Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  Like all men seeking something from this domicile, we entered the ward of the hospital from the alley. We heard an argument before we stepped into the relative dimness of the long, cot-lined room. A man was complaining vehemently in French that he did not wish to speak to a priest or a woman: he wished to see a physician or surgeon. My matelot was shedding his weapons and handing them to me before my eyes had time to adjust and see where he was heading.

  To my surprise and relief, the woman in question was Rachel Theodore. Her jaw dropped open when she spied Gaston. He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek before informing the complaining man he was a physician and leading him into the surgery in the next room. Meanwhile, the priest looked at Gaston and myself, apparently guessed our identity—or perhaps we had met him before: all priests tend to look alike to me—and scurried off into the alley: presumably to raise the alarm. I was struck by the urge to shoot him in the back before he could.

  I turned back to Rachel and found her with tears in her eyes and surprised fingers before her lips holding in some exclamation. Something in her gaze burned away the dread I had been carrying about seeing our dear friends again. I set Gaston’s weapons on the closest cot and closed the distance between us to embrace her.

  “I am sorry, I am sorry,” I whispered in her hair.

  “Oh, Will,” she chided. She pulled away and peered at me anew. “How are you?”

  “I am well—now.” I struggled to remember all that had occurred when last I saw her. It returned to me in a rush: their child had been missing: she had been pregnant. “How are you? You look well. How are your… Did you find the children? How is your new one?”

  Elation and then grief rippled across her face. “Oh Will… I don’t know where to begin. Aye, aye, we found them here: the children. Liam sailed here. They were all well. Elizabeth is fine and healthy to this day. But…” She gave a sad sigh. “My baby was stillborn.”

  “Oh Rachel, I am so sorry.”

  She frowned, and the less-elated and more discerning Rachel I well remembered surfaced. “What were you saying you were sorry for before?”

  I shrugged helplessly. “For abandoning you.”

  She shook her head with wonder. “Will, you were mad from what I heard: very mad.”

  “I was,” I assured her quite somberly.

  She shook her head again, this time with bewilderment. “There is so much to tell you, and everyone will be overjoyed. We should…” Then she glanced at the surgery.

  The man—or rather, patient—was sitting on the table with his breeches pooled about his ankles while Gaston examined something in his groin region.

  “Tell everyone,” Rachel finished. “But I suppose we can’t have them all rushing in while he is busy, and…” She sighed.

  “I think that priest is already sounding the alarm,” I said with wry humor. “I expect to hear frantic bells at any moment. And as for my matelot: once a physician, always a physician.”

  She smiled. “He is so needed here.”

  My gaze returned to the surgery and was struck by a premonition that I would be doing a great deal of this in our future: watching him work. My words had been very true: first and foremost, my matelot was a healer of men. And I thought of our odd pairings of Horses and Men to make centaurs, and my Horse well understood the Man I saw in that room. He loved him dearly. I loved him dearly. My Man, however, wondered what I would be about for… however long we stayed here…

  I pulled my attention back to Rachel. “Can we perhaps tell them one at a time?” I asked. “I would speak with your husband. Well, wait, first, did anyone else die beyond your poor babe?”

  “Nay,” she said. “All are well enough.”

  Then I recalled the other babes. “And little Jamaica? And Agnes? Did she birth?”

  Rachel’s smile was beatific. “Jaime is well, and your man has a fine healthy son.”

  “Thank the Gods,” I sighed.

  She regarded me with a frown.

  “God,” I amended quickly. “Thank God.”

  She sighed and the chiding Rachel returned. “Will, you say the strangest things at times. You must be very careful of what you say around the priests. They have ears everywhere. I will go and fetch Mister Theodore.”

  I sighed in her wake: and so it began. I looked to my matelot again. He was busy poking through the cabinets about the room. The patient still sat on the table.

  Agnes had borne Gaston a son. I needed to tell him before we were overrun with purportedly delighted loved ones: especially Agnes.

  I slipped into the room to Gaston’s side. I spoke English, hoping the patient did not. “Might I speak to you a moment?”

  “Aye,” my matelot said irritably. “Some damn fool has reorganized these herbs and medicines. They are not as Doucette kept them. Did Rachel say who was physician here?”

  I chuckled and turned him to face me. “Apparently you are, my love. But that is trivial. Listen to me. Everyone is well. And most importantly, Agnes has borne you a healthy son.”

  Surprise and relief slackened his features. “I must…”

  I shook him lightly. “You have a patient. Rachel is bringing Theodore. I will speak to him and then we will see the others.”

  He glanced at the patient and sighed. “Aye, Oui. Go.” He kissed me lightly.

  It was such a natural gesture, but Rachel’s words about priests echoed in my ear, and I saw the look of surprise the patient sitting on the table gave us. As I left my matelot, my Man realized he would have much to do here, after all.

  Theodore ran in the courtyard door before I could near it. He came and took my shoulders and held me, searching my face and person with anxious eyes before shaking me lightly and pulling me into his embrace.

  “You worried us so,” he said as he pounded my back.

  “I worried myself,” I said with amusement. “I am very relieved you are all well.” And he did look well—just as Rachel had: as well as I had ever seen them.

  Then I realized what I must ask him, and I grinned like a fool as he released me. “What is the date?”

  His exuberance froze and retreated, and he sighed. “December Twelfth, this year of our Lord, sixteen hundred and sixty-nine.”

  “Ah, thank you for the year,” I teased.

  He realized my jest and laughed with me.

  “How is…?” he looked into the examination room.

  “He is quite well,” I assured him.

  “I see he is already busy,” Theodore said with a thoughtful look. “The fathers do what they can, but it is well known that Doucette is sorely missed.”

  “Does he yet live?”

  Theodore grimaced. “In body, aye, but his mind is often gone. There are moments when he behaves quite lucidly, though.”

  “He lives here, still, with Madame Doucette? And you live here?”

  Theodore looked to me and chuckled. “There is so much you must be told. Sit. Sit. I will start at the beginning.”

  I sat on a cot and he chose another. There were a few patients in the room, but they were at the far end of it and appeared to be dozing.

  “Perhaps I should ask Rachel for some wine,” Theodore said.

  I shrugged. “I have not drunk anything but water for… six months, I suppose. I am fine without. Unless you feel you need fortification in order to tell this tale.”

  He chuckled again. “Nay, but you might.” He sighed and began. “Liam arrived here first. While planning our escape from Jamaica, we had decided this would be the muster point if we should become separated. We hoped the Doucettes would accept us, or at least be willing to pass along messages from one party to another.

  “Thankfully, Madame Doucette has proven far more gracious than that. She happily took Liam and Henrietta and the children in. Those of us traveling with Savant on the Belle Mer arrived a week or so later.” He stopped and sighed, his mien guilty. “Good Lord, Will, I do regret all that occurred in those days.”

  “Stop,” I said quickly. “I understan
d. You did not feel I would be treated as I was.”

  “Aye,” he said with another hearty sigh, “And… Gaston was…”

  “Mad,” I supplied.

  He nodded. “Aye, completely. He was violent and irrational. And that damn fool Savant only made things worse. Though I do not feel he meant to cause harm, he merely… Savant expected Gaston to behave like a madman; as if Gaston behaved in that manner all the time. He viewed him as a prize bull or stallion that must be delivered to his father. He only wished to keep Gaston from harming anyone or himself. And he did not wish to hear a thing we had to say. His crew was the only thing that changed his course.”

  “I have never liked him,” I said. I clearly recalled his stubbornness on Île de la Vache; but I also recalled his grudging acceptance of my matelot as well. “Now I feel I wish to see him again.”

  “I am sure you do. If it is any consolation, Captain Pierrot took him to task for it. The resulting fight tore a tavern apart and spilled into the street.

  “I understand Pierrot is also the one who beat Doucette senseless,” he added.

  I grinned. “Aye, he is ever Gaston’s ardent defender.”

  “This being the West Indies, and them being buccaneers, might I inquire if there is a personal reason for his championing your matelot?” Theodore asked carefully.

  I chuckled. “I once wondered that. Nay, they have never been intimate, but I sometimes feel Pierrot feels much for my man; and might have felt much more if Gaston had been open to it. And since he was not, Pierrot has adopted a fatherly air toward him. My matelot has a tendency to inspire one or the other in some men: Doucette, Pierrot… Cudro, even, at one time.”

  Theodore nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Savant has been punished for his insensitivity and greed, perhaps.”

  “Did Pierrot beat him senseless, too?”

  “Nay, but his reputation has been greatly tarnished amongst the Brethren here.”

  “Good,” I said. “That does save me a bit of trouble.”

  Theodore smirked.

  “So, you, Mistress Theodore, our wounded Julio and Bones, Davey, and Agnes, and I truly hope the dogs, all arrived here with Savant?”

  “Aye, even the dogs,” he assured me. “They would be bounding about in here if we let them. They are not allowed in the hospital, though; or much of the house. Doucette is terrified of them. There is a great fenced area in the yard that they laze about in; but Mistress Sable keeps several with her.”

  “Good. And how are Bones and Julio? Striker said Farley tended them.”

  “They are quite well. Bones lives here, and Julio and Davey live on the plantation.”

  “Plantation?” I asked.

  Theodore held up a hand. “Aye, in good time. We arrived, and Madame Doucette took us in as well. We made it very clear that Mistress Sable was the Comtesse Montren. It was a revelation to the priests and the Doucettes that Gaston was once again the Comte de Montren. We also posted a letter to the Marquis immediately, explaining all that had occurred.”

  “And our letter?” I asked. “The one Striker would have had. Has there been a reply?”

  He held up his hand again: his countenance was stern.

  I sighed.

  “We did not know what might occur with the rescue effort by the Virgin Queen,” Theodore continued. “We prepared for the worst. I spoke at length—and with some frankness—with Father Pierre, the head of the mission here. I, however, did not make mention of the matter of Miss Vines. Father Pierre immediately wrote his superiors in France; and it was decided that the Comtesse Montren should become a good Catholic as soon as possible. Mistress Sable then converted to Catholicism.”

  “But they still should be married in the Catholic Church as soon as possible,” I said.

  He sighed and held up his hand again. “One thing at a time, in the order events occurred, or I will surely forget something of import.”

  I sighed.

  “Father Pierre spoke at length with the French Governor’s man here in Cayonne. We were assured that no amount of your father’s gold would betray us into the hands of your father’s men should they arrive. Various members of the local militia and other town notables were also advised—and offered a reward—to report any English ship or influx of English men or coin. In the time we have been here, there has purportedly been nothing of note on that front. And I have spoken to Mistress Striker about what your father might do next. We can only guess that he might mount another… expedition next year, after he has time to regroup from the last one and decide on a new course of action.”

  I sighed with relief.

  “Then,” he continued, “the Virgin Queen arrived.”

  I grimaced politely. “With all that wondrous news.”

  He chuckled. “We were appalled, and shocked, and quite worried. You can well imagine.”

  “I can, and I am very sorry I was so…”

  “Stop,” he said kindly. He seemed to reconsider what he had been about to say; instead, he asked, “What will you do about your father, Will?”

  Though I knew the answer, I did not like the question. I did not wish to think on it.

  “I suppose I must kill him,” I said with a shrug. “I do not wish to die in the attempt, though. I do not wish to hang for it, either; or allow it to harm anyone else. As it is, I feel great sorrow that the whole matter has disrupted the lives of everyone who dares to call me friend.”

  We studied one another. I saw no regret in his steady gaze. I also did not perceive that he disagreed with me.

  “It will have to be carefully arranged,” he said at last.

  I was surprised. “You agree with that course?”

  He nodded somberly. “Sadly, I do. I feel your father is madder than your matelot could ever dream of being. And as that is the case, I feel none of us will be safe from him until he and your damnable cousin are dead and buried.”

  I nodded: even more surprised at such a pronouncement from him—and the vehemence with which it was uttered. “I feel that is correct. And I am sorry you have lost so much: your business, your home, you…”

  “Our child,” he said quickly. “I feel all the trouble, strain, and fear we have experienced were the culprits.”

  “Theodore,” I sighed. “I am sorry beyond measure.”

  “I do not blame you,” he said firmly. “I blame your damn father.”

  I nodded. “I will kill him.”

  Theodore took a deep breath and the anger that had tightened his features and words slowly flowed from him. “Not today, though,” he said with a strangled little laugh. “And God knows you have far more reason than I… Good Lord, Will, I do not realize how very angry I am until…”

  “It sneaks up and bites your arse,” I supplied sympathetically with a smile.

  He laughed. “Aye.”

  “So,” I said. “The Queen arrived, without us, and…”

  He smiled. “Many of us sat about and drank ourselves into a stupor that night,” he said sheepishly.

  “With good reason.” I laughed. It was horrible and it was my fault, but I laughed anyway; and he laughed with me.

  And then my humor was gone and I sighed, “We abandoned you.”

  He sobered. “If… I under…” He sighed. “I do not blame you,” he finally said sympathetically. “And, perhaps it was for the best. There was little that could have been accomplished while we all waited for word from France.”

  “Has that word arrived?”

  He nodded. “And, in my opinion, it was… well, you can be the judge of it. The long and short of the rest of it is that we were forced by your absence to settle in and decide how we would live here. There were too many of us for even this large house. The Doucettes owned a plantation here on Tortuga—along the eastern shore. They sold it to your sister. She borrowed the money from the Comtesse. Your sister moved there with her… with Striker and Pete; and of course, their son. And Julio and Davey went with them.”

  “And Bones stayed here?” I asked
. “Liam and Henrietta went to the plantation, then. And what of Rucker?”

  “Rucker is here, and Liam and Henrietta stayed as well,” Theodore said. “Your sister purchased several house slaves to see to her needs.”

  “Oh, well, good, I suppose. So Henrietta is no longer in the business of being a servant.”

  “Aye and Nay. There is no need here, but Henrietta and Liam feel as if they work for Comtesse Montren. Liam is quite adamant that his duty is to protect her and us.”

  “Bless him, then,” I said sincerely, but I was troubled. “So…” I silently counted off names. “There are still a large number of people in this house.”

  He chuckled. “Aye.”

  “Why did more people not move with Sarah and Striker?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “I would say it is because your sister was not agreeable to it.”

  “Ohhh,” I said. “Why?”

  “She arrived here very angry,” he said sheepishly.

  I grimaced. “That would be my doing, I imagine.”

  “That would be my understanding, aye,” he said with a small smile. “She professes to want little to do with any of us.”

  I was incredulous. “Because of me? Why would she be angry with any of you for what occurred?”

  He smiled kindly. “Because we defended you. Striker and Cudro told us what they understood of what you had endured.” He appeared embarrassed, and he continued quickly. “Meanwhile, your sister vehemently condemned your behavior while captive. Many here wished to hear none of it. So she withdrew.”

  “Truly? Well… Thank you. I was very angry with her. I…” I sighed. “Some night, I might be induced to explain why over a bottle of wine. I do not wish to dwell on it now, though.”

  “You need explain nothing,” Theodore said warmly though quickly: he surely did not wish to discuss it, either.

  “Even Pete and Striker were surprised by her behavior,” he said. “Pete often comes here for pie; and Striker, Cudro, Ash, Dickey, and sometimes even the Bard stop by and share whatever gossip about Jamaica they have heard in the taverns.”