Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  “I did not think of it in that way—either,” he said with a thoughtful tone.

  I chuckled and leaned forward to brush a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my love.”

  “But you do not want the title,” he said. “I assumed you would abandon it.”

  “What if I did not—and we could go elsewhere—the colonies perhaps—and live as we chose?”

  He chuckled and returned to paddling. “That would be very fine indeed.”

  We finally found the Fortune in the dim light. We were welcomed aboard with great relief by all.

  “You see he’s blockaded the bay,” Cudro said.

  “Aye, and he does not wish for us to leave—well, specifically me,” I said. I looked to Donovan. “Do not fret, we will manage something. And I have a question for you.” I took his arm and led him away from the others to the bow, where I whispered, “Would you be willing to risk his wrath and sail us north to the colonies?”

  “It would cost me, an’…”

  “We would pay you handsomely. I will trust you now to tell you we have enough coin with us.”

  He sighed and nodded. “Smart o’ ya ta na’ tell men you na’ know. I take no offense. I would be willin’ ta take your money. I could sail from another port an’ do me business with the Spaniards. There be small ports in the Bahamas, an’ there always be Cayonne.”

  “I thank you.”

  He shook his head. “We canna’ leave right aways, though. There’s the spar that needs fixin’. An’ we canna’ outsail that sloop ta get aroun’ ’er or outrun ’er—with or without the spar bein’ made right. It’ll take another storm. Or some other matter. Some of the reef be low, an’ I could see slidin’ o’er it if there were storm swell. But it be risky business.”

  “All right, let us see what develops. He might move the sloop tomorrow. He might do many things.”

  “’E might come an’ take me ship fer some damn fool reason,” Donovan said.

  I sighed, as that was a possibility. “Let us hope he does not feel so very desperate.”

  “Why would ’e?”

  I supposed that was a valid question: Morgan was so arrogant he should not feel the need; but, then I realized Donovan did not understand what Morgan wanted. “Our Admiral feels I will be of value to him—as a hostage perhaps, or as a bargaining chip; or in my own right as his friend.”

  “Why do ya think ’e feel ’e needs any o’ that?” Donovan asked.

  “He is an ambitious man, and he wants far more than he can steal from the Spanish.”

  Donovan nodded. “’E also might need a nobleman ta cover ’is arse. Norman said there be a treaty with the Spaniards now. No more war beyond the Line. Morgan an’ Modyford been writin’ each other o’ it. Morgan’s orders be to na’ attack the Spanish unless ’e ’as reason ta believe they be plannin’ war again against Jamaica.”

  I laughed. “Which I am sure he will intuit from every Spanish port we pass. That is just what I expect from those two. Well, that gives me a piece to play with. Thank you.”

  Donovan smiled. “Aye, as ya say, we’ll see ’ow it goes.”

  He left me, and I was soon surrounded by Gaston and our friends. I imparted all we knew.

  “He would keep us here as prisoners?” Chris asked. He appeared quite surprised.

  “Na’FerLong,” Pete grumped.

  “I think you’re correct about none wishing to anger him save Donovan,” Cudro said. “And he’s correct about it being risky business.”

  “So we go roving,” Ash said. “What is your hurry?”

  This angered Cudro, and they began to argue and retreated from us.

  “Let us pray for a miracle with the French,” I said. “And until then, I suppose we shall attempt to lull him into a false sense of security.”

  For the next month, we did that very thing. Donovan and Rodent made very slow work of choosing and fashioning a new spar. They actually had a fine one they were working on below deck; but every one they worked on above deck proved to have some flaw in the wood; and they made much of discarding it and then traipsing about in the forest to find another. Donovan and his men also began to speak of roving when they were ashore: as did the rest of us.

  Gaston took to plying his trade from one particular stump near the edge of the forest, and within a fortnight he and I moved our belongings there and set up camp. There we were able to have a modicum of privacy, and we were free to run or swim as we chose. Gaston’s health had thankfully improved to the point where he no longer coughed or fevered. He pronounced himself well, but still weak: and even though he felt great need to regain his strength, he paced himself admirably.

  As Gaston and I were now always visible, we began to feel we were watched less; and Morgan even took to gracing our fire on occasion for a shared bottle of wine and talk of piracy and dueling.

  Cudro and Ash also came ashore and began to spend their time at the various campfires in the night. Thus we learned that a rumor had begun concerning Donovan withholding goods from the fleet. We combated that by sinking the Fortune’s crates of rum and wine over the side in the night, and marking them with buoys that floated beneath the surface so that only a swimmer might find them. Then Donovan invited a number of captains—including Morgan—to his ship for a fete, and shared out the last of his good brandy. Chris and Pete spent that night ashore, but on all other days they remained with the Fortune.

  In the first week of November, the afternoon storms began to abate and the French finally began to arrive. Still not wishing to rile Morgan, we did not paddle out to meet them and ask of news. Instead, we waited at our little camp until, to our great relief and happiness, we saw a particular long-faced Gaul jogging up the beach to meet us. We embraced Pierrot as if he was a long-lost brother, and he returned it in kind.

  “How are you?” he asked loudly. Then he took a closer look at Gaston and his brow furrowed. “You do not look well, my friend.”

  My matelot laughed. “I assure you, I am the best I have been in months.”

  Pierrot appeared quite concerned. He looked to me. “What has happened?”

  “Gaston was shot and almost drowned when we escaped Île de la Tortue,” I said. “He caught the ague, and though it has left him, his strength has not yet returned. When I stop and think of how much weight he has lost, I am concerned too. But he is doing much better. We run and swim a little now. How are you?”

  “I am well,” Pierrot said with reserve and sat at our fire. “I have a ship full of angry boucaniers. The French governor is a great fat hog who will ruin us all. We go to rove with a bastard who would just as soon rob us as split treasure with us. All is well.” He grinned. “I have heard much of you two.”

  I chuckled. “All good?”

  He laughed. “Never!”

  I handed him a bottle of fine Spanish brandy—compliments of Donovan’s trove.

  Pierrot took a good pull and passed it to Gaston.

  “So,” Pierrot asked, “how did our fine Doucette die?”

  “I pushed him down the stairs,” I said. “I had had enough. He was accusing me of bedding his wife.”

  Pierrot sprawled in the sand with loud and unabashed laughter.

  “What else have you heard?” I asked.

  “You are a heretic, an atheist, and an idolater. You killed a priest. You killed Doucette. Gaston is possessed. Gaston is raving mad. Gaston was never a lord. Gaston has two wives. You were fucking every woman in that house. You are dead. The stories go on.”

  “Who have you heard this from?” I asked.

  “Everyone in Cayonne,” he said with a shrug.

  “And everyone on your ship?”

  He nodded emphatically and gave a moue of incredulity—presumably as to the stupidity of his men.

  “Well then, let me tell you of it.” And so I did, leaving no details out, including many of those associated with my incarceration. I even told him of worshipping the Gods. Gaston often left the fire to circle behind our little camp and ens
ure no one listened. Pierrot laughed and cried at my tale, and we finished the bottle. I fetched another and told him of what we faced with Morgan.

  He became quite somber. “My friends, I will do anything I can to aid you. I wish you had been able to stay in Cayonne another two weeks. If we had met then, you would be in England now—on your terms. But now, I am sorry; I have a ship full of men who will not wish to sail to England—even if you could pay them all in coin—and I will never sail from Cayonne again if I abandon them here to rove on English vessels.”

  “Well, we have been afraid that would be your answer,” I said sadly. “We came here in hopes it would not; but, as we saw men collect here, and after speaking to Morgan… we understand. These men are hungry for violence as much as coin. And all fear the wrath of their peers—and Morgan, who they stupidly revere.”

  “Would we be welcome to sail with you?” Gaston asked.

  Pierrot cursed quietly and shook his head with great sadness. “My dear friend, I would not dare bring you aboard for fear of your safety. We will have to wage another war of gossip and lies in order to impart any semblance of the truth. And then there is that matter of you actually worshipping Pagan gods…” He laughed. “We will not tell them of that.”

  I laughed. “Are so many of them truly good Catholics?”

  Behind my good cheer, I silently cursed my stupidity in not accounting for the passage of time and the amount of festering gossip that could occur with sailors. I looked to Gaston and found him resigned.

  “Enough of them are: the rest are merely superstitious,” Pierrot said seriously, and then chuckled only to sober again. “Do you have another way off this island?”

  “The captain we came here with is willing to help us, but he cannot out-sail Morgan’s sloops,” I said.

  “I have a longboat that can be fitted with a sail,” he said. “It should not be much smaller than that dinghy you navigated around Hispaniola with.” He laughed. “You could sail due north, you cannot miss the southwestern peninsula, and then around it to the east and into the great bay. Somewhere in there you could find a bigger boat to steal and then head north to the English colonies—with charts.” He laughed again.

  It was a thing we had discussed on occasion with Cudro and Pete this last month. I nodded. “Thank you for that kind offer. We may yet avail you of it, but I fear falling into French hands more than I do the Spaniards at this juncture. They will just kill us. They will not be moved to burn us alive.”

  “They will likely torture you first,” Pierrot said with a shrug. “Both of them. Your father too, by the sound of it.”

  I sighed and collapsed to lie back on the sand. “I wish there was another option.”

  “Sail to a Dutch colony—but that will require a larger craft—and better charts,” Pierrot said affably.

  I chuckled. “It will be to no avail. I will somehow bring Dutch wrath down upon us.”

  Gaston laughed. “I cannot take you anywhere.” Then he turned to Pierrot. “What about after we raid? Can we escape with you if you have time to seed truth with your men?”

  “If it comes to that, we can but try,” Pierrot said. “I will hide you in a barrel if necessary.”

  I thought of having to hide throughout a voyage to England… And supposed it would be better than being tortured—by a very small margin.

  “Let us discuss the boat with Cudro and Pete,” I said.

  He stood and we embraced in parting. We watched him walk away, threading his way through the fires dotting the beach. A figure detached from one circle of camaraderie and hailed Pierrot. I could see a plumed hat clearly in silhouette, and assumed the figure to be Morgan. Pierrot stopped and the two talked. Then our jolly friend’s usual slouch tightened to the stance of a man prepared to fight. I cursed. Finally Pierrot walked away. The figure turned and began to approach us.

  “I wonder how easy he would be to kill?” Gaston whispered.

  “Easy. The difficult piece will be escaping the island—much like my father.”

  Morgan reached us and doffed his hat in greeting. “Well, your French have arrived.”

  “Aye,” I said noncommittally. He stooped to reach for the bottle of brandy and I plucked it up and set it in our tent. “You are betting on the wrong horse.”

  He squashed the ire that flared in his gaze and pulled an affable grin across his taut features. “Whatever do you mean? From what I hear, if anyone has been betting, it is you, and you have bet on the wrong animal: the French will not take you anywhere.”

  “Nay, they will not,” I agreed with surprisingly little rancor—even to me. “So it appears we will be roving this year.”

  “Aye, so it appears. Worry not, Will. We will get you to England yet when this is over, and we will all be famous for it.”

  “How is that? Do you really feel you will amass the men and ships for Havana or Cartegena?”

  “Panama,” he said with a smile. “I promised their president, or governor, or whatever he was.”

  “Well, if we can truly manage Panama, it will be a glorious thing. I will be able to say I have seen the great Southern Sea before I die.”

  He smiled. “There is room for you now on the Lilly; and if not there, now, there will be room on the Satisfaction once she returns.”

  I shrugged. “Aye, if the vaunted pirate-hunter Collier does not put her on a reef. For now, this beach is fine; and as for later, we will see which ships actually return and choose our place then.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me,” he said coyly while adjusting the plume on his hat. “I’ve not led your life or made your decisions. I didn’t make you sail here; and I’m sorry no one wishes to bow to your lordly desires and change the course of their lives to sail you elsewhere.”

  I snorted disparagingly. “Nay, nay, they will all sail to their deaths with you at the helm: which suits your common ambitions.”

  He tensed at my jab and settled his hat back on his head. “You know, once we sail, it would be better if you paid me proper respect as the fleet’s admiral.”

  I laughed. “Or what, you will clap me irons and throw me in the hold? I suppose it will allow you to drink to abandon without worrying where I am.”

  “Do not tempt me,” he said tightly.

  “Or perhaps you will have me flogged. Would that suit you? I have been flogged. It will only make me angry. The last time I was flogged, it was at the behest of a man whose eyes I plucked out. That man was such a fool he thought that when I became the Earl of Dorshire, I would thank him for forcing me to change my ungodly ways. I told him I was his worst enemy if he did not kill me then and there, and I would never thank him, and then I blinded him. He is still blind, and I might still become Earl. And fools still place trust in my father.”

  Morgan backed away hastily and wordlessly with fear in his eyes.

  “Do not say that was unwise,” I implored my man without looking at him.

  “Oui, oh Wolfman.”

  I turned and found him grinning. He shrugged. “I married you.”

  “Oui, I suppose that makes you a bigger fool than I,” I said warmly.

  Another figure approached from the fires. This one I recognized from the set of his naked shoulders and his gait: Pete.

  “Where is your matelot?’ I asked when he neared.

  “OnShip, WhereItBeSafe,” he added quietly as he dropped to sit with us. “What’dTheySay?”

  I told him of both conversations while Gaston again looked for spies. Pete sipped brandy and lay in the sand with a thoughtful mien.

  “Aye, Pierrot’sBoat. WorthTheRisk. WeBePrisoners’Ere.”

  “We will speak to Cudro in the morning and have him arrange it, and to get copies of charts.”

  Pete grinned. “Chris’As’Em. HeBeenCopyin’ Donovan’s. FunnyTaWatch. DonovanYellin’ EnglishWordsTa Make ChrisUnderstand. ChrisJustNoddin’…”

  Gaston and I laughed.

  “He does play that well. How is he doing?” I asked.


  Pete smiled. “’EBeFine. WeBeFine.” The last was a little bit wistful.

  “But?” I asked.

  “NawBut,” he sighed. “JustNa’AsIt WereWithStriker. IMiss’Im. YetI BeShamed TaAdmit ThisIsBetter InParts.”

  “How?” Gaston asked.

  “LessArguin’. An’IBeTheMan InAllThings. ’E’Ave’IsOpinions, But’EAin’tTellin’Me WhatTaDoAll TheTime. An’’EWorriesLess. An’ThereBeMore RumFerMe.”

  “Have you succeeded in gentling him down yet?” I asked.

  Pete laughed. “Aye! An’ItBeNone O’YurConcern. ThoughIWillSayIBeen TemptedByThe SquishyHole. ItJustBeSittin’There, An’SomeNights IStartWonderin’. ButNowWouldBe ABadTimeTaBraveIt. Can’t’Ave’ImWithChild. Na’WithAllThisShite.”

  Gaston and I exchanged a look and grinned at one another.

  Pete rolled on his side and regarded my matelot. “WouldThatBotherYa? OnceThisAllBeDone.” He shrugged. “Iffn’IWere TaMakeA BabyWithYerCousin.”

  “She is not truly my cousin,” Gaston said with a smile.

  Pete considered that. “SoICouldMarry’Im?”

  “If she will have you,” Gaston said. “We must first insure our daughter is safe with us, but that is the only reason I have pretended she was mine.”

  “Have you discussed this with Chris?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Nay, NaYet. JustBeen Thinkin’OnIt.”

  I dearly hoped Chris would not disappoint him when that moment came. And… “It will not be the same as it is here when we… When things are finished.”

  Pete nodded. “IKnow. MaybeThat BeGoodToo. Settlin’DownAn’All. MyCock’llAlways WantAMan. ThereBeADifferent SmellAn’Feel. Chris’ HipsBeFleshy TaGrabAn’TheLike. ILikeMuscle:’ArdFlesh, But… ICanLiveWithThis.”

  “You might find you share Liam’s sentiments about returning to men after a year,” I said. “Not to dissuade you,” I added.

  “IBeenThinkin’ ThatToo. ITol’’ImIWould Na’QuitStriker. ’ESaid ’EUnderstood.” He shrugged. “’EMightNa KnowWhat’EBe Speakin’O’ Either.”

  “You will know in time,” Gaston said wistfully. “I wish you happiness.”