Brethren

by W. A. Hoffman

  “And you. Fear not, or fear, I will return.”

  He chuckled. I availed myself of the latrine and received more boiled water from Samuel, and then we gathered our things.

  When we reached the street, Gaston said in French, “I may be embarrassed that others consider me to have a lover, but I am honored that it is you.” I forced myself not to embrace him.

  The sun was setting as we approached the Chocolata Hole. I shaded my eyes and peered across the small bay, at what would be my new home for the next several months. The North Wind was a silhouette against the sunset. The distant, glowing clouds and the gold water reminded me of the Arno on that night which now seemed an eternity ago. How long had it been since I left Florence? Seven months?

  The North Wind was a sloop maybe threescore feet in length. She carried eight cannon. The single cabin we had visited last night was set low, so that her quarterdeck was only a yard or so above the main deck. Her draft was shallow and her canvas large for her size. Gaston told me he had heard she was very fast. She was a sleek vessel built to carry men and not cargo about the seas.

  And tonight her deck was filled with men. We had heard the music before reaching the bay. There was a pipe and lute and drums and a deep rhythmic thumping that indicated dancing. All the men closest to the low gunwale had their backs to us as we came alongside, and I imagined the center deck had become a dance floor. We climbed aboard and shouldered our way into the crowd, to discover the spectacle of Pete and Striker dancing a jig. Their timing and precision were excellent, and it was obvious they had done this many times before. When the tune finished, Pete dove on Striker, bowling him over so they rolled down the deck laughing. More men took their place as the musicians began the next song.

  Gaston and I made our way toward the panting and still laughing pair. They were kissing deeply when we reached them, and there was a stirring in my groin at the sight of it. Striker broke it off to look up at us with a grin. “You visiting or sailing?”

  “Sailing.”

  Pete bounded up and his blue eyes flashed over my new attire and earrings. He guffawed. “LookAtYa. IDare’EmTaCallYa’ALord.”

  “Dare or no, I would rather they did not,” I said. “In truth, I would rather keep that bit of my identity hidden.”

  Striker was still lounging on the deck. “But I like calling you Lord Will.”

  Pete kicked at him playfully. “BeNice!”

  Striker attempted to sweep his partner’s legs out from under him, but Pete leapt up and spun in the air to land a good three feet away.

  “Gettin’Slow!”

  I was in awe. The only time I had seen an athletic feat like it was at a carnival performance.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  The Golden One shrugged and gave me a teasing grin. “YaCan’t?”

  “I do not know. It seems baffling to me. The only time I turned in the air in that fashion I was falling out a window.”

  “YaLandOnYarFeet?”

  “Nay, I landed in rose bushes. Somewhat on my back, I think.”

  “Why’dYaJumpOutAWindow?”

  “I had just been shot in the arse. And the fellow was not alone, and his manservant had a musket and not a pistol. I feared he might have been able to aim at least as well as his master.”

  There were several others standing around us now, including Bradley and Siegfried.

  “Why did the man shoot you?” Bradley asked with great amusement.

  I gave them a sheepish shrug, as I had not intended to get that far into the tale. “I had just bedded his wife, a delightful young lady who was truly wasted on a man of his years.”

  Loud guffaws rang through the night.

  “You got shot in the arse and dove out a window into rose bushes? How far?” Bradley asked, as if he doubted the veracity of my tale, no matter how amusing it may be.

  “I have the scar, if you wish to see it. I fell possibly ten or twelve feet, as I was on the second story. However, the roses were on a sort of mound, I think, so the distance was lessened somewhat. I do not recommend it. Thankfully I was clutching my clothing in front of my most treasured areas, and the body tends to roll into a ball upon falling. I was also lucky the bushes were mature – and had sufficient depth to hide my location from the window above, once I sank completely into them. My howls of pain and cursing alerted my companions, and they pulled me clear of the tangle and away. Mercifully I do not remember much of that part of the evening. Yet I do have the very distinct memory of spinning through the air as I fell. That seemed to occur very slowly.”

  My audience was laughing uproariously, except for Gaston, Bradley, and Pete. My companion was indeed amused, and I think the reason he was not laughing with the same gusto as the others lay in the fact that he was not drunk and he never did anything loudly or with abandon. I think Bradley was not as amused because he still doubted me. Pete was a mystery, though, until he pulled me aside and asked quietly, “YaBedWomen?” He truly seemed aghast over this.

  I shrugged. “Aye, when the opportunity arises and they are sufficiently comely to arouse my interest.”

  “YaBedMenThough?”

  “Aye, when the opportunity arises and they are sufficiently comely to arouse my interest,” I repeated with amusement.

  “WhichYaPrefer?”

  “Men,” I assured him.

  He seemed relieved, and I wondered why he cared; but Bradley had joined us.

  “May I have a moment with Marsdale?” he asked Pete.

  The Golden One frowned before shrugging and leaving us.

  “I am going by the name of Will amongst the Brethren,” I told Bradley.

  “Ah, I will not name you otherwise then. I am sorry.”

  “You did not know. And Pete has heard my title before.” I regarded Bradley curiously and waited for him to speak.

  “You’re a man of surprises,” he finally said.

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “Why is he here?” His glance indicated Gaston.

  “He is with me.”

  “But your tale would seem to indicate…”

  I cut his words with a shake of my head and a jaunty grin. “I swear I have been subjected to more conjecture in this place than in the courts of several kingdoms.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I apologize. Do you trust him?”

  “Obviously.”

  “What do you know of him?”

  “A great many things. What do you wish to know that I know? About his madness?”

  Bradley sighed. “So you are aware.”

  “Aye, will this prove an impediment to our sailing with you?”

  “When we spoke last I was not aware…”

  “Neither was I. And you have not answered my question, sir.”

  He smiled. “Nay, he is more of a known evil than you.”

  I cocked my head and smiled. “I am not sure how to interpret that.”

  He shrugged. “You may be more than I bargained on.”

  “I am often that. Why do you think my father sent me here?”

  Bradley laughed. “I’m beginning to understand.”

  He returned to the crowd; and for a moment I stood relatively alone, where I had ended up on the quarterdeck. I was beginning to wonder what I had walked into.

  Gaston joined me with his arms crossed and strangely timid look about him.

  “Am I welcome?” he asked.

  “Aye, with some reluctance.”

  He sighed heavily and looked away. “What must you think?”

  “That you must be a holy terror when it grips you.”

  He seemed to draw in on himself. I threw caution to the wind and draped my arm across his shoulders.

  “We will endure and…. Conquer,” I said. He regarded me as if I were mad, and I grinned like a fool.

  Pete and Striker joined us.

  “Sorry,” Striker said, and jerked his chin toward where Bradley was standing. “He’s angry about last night.”

  “What did you tel
l him?” I asked.

  “That we slipped aboard, and Davey was below, and we were forced to kill anyone who saw us, and we burned her to prevent more deaths. He thought that imprudent. I told him nothing of the money.”

  “Now, that was prudent.”

  Striker chuckled. “I did not mention Gaston’s involvement, either.”

  “Even more prudent, I fear,” I said. Gaston was not looking at any of us, and I realized I still had an arm across his shoulders. He was not pulling away, but he was tense beside me. “Where can we stow our things? And I would see Davey.”

  I was able to nonchalantly take my arm away as we began to walk, and Gaston seemed relieved. The wolves led us to the steps down to the deck. There was a five-foot-wide alcove between the last gun carriage, the gunwale, and the wall of the aft cabin, which rose to the quarterdeck three feet above.

  “WeSleepHere,” Pete said.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Striker added. “There’ll be at least sixty men aboard. The hold will fill with victuals, so we all sleep on deck, except for the Captain and Siegfried.”

  I looked up the length of the ship at the number of men standing about. At its widest, the deck was maybe sixteen feet. I remembered the decks of the King’s Hope crowded with sleeping men, and I carefully kept my dismay from my face. I had known I would be sleeping on deck, but until now I had not been truly cognizant of what that would mean. Striker and Pete had laid claim to what could be considered premium deck space, and they were willing to share it.

  “Thank you, that will be wonderful,” I said quickly.

  We stowed our sacks, muskets, and most of our weapons and gear in the space. Pete and Striker led us below to see Davey. The ship’s surgeon had arrived midday, and apparently plied our sailor with something to help him sleep while he recuperated.

  He was in the hold. It proved to be a wide but very low space, with walls defined by the sharply-sloped hull. It was mostly sand and ballast, with a gangway of planks laid the length of it, and casks stacked along the sides. There was an area near the bow that was mostly floored, though, and that was where Davey was sleeping on a pile of bedding.

  Davey did indeed appear to be drugged when we reached him, but he seemed happy to see us. He looked a bit better, as he was clean and his wounds bandaged. He regarded me quizzically and raised a tentative hand to briefly touch my left earring.

  I grinned. “You think that is something, you should see this.” I doffed my kerchief and showed him my hair.

  He chuckled. “So we be buccaneers now?”

  “Aye, or some may say freebooters.”

  He frowned, but Gaston snorted with amusement.

  “You French are strange,” Striker said.

  “Have you ever made boucan?” Gaston asked.

  “Nay.”

  “Then how can you be a boucanier?”

  “Because I want to be,” Striker said with a comical tone of righteous indignation.

  I laughed and then had to explain the meaning of the term to Davey, who sighed with annoyance that such a thing should be discussed or worried over at all.

  “We’rePirates,” Pete said.

  “Nay, we’re privateers,” Striker said. “I daresay I’m the only man here who’s actually been a pirate. Though I don’t know about him.” He pointed at Gaston.

  My companion rolled his eyes. “I’ve been a boucanier and a fliebustier, which means I’ve been a pirate since we were roving without a marque.”

  “So two of us have been pirates,” Striker said.

  “I’mAPirate,” Pete huffed.

  “You’ve been a thief but never a pirate,” Striker told him, and Pete pouted. “We’ve always sailed under a commission here, so we’ve been privateers.”

  “Where were you a pirate?” I asked.

  “England. I roved the Isles, the North Sea, and the French coast for five years.”

  “How did you come here?” I asked.

  “He is answering,” Gaston said quietly in French. “But it is usually considered rude to inquire of a man’s life before he crossed the Line.”

  “I do not mean to pry,” I added quickly to Striker in English.

  “What’dHeSay?” Pete demanded.

  “He said it is considered rude to ask of a man’s history before he came here,” I said.

  Striker nodded agreement. “Aye, it is; but I have nothing to hide, at least not from men I steal gold with.”

  “Speaking of which, I believe we are all pirates,” I said.

  “Right you are,” Striker sighed with a grin. “Last night was piracy. As for me, our ship was captured, and I was sent to Newgate and offered ten years of slavery in exchange for the noose. I took it, and that’s where I met Pete.”

  I remembered what Belfry had said about transporting prisoners as bondsmen. “How long ago?”

  “Nine years.”

  I blinked with surprise and regarded the two men critically. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven. We’re not sure about Pete but I think he’s of my age.”

  I added and subtracted years. Striker would have been sailing as a pirate between the ages of thirteen and eighteen before he was sent here. Pete not knowing his own age was baffling to me, but I supposed it could occur if he was left to his own devices at early enough an age. They had obviously not served their terms of indenture.

  “I think we are all of an age or close to it,” I said.

  “I be twenty-five,” Davey said.

  “Close enough,” I said. Yet though we were all close in age, I marveled at how much of their lives Gaston, Striker, and Pete had spent in this part of the world. As adult men they had known nothing else.

  We left Davey to sleep and returned to the party above. I was able to obtain a bottle of Madeira, and Pete and Striker led us around, introducing us to a great number of people who I would not remember on the morrow and who would not remember us. Yet the endeavor left me feeling more comfortable with the assembled crew and my surroundings. Gaston and I ended the night sharing the bottle, while sitting upon the cannon closest to our new sleeping quarters, if the cubby could be called that, while Pete and Striker fucked in it.

  In my travels, I had witnessed many acts of buggery that I was not personally involved in. Yet I had never witnessed two men engaged in what the poetic called the art of love. Much less two men who looked as Pete and Striker did. They were kissing and licking and fondling and all manner of things not necessary for the mere act of sodomy. I knew not whether I should avert my vision or stare with open abandon. We were not the only ones with a view, and others were watching, so it seemed somewhat permissible to stare. However, I did not want to watch, as it made me extremely conscious of my own needs – which were not going to be met anytime soon by anything other than my own hand. And of course there was Gaston, who I would have considered myself in the bowers of Heaven to do the same with. He was very pointedly averting his gaze and attempting to ignore the entire affair, the way one avoids watching another man relieve himself. It was the most damn disconcerting situation I could remember finding myself in, and I knew without doubt that this would be just the first of very many nights featuring the same.

  I sought to distract myself, and concentrated not on what the two men were doing but on where. The space was the width of a bed and there would be four men in it. I could not imagine Gaston in such a situation, much less myself.

  “Where did you sleep on the Josephine?” I whispered in French.

  He smiled obliquely and continued to study the moon. “I found several small spaces where only one would fit, and sometimes I slept in the main cabin during the day.”

  “Why did you agree to this?”

  He shrugged. “There is nothing for it. Why did you?”

  “In truth I did not understand. I knew we would sleep out in the open on a deck but… Gaston, I have never slept in close proximity to anyone.”

  “You have had lovers.” He regarded me with curiosity.

&nbs
p; “I have not slept with them, except for one, and that was a large bed and on rare occasion.” Alonso and I had shared a bed for something other than sating our carnal appetites only a handful of times in two years. I did not wish to explain why I was not comfortable in close proximity to a man unless I was able to pay attention to him.

  He was now regarding me with amusement. “I do not like to be touched.”

  I had realized that, yet it was obviously something I had not wanted to hear. “Then how will we make the best of this?”

  “I get the wall.”

  “That is not very helpful.”

  He grinned. “We will endure and conquer.”

  Another pair of men began to have sex on the cannon across the way. I watched them for a moment with dismay.

  “This will continue for hours,” he said, even more amused at my discomfort. “One pair starts it and then another watches and they decide to start, and then another, until all of the pairs who intend to, have.”

  “You are serious?” I asked without much hope that he was not.

  “Quite.”

  I finished off the bottle and wondered if there was another. I worked my way to the relatively unlit stern and relieved myself, first of urine and then of semen. Pete and Striker were curled together in approximately half the space when I returned, and Gaston was preparing for bed against the wall. With a heavy sigh I crawled in between Pete and him. Despite the belly full of wine and the empty cock, sleep was slow in coming as I felt every twitch of the men about me.

  I heard the Gods laughing at the jest they had so deftly played upon me.

  Ten

  Wherein I Gain A Matelot

  I woke to the feeling of bodies pressed against me. For a moment I was quite content with this. I felt cozy and warm and pleased with the world. Then I woke further and experienced panic, as my head was pounding with wine, and I was not sure where I was, and I felt pinned by unknown assailants, and this reminded me of things I strove not to remember. I squirmed and struggled until I was sitting with my back to the gunwale. Only then did I possess the presence of mind to remember where I was and identify my bedmates. Pete was responsible for most of my panic, as he had been sprawled partially atop me. Gaston had been curled into a ball against my side. I was thankful for the lantern on the aft deck. Otherwise, it would have been too dark to see, and I do not know what I would have done.