolescence alone as well. It was only in the past few years—since coming here—since meeting Gaston—that I had become accustomed to constant companionship and not just the constant presence of other men. My matelot was safe, and that was worth any discomfiture of heart or body I might experience on this journey. And I doubted I faced death—even upon reaching my father. If he wanted me dead, I would already be dead. So, truly, other than what awaited me at my journey’s end if my friends were not able to rescue me first, I had nothing to fear. My Horse agreed with me in theory, but He did not like being in chains in the company of strangers. Such circumstances had always signaled our demise in days of old; even though I had been rescued in those instances, too.

  Through worrying about myself, I commenced gnashing my teeth about Gaston. If I was surprised at my sudden loneliness, I could only imagine how he must feel: he who had never known companionship prior to me. I hoped he would recover quickly from the bout he had succumbed to, and if not, that Agnes could care for him and he would allow it. I had faith in his ability to control himself now, even if I were not present, and especially if I was in need as I most surely was. Yet, this was quite the test and he must face it alone.

  And Agnes could very well have been on the flyboat with Liam and the children, and not where we needed her. I told the Gods that Liam could sail, and he would meet up with the others before running
afoul of inclement weather or other vessels. Of course, if the Queen spent her time looking for them, she would not be following this ship. The more I thought on all our children being adrift in the sea in a little boat, the more I hoped our friends would see to the children first. Sarah and I would be well enough.

  I was still awake, though calmer in spirit, when I heard the sounds of the sails being raised. The ship began to move as dim light from the hatch seeped around the barrels of the wall. I told the Gods I would survive this: nay, I would endure and conquer it.

  My gaolers offered me a pot and rag, and then a tankard of water and porridge. I saw to my body’s needs and settled in to wait.

  Sunlight streamed in through what I could see of the hatch, and the ship was definitely under full sail in open water by the time Thorp arrived. He was followed by a small, moist man with pinched features and a fine suit of black wool tailored an inch or two too small in nearly every dimension but height. Thorp wore only a loose linen shirt, fine, thin woolen breeches, and high boots, and appeared confident and comfortable. This new man was stuffed into enough wool to keep a small flock warm in winter, and sweat marred the uniformly austere charcoal of it at every place an extremity met his torso. He was mopping at himself continuously with a lace handkerchief, and I was minded of Sir Christopher Vines at his most distraught—though this man seemed eager and not angst-ridden.

  “Lord Marsdale, may I present Mister Collins,” Thorp said.

  “I suppose,” I answered literally.

  “How very pleased I am to meet you, my lord,” Collins gushed and then frowned with consternation and turned to Thorp. “Where are his clothes?”

  “He was wearing no more or less when I made his acquaintance,” Thorp said with amusement. “I am told many of the buccaneers—as the privateers are styled—dress in this manner.”

  “I usually wear a tunic in addition to the breeches,” I said helpfully, “but as this hold will be quite hot until we clear the tropics, I am pleased with my lack of attire.”

  Collins was peering at me intensely. “And what is that on his ears? That will not do,” Collins told Thorp, and then turned to someone I could not see beyond the doorway. “Hedley, fetch Lord Marsdale a shirt.”

  “Do not bark at me,” Thorp was saying. “His attire is not my concern.”

  “Nay, it is not in this matter,” Collins said. “You are correct, but it is the duty of every Christian man to insure propriety.”

  Thorp seemed to have a great number of thoughts on the matter, all of an amusing nature judging by the tight smile he displayed, but he voiced none of them.

  I said, “I feel that no impropriety will occur unless someone here cannot help but look upon a man’s naked chest and experience lust.”

  This elicited a bark of indignation from Collins, and a guffaw of laughter from Thorp. Watkins and Lots studied the ceiling with perplexed frowns.

  “Do not flatter yourself,” Thorp said.

  I was tempted to tell him to find flattery in my gaze in order to observe his reaction. And my comment would not be totally disingenuous: I did find him handsome and his manner charming, even if he was the Devil. I found ironic amusement that my cock’s taste in men was often so poor.

  “I do not,” I assured him with a smile. “If I for one moment thought any man here might view me with lust, I would gladly cover myself in as much sweat-soaked wool as Collins. I would even don his suit—that is how very appalling I would find that situation.”

  Thorp looked to Collins and grimaced for comic affect, and Watkins even fought a smile.

  Collins puffed his chest out. “Propriety, gentlemen, is far more important than comfort. I would rather swelter in this Hellish heat than burn in the fires of damnation.”

  I grinned. “I think it very likely, sir, that by the judgment of such a proper man as yourself, I will burn in the fires of damnation no matter what I do, and thus I might as well enjoy what comfort I can find while caught in this mortal coil.”

  “Nay, my lord, I will not allow it,” Collins said earnestly. “Your father sent me here to save your soul, and save your soul I will.”

  My Horse bridled, and alarm crept through my balls and bowels, but I kept a pleasant smile on my face. I could very well guess why my father had sent this man, but I was determined to play it out. “Did he now? Well, I assure you, Mister Collins, I am well with God and He with me; and if we have anything to say to one another, I am sure He is more than capable of addressing the matter. I need no arrogant little parson involved.”

  Collins flinched and frowned. “I am not a parson, but I am a man of God. And sometimes men of God are God’s instruments in the instruction of His wayward children.”

  “And sometimes God grants little men enough rope to hang themselves for the sin of hubris come Judgment Day,” I countered. “If you are not a priest, then you are of little use to me in absolving my sins.”

  “My lord, you have lived too long amongst Papists,” Collins spat.

  I sighed. “Perhaps, but in truth, I do not feel those arrogant men have the right to speak for God either. So, if you cannot absolve me of my sins, but you are to save my soul, what are you going to do? Instruct me in Bible passages and a gentleman’s attire—on which, let me assure you, I will take no instruction from you.”

  “I am not to absolve your sins,” he said, “but to pull the Devil’s hooks from your soul, and steer you onto the path of righteousness so that you are no longer compelled to sin.”

  I gave a snort of contempt. “I have broken all ten of the commandments; and as a lord, I will be expected to continue to do so if I am to maintain any standing with my peers. I can assure you, God knows my father breaks most of those commandments in spirit if not the flesh. And if my father has truly gone to all this effort to bring me back to his fold, I do not see where he would be so delusional as to expect me to behave in a manner unlike him or other lords. So what are you on about?”

  Collins was appalled, even more so because Thorp was laughing. “Mister Thorp, how can you…”

  “Laugh? Easily, my good man, quite easily,” Thorp assured him. “You should try it.”

  Collins swung his bulk back to me. “And my lord, how dare you…”

  “Break a commandment so?” I teased. “I assure you, my father has given me little reason to honor him these past years, and I have failed to do so with abandon.”

  He mopped his brow frantically and sputtered, “This is not… You are not… My Lord!”

  I was not sure if he was referring to me or the Almighty in that utterance, and I laughed. “You come here with orders from my father to kill all I hold dear and you expect me to honor him?”

  “Kill?” Collins sputtered and looked to Thorp before frowning and looking quickly away.

  “Aye, kill,” I spat. “My father wished to have my matelot and my sister’s husband killed. And my wife, I suppose she was to die on the voyage. Thorp was handing her to his men. Thank the… I am glad she escaped such as she did. Tell me, Thorp, were there to be hangings once we were at sea, or were the unwanted souls to be poisoned or beaten to death and slipped over the railing in the night so the crew would not talk? Or did my esteemed father want all alive so he could witness the deaths himself?”

  Thorp regarded the table with bemusement. “Your father wished for all to reach England alive—if that could be managed. He expressed greater interest in being given the chance to meet some more than others.”

  I had known that, and hearing it admitted did nothing except make me thank the Gods fervently that Gaston was safe.

  Collins had collected himself and pasted a wan smile on his thin lips. “My lord, I was told you were quite quick-witted, but you shall not tangle us in things that did not occur.”

  “Nay, let us not worry over those who were delivered from this evil,” I spat and glared at him. “So, Collins, did you think the son of your employer would be dim-witted?”

  “Nay, my lord, I did not. But I have met many men
of excellent intellect, and they do not possess the Devil’s tongue such as you.”

  “Were they lords?” I chided. “Do not misunderstand me, I have met many dim-witted lords in my travels, but I have found that all men who do well in a monarch’s court have this Devil’s tongue —as you choose to call my facility for debate. I feel you do not comprehend what you were sent here to do, because you cannot comprehend who and what you are dealing with when it comes to lords and their sons.”

  Thorp found quiet amusement in that, and watched Collins expectantly.

  Collins flushed and balled his fists. “You are wrong, my lord. I do know. And I should not bandy words with the Devil in your soul. I am here to cure you of the affliction that mars you in the eyes of any man of worth, lord or not.”

  The chill returned to my belly, but I was very much devoted to the game now. “Truly, and what might that be?”

  “Your sodomiacal tendencies,” Collins spat.

  Despite my assurances that this was a matter we could handle, my Horse started and reared. I stood. “And how do you propose to do that, geld me?” I roared.

  Collins jumped back, and Watkins waved a club at me menacingly though I could reach none of them.

  “Nay, nay!” Thorp called and stepped between me and the others. “There will be no gelding, my lord; or any other damage to your privates. Your father specifically forbade that.” He shrugged. “He wishes for heirs. However, Mister Collins is empowered to do whatever else he feels necessary to convince you to become a good Christian man with no interest in other men.”

  I stared into his eyes and saw that—as he had shown—he obviously thought this was foolishness; however, he would do as he had been paid to do with little thought of me.

  I calmed myself and returned to my seat on the pallet. Thorp stood before me still, regarding me with more concern now than he had during my sudden ire.

  I ignored him, and looked around his legs to address Collins. “How much did my father pay you, Mister Collins?”