It merely reinforced a thing I already knew. We would never be able to live as free men within the constraints of civilization. What in the Gods’ names were we to do?
“Will?” Liam queried.
I started and grinned. “I am sorry. I was thinking how peaceful it was on the Haiti: no love-struck boys, no spies, no deranged imbeciles, and most importantly, no priests.”
They laughed.
“You and yur man best be right careful,” Liam said. “They had the boys spyin’ on Bones and me. When we got here, one o’ the priests asked if we be matelots. I tol’ ’im it were none o’ ’is concern. There were white eyes peerin’ at us from the shadows fur a week. So I left the shutters open to our room an’ tol’ Henrietta ta make a great bunch o’ noise. We all got a good laugh o’er it.”
Bones was grinning. “I share a room with Rucker. They never asked if we were matelots.”
“Are you?” I teased.
Bones rolled his eyes. He sobered. “Just not a lusty man, I suppose.”
I laughed. I realized he was possibly not jesting when his gaze became anxious as he watched my reaction. Liam was quiet and respectful beside him.
I quickly composed myself and adopted a mien of polite concern. “”You have never…”
“Nay,” Bones said quickly. “No men and no women. I like women—to look at. But they always seem to be too much trouble or money. And my mother said it should be for love.”
I gave him my best kindly smile. “You are likely a wiser man than the lot of us together. Yet misery loves company, and to that end, I hope you find love someday.”
Bones snorted and chuckled.
“Aye, aye,” Liam goaded him. Something caught his eye in the atrium and he sobered somewhat and turned back to me. “I be serious about the spyin’ though, Will. They be watchin’ yur man an’ ’is wife now. Gaston best make much o’ beddin’ ’er; an’ you two stay clear o’ one another unless yur out o’ the house for a time.”
I shook my head. “We have decided on another course.” I stepped closer, lowered my voice, and told them of the poor little girl in France and our plan to rescue her.”
“So, wait, is he married to that Miss Vines?” a stunned Bones asked when I finished.
“Nay, nay,” I said quickly. He married Miss Agnes. We are going to counter the Vines’ lie with one of our own in order to call their bluff.”
Liam seemed coiled with anticipation. “Who knows? Who would ya ’ave me tell?”
“I will tell Theodore; and Gaston and I will tell Agnes,” I said. “Once they are told, I give you free rein to disclose what you will. I trust your judgment. And,” I added, “you are our best spy.”
He laughed only to quickly sober. “I be tryin’ ta na’ to be our best gossip these days.”
“Your heart has always been in the proper place in either endeavor,” I assured him.
He continued to study the table where the women and babes were and he sighed. “The whole time we be here… An’ afore, in Port Royal. I felt I gotta keep an eye on everything jus’ ta keep us safe.”
“I thank you for that,” I said. “I am relieved that you—both of you—have been protecting our women and children while Gaston and I were off reveling in madness.”
“From what I heard, ya had good cause,” Liam said.
“Aye, we did; but be that as it may, thank you.”
Liam was deep in thought. “Would ya ’ave me tell the men o’ the Queen?”
“Aye,” I answered quickly, only to be gripped by how such gossip of a lie could be perceived by men I had not seen in six months. “Liam, I would not have our friends think we lied to them. They must be made to understand we are lying to the world, not them. And, truly, the world need not even believe it. So no one need act in any way other than… knowing, perhaps.” I grinned. “As if it is a great jest played upon priests and French noblemen.”
He nodded. “That be the part I like it about it most. Tonight?”
“Will you see them tonight?” I asked with surprise. I glanced heavenward. The atrium was now in shadow: the sun had sunk to the west.
“They be at the taverns near every night,” Liam said.
“Well, perhaps Gaston and I will be able to see them tonight then. I was thinking it would have to wait until the morrow.”
He shook his head. “Nay, we be damn near the only Brethren that na’ be rovin’. They be bored.”
“I suppose that works to our advantage,” I said; though I found it sad they were trapped in a strange port with only rum for company. “Please find us before you go in search of them. Now, I will go and inform Theodore of the trouble we shall cause.”
He nodded and smiled ruefully on my behalf; and I made my way to where Theodore and Rucker sat at a table with a bottle of wine.
Theodore watched me approach with open curiosity. “What are you about?” he asked in French.
“You know me well,” I said in English—mindful of the listening ears above us—and took a swig of their bottle. “Well, I—we—are going to…” I stopped and shook my head. I could not jest about it. “You have worked very hard to insure we have a future here; and that… Theodore, I would not have you think we do anything to make a mockery of the efforts you have made with good faith on our behalf. But…”
“Oh Good Lord,” Theodore sighed heavily and slumped his head into his hands.
Beside him, Rucker was stifling laughter. “What are you going to do, Will?”
I pulled the Marquis’ letter to Gaston from my belt and slid it under Theodore’s nose. “Read.” I looked to Rucker. “I would have you read it, too.”
Theodore gave another great sigh and began to read, passing each page to Rucker as he finished. When he was done, he took a great swig of the wine and studied the sky until Rucker turned over the last page to signal his completion.
“He knows he fights a losing battle,” I said.
Rucker nodded thoughtfully.
Theodore finally met my gaze and nodded as well, but his words were harsher. “He is fighting a losing battle to maintain his family name and his noble house. Something tells me that whatever it is you wish to do, it will not aid him in that.”
“We want the girl,” I said flatly. “Gaston feels very responsible for her. Wrong as the circumstances of her conception were, she is his daughter. He will not have her suffer at the hands of a mother who hates him or a family that views her as an embarrassment or a nuisance. And the Marquis does not wish that, either.”
Theodore smiled with resignation. “So, what will you do?”
I told them.
“That is very smart,” Rucker said: his eyes bright and unfocused as he continued to consider the matter over his wine.
“Where will you live?” Theodore asked without looking at me. His dismay and disapproval were palpable between us.
I sighed, and then my anger rose. “I do not know. Damn it, Theodore. I will not live a lie. Not for you. Not for the Marquis. Not for the Holy Roman Church. Not for my father. And not even for Gaston. That is what I learned in the hold of that ship this year. That is what I resolved while tortured. I will not forsake truth. I am as I am. And even if I am hanged for it or must suffer eternal damnation, I will not forsake my love: I will not forsake the truth of my soul. And I pray every day that I will receive divine assistance in living as I must.”
The happy chatter of noise behind me had stilled, and I realized how very loud my voice had risen. Theodore was gazing at me with surprise and wonder. Rucker had tears in his eyes. I stood: wanting nothing more than escape. Strong and familiar arms closed about me, and I closed my eyes and felt his kiss.
“You are loved,” Gaston breathed in my ear.
“That is the most important thing in my life,” I whispered.
“Will,” Theodore said quietly.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze. I found great admiration there, and I felt my heart might burst with the ache of it all.
“You are a very
dear friend,” Theodore said. “And I would not see you suffer. That has been my concern all along: that you would be made to suffer for your choices. I wished to save you that. But it has already occurred. And you are correct, you would suffer more to be someone you are not than you would suffer from any pain or death that could inflicted upon you by heartless men. Oddly, that is what many of us told your sister.” He sighed. “And here I was… probably mimicking her thinking—probably for the same reason.”
I tried to speak, but my breath caught, and I paused to wipe tears from my cheeks and find my voice. “Thank you. I would spare you all. My greatest fear regarding my choices is that others will suffer because of me. I do not want that, but… I do not think any man should live in misery to save another if… There is no end in sight: if the sacrifice will solve nothing.
“My father, the church, and all small-minded men judge and think they have the right to make others live as they wish. It will not stop until…” We kill them, I thought bitterly. “Until men rise up and tell them nay. Sadly, that will likely involve death for a very long time. We will have to kill them, or they us; because they cannot countenance our not being as they wish. It is a war. And even if it can never be won, it cannot be allowed to go unfought.”
“I am very proud of you,” Rucker said.
I shook my head and sighed. “Thank you.” Then I met his gaze. “You have reason to be. You laid much of the foundation of the heretical wonder you see before you.”
“If you are responsible for that,” Theodore said to him and gestured at me with the bottle, “then I will surely have you teach my children as well.”
There was laughter, even from me; but in my heart it brought no relief from the growing tension. I was weary to my bones: not from exposing my soul, but from the weight of the ore I had extracted. We were at war; and it very likely would end in misery.
My matelot scooped up our weapons and Apollo’s basket and led me up the stairs. Agnes followed with Jamaica in her arms and the dogs at her feet. She told Gaston which door was hers, and Taro trotted ahead to inspect the room before we entered. I could smell roasting meat and baking bread from the cookhouse. The shadows were long across the yard. A small breeze floated through the large outer window, bringing the smell of some tropical flower.
I fell back on her wide feather bed and lay still, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling.
The ropes creaked again and I was jostled as my matelot came to kneel above me and peer at me with curiosity.
“I will be burned at the stake for heresy and sodomy,” I said in English. “But I will die loving you and not lying about it.”
“That is what I love about you,” he whispered with a smile.
“My pessimism?”
He snorted and kissed me lightly. “So you told Theodore and Rucker.”
“And Liam and Bones.”
“What have you told them?” Agnes asked. She was digging about in a trunk in the corner and turned to us with a stack of clean cloth.
“It is now your turn,” I told my man.
Gaston sighed and nodded, and rolled off me to lie on his back and pull Jamaica to sit by his side. Agnes had lifted Apollo from his basket and now she placed him on the bed between us. The babe promptly rolled onto his belly and gazed at me with sleepy eyes. Jamaica patted her brother’s hand with pudgy fingers. It was quite endearing.
“I take it this birthing went well,” Gaston said. “I am sorry I was not here. I know it was a thing you dreaded.”
Agnes smiled. “Muri and Hannah delivered him, and Yvette held my hand throughout. It was easier than it looked when poor Vivian birthed.”
“That was a nightmare I will not soon forget,” I said. “Who is Muri?”
“Yvette’s housekeeper,” Agnes said. She rolled her son onto his back before wrapping a loose loincloth about his groin. When she released him he promptly rolled back over.
“I will feed him now, and then we’ll take him down in the basket and he can sleep while we eat,” she said. “And Jaime will want to sleep soon, too. We have a crib downstairs for Elizabeth and Jaime to nap in during the day and sleep in before we retire.”
I struggled to recall what little I had seen of the care and feeding of children. “Do you not keep them swaddled?” I asked. Every infant I had ever seen in Christendom had been wrapped so that they could not move. I could not recall Jamaica and Elizabeth being so wrapped.
Gaston groaned.
Agnes shrugged. “Rachel told me not to; and Hannah and Muri agreed. Rachel says it is too hot and humid here in the West Indies. Her family learned not to swaddle when they moved to Brazilia from Portugal. They cover the babies with loincloths or shifts and keep them in baskets. Muri and Hannah say the only mothers who need to swaddle are those who work in the fields. Sarah argued with Rachel about it with Pike, she was afraid his limbs would not grow straight without it; but then she saw how miserable he was after only a few hours, and she decided Rachel was correct. And Mister Rucker said that it was a thing discussed by learned men in London: that animals do not swaddle their young and yet their limbs grow as they should: and that some consider it a way for women to be lazy and ignore their duty as mothers.
“The midwife in Port Royal was adamant that Sarah and Vivian swaddle their babes, though. All the proper English ladies do it, she said. But then we heard how many babies sickened and died, and we thought it a matter like boiling water or having houses with large windows for the breeze. There is a call for new traditions in the West Indies.” She smiled weakly, still concerned with Gaston’s reaction.
“Thank the Gods,” Gaston said. “I think it foolish. If a small babe must be moved I would think swaddling makes them safe because it prevents their heads from lolling; but for the rest of the hours in a day… Those discussing it are correct: all other creatures are weak at birth and they strengthen themselves by rolling and reaching about.”
“I am glad you approve, then,” Agnes said. She laughed and looked at both of us lying on the bed before her. “It is good to have you here: safe and sound,” she said quietly. “I am sorry you felt you needed to hide away for so long.”
“We are sorry,” I said. “We did not mean to abandon you.”
She shook her head sadly. “I was so afraid on the Belle Mer.” She regarded Gaston with guilt. “I did not want to come here. I knew you had to go after Will, but I wanted… I was being selfish. I am sorry.”
He stood and embraced her. “I forgive you. It was a time of madness for everyone. And you were with child and coming to a new land. You had every right to want me to protect you. And I will, Agnes, but Will and the children will always come first.”
She pulled away a little in his arms and regarded him. “The children? Truly?”
He sighed. “They are the only reason we returned. I am sorry.”
She shook her head. “Do not apologize. I am relieved to hear it.” She picked up her son and sat on the edge of the bed, deftly rearranging her bodice so that he could nurse.
“You have breasts,” I noted dully. Her milk-filled bosom was much larger than the tiny nubs she had before.
She laughed and started to say something before stopping and chewing her lip. When she regarded us again, her gaze was tinged with guilt and concern. “I do not know where you will sleep.” Her words appeared to cause her even more consternation and she sighed heavily. “I have so wanted you both to come… here, and for all to be right with you, but… I am sorry.”
She glanced at me and quickly away. Little Apollo seemed to sense his mother’s agitation and he stopped nursing and made disgruntled noises. She made much of getting him back on her teat as she talked. “I am sorry, Will. We did not know.”
“I know,” I said shortly, and then cursed myself silently. It was not her fault: I was growing tired of hearing it, though, no matter how sincere they were.
“They said…” She looked away again.
“I was raped and tortured,” I said plainly.
She sighed and dared look to me again. “Because you favor men?”
My annoyance drifted away as I recalled that unlike the others who marveled at my father’s cruelty, Agnes was one threatened by such depredations as much as I.
“Aye,” I said quietly. “My father sent men to cure me: to save me: to bend me to his will and the laws of man.”
She was not looking away now. “What of the laws of God?” she asked. “I mean…” She sighed. “In order to become a Catholic, I have studied much with the priests, and…” She sighed again. “I have always believed in God, but I was not raised to be pious. The questions the priests asked and the things they expected me to believe…”
She stopped and told Gaston earnestly, “I told them what they wished to hear and I am sure they judged me sincere.”
My matelot nodded sadly.
I felt the tug of melancholy as her words drifted deep into my heart to pluck very sad chords of sympathy and timeless anger at the hubris of men.
Her gaze returned to me. “But, it all made me think. How is it that you do not fear God? I know… I mean… I feel I am not evil for favoring women. I cannot believe God would think it so very wrong, yet… I doubt my conviction. You do not. How is it that you do not?”
A hundred such discussions I had participated in with a fool’s abandon paraded through my head. And I well knew I would die for Gaston. I would die for the truth of my love. But, truly, what were my thoughts on God: the Gods: the Fates? I looked to Gaston and Jamaica, and then little Apollo, and thought of another red-headed child.
“If the love I feel is wrong,” I said quietly, “If it is wrong in the eyes of God, then I am not… in that God’s good graces.” I sighed. “And all my jests of willfully suffering eternal damnation aside… It scares me. It scares me that they might be right: that their God might be the only God, and that He might be as small-minded and hateful as my father. And if that is so… Then this is truly a pitiful creation He has wrought, and… damn Him. But… I cannot believe any being so perfect and all-powerful as to create the entirety of existence could be so petty and mean. I think… Nay, I truly believe that they are wrong: that those that would cast God in their image are wrong. And that someday they will face Him and feel shame for their willfulness in His name. At least I pray they will.”
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