Brethren

by W. A. Hoffman

  “I would want that we were like Pete and Striker. To be equals, both partaking in the joys of giving and receiving as we wish. And I would want quiet times of great intimacy to enjoy each other’s caress, whether it gives rise to passion or not. But primarily, I would want the freedom to enjoy you in all ways, whether they lead to your pleasure or mine or both or none. And truly, I do not lay all of that out as a river you must cross alone to reach me. I have never had a relationship such as I wish for now. And I am not ready to meet my half of the arrangement. I feel it will take effort on both our parts.”

  He held me and I waited, concerned I had said more than I should.

  “I will fight it with you as best I am able,” he whispered. “But Will, I foresee a very long war.”

  So did I, and I was not pleased with this grim vision of the future. At least I was not alone. This heartened me greatly, enough to allow me to push the other thoughts aside. I settled into him and watched the stars and the horizon. He seemed content to hold me, and I was content to be held.

  It was truly new ground for me and I strode on it gratefully, despite the small frustrations of my manhood. In all of my prior relations with men or women, someone’s manhood, usually mine, had taken precedence over all other aspects of intimacy. I had never been with a lover with whom I could engage in intimacy, without it culminating very quickly in the act of copulation of one form or another. And then it would be gone. Alonso and I had never sat about and simply held one another. I wondered at that. I had known I wanted to. Since Shane, I had known I wanted to be held and have the freedom to touch without censure. Yet I had never attained it. Nor had I strived for it. Now I felt the need to hold it like a painted egg.

  Sometime while we sat thus, a fight broke out on shore. We did not hear of it until morning, when several men, the Bard included, returned to the ship to recover from their excess of drink. Relieved of duty, we went ashore to watch the pending duel. Otter and Liam went with us, with the Scotsman thanking us profusely for letting them use the cabin all night. I assured them that we were not put out, and then immediately regretted it as they regarded us curiously.

  I realized I did not want anyone to know we did not engage in buggery. Thinking further on it, I came to see that this was related to my thoughts and wishes of the night before. If I was involved with a man, I wanted to crow the fact to the world, without threat of his displeasure or anyone else’s. And at the same time, if I was involved with a man and it was plain for all to see, I wanted others to think that we at least enjoyed one another, lest they think there was something amiss with one or both of us. Of course, as this was truly the case, I wanted them to know even less.

  We found our friends and waited while the duel was started. The men had decided on swords, or rather cutlasses and knives. The first round would not be with pistols, as the pair evinced no interest in killing one another in the sober light of morning. The proceedings would continue until first blood was drawn. I asked what it was about. Pete did not know. Striker was involved in organizing and coordinating with the Griffon’s quartermaster, due to the duelists being from different ships. Our cook, Michaels, turned out to be a font of information, as he slept near one of the men involved.

  Apparently the fight was somewhat over a third man. Michaels related that it was a bit more complex than both of them being in love with the third. There had been a prior relationship between two of the men. And the men dueling had actually been interested in one another as well. I lost track of Michael’s explanation as the duel began. I was not even sure which of them had come from the North Wind.

  The duel commenced, and all watched them swing wildly at one another with cutlasses. The crowd cheered and caught their breath when the tide appeared to turn one way or another. I, on the other hand, was appalled at how slow and clumsy they were. I could have run either man through before he ever swung. If the buccaneers thought this was swordplay, they were sorely mistaken.

  In addition to the charging around and hacking about in the sand, both men were hurling a great number of snarled insults. Additionally, many things were said when they clenched that the rest of us did not hear. Their tempers rose. When all was truly said and done, one of the men struck first blood by hacking the other’s chest so thoroughly that he damn near cleaved the man in two. Striker and the other quartermaster allowed it, and no one complained overly much. I made note that first blood had a very broad interpretation amongst the Brethren.

  Shortly after, a shot rang out from the Griffon; and several minutes later, we learned that the third man had taken his own life in response to the outcome. All eyes turned to the winner of the duel, who was apparently our man from the North Wind. His name was Harris. He made a great show of bravado, and acted as if it all meant little to him. This was not well received by the men of his acquaintance. He went to sit on a dune by himself.

  I had once been in attendance at a large ball at which a wife had grown tired of her husband’s open philandering and thrown a glass of Madeira in his face, before slapping his mistress and retreating with a degree of dignity many monarchs would have envied. That night I had been very amused to watch the other onlookers. In the duel’s aftermath, this rabble upon the beach was much the same as those elegant lords and ladies. Some faces carried a smug assurance that such social indignity would never befall them. Other countenances showed a fear that it would. Others yet suggested it already had at some time. And there were still others that seemed bewildered that such a thing had occurred at all.

  Davey was one of that number. He seemed at a loss that anyone would kill another or themselves over such a thing as love. He said as much. I pitied him anew. Michaels, meanwhile, appeared older than he usually looked and saddened by both the events and Davey’s words. Striker gave Pete a look that made me wonder why he worried so. Otter stood munching an apple, with his arm over Liam’s shoulder. Liam said he hoped Harris would choose to leave on the Griffon and not return to the North Wind, as we had no need for troublemakers of his ilk.

  Gaston’s hand slipped into mine. Unfamiliar with such a thing occurring in public, my eyes swept about to see who might have witnessed it. I immediately experienced guilt at this, as I remembered Alonso doing it, much to my chagrin. Cudro was watching us, as were Bradley and Siegfried. I kept the frown from my face and turned my gaze to my matelot. His eyes were lit with mischief.

  “Are you sober?” he asked.

  I nodded with amusement, as he most certainly knew I was.

  “Are you well?”

  I nodded again.

  “Would you like to spar?”

  I laughed.

  “I was beginning to despair that you would ever ask,” I said as he led me down the beach. “I am sadly out of practice and I hope I will not embarrass you, as unless we go far away we will surely attract an audience.” I had not seen him practice with a blade since we met, either. I did not think he would embarrass me. He also did not seek to remove us completely from the others, though he surely could have simply by walking over a few more dunes.

  He snorted derisively. “Do not be making excuses for my defeating you.” His eyes held a mixture of amusement and challenge. He released my hand, and we shed all weapons save rapiers and dirks.

  Then we were in motion. He was indeed as good as I had hoped; but to my surprise, I was better. As expected, he had me in strength and endurance, and we were evenly matched in speed. However, spending the last ten years without a worthy opponent had made him rusty, and my spending the last ten years living off my blade had taught me things he never had a chance to learn. His style had been tainted by the cutlass, yet he was incredibly opportunistic in using the ground we fought upon to his advantage. I remembered what he had said of his days fighting in school. In a true battle between us, the victor would owe his win to luck and surrounding conditions. In sparring, I had the advantage as long as I kept control of the match and did not allow him to corner or run me excessively. There was a very sweet moment when he realized
I was his better, not because it fed any preening pride on my part, but because there was admiration in his eyes and I knew he was pleased that I was good.

  We had indeed gathered an audience, almost as large as the duel had. The howling and cheering ebbed in my ears beyond the pounding of my blood. Gaston and I stood, our sword tips in line, watching for the next move. His eyes left mine to look me over, and when they returned I saw the battle light dim. He stood straight and dropped his sword to his side.

  “Enough,” he whispered between breaths.

  I knew he was not as winded as I, and that he did this to spare me having to lose if we continued. We embraced. I kissed his cheek.

  He whispered, “No one will bother us now.”

  I felt the fool as strongly as I felt my admiration for him grow. I was indeed out of practice, and not merely with the sword. In the ballroom with the lady flinging Madeira long ago, I had played several of the reactions I witnessed to my advantage. Here, I had only taken the first step of observing, when he had already formulated his battle plan and begun to implement it. I did not let my unfamiliarity with the terrain excuse me. I had grown lax, and there were truly as many intrigues here as there were in any great house in Christendom. Men aboard a ship were just as trapped with little to do but meddle with one another as any pack of wolves known as a royal court.

  Pete loomed over us. Not that he is truly that much taller than I, or even Gaston. It is just that the Golden One seems to take up so very much space, as he radiates some aura about him like the sun. “TeachMe!”

  Gaston and I laughed in agreement.

  “All right then,” I said as I caught my breath. Using my matelot as an example, I proceeded to give a basic lecture in fencing, involving the differences between a rapier and cutlass, how they are used, and what tactics we had utilized during our match and why.

  At one point Cudro called out, “We don’t need to learn that. Spaniards don’t fence.”

  “I beg to differ,” I replied. “My last sparring partner was a Spaniard, and he fenced very well. And as for what one needs, you do not need to do anything. It has been my experience that if man only did what he needed to do, Adam would have stayed in the Garden of Eden, alone.” This brought a round of guffaws and laughter, and Cudro thankfully abandoned us.

  I agreed to start teaching actual stances and the like on the morrow, and sprawled on a dune to rest. The other men drifted off. Gaston sat behind me, legs on either side of me again, with his arms wrapped around my shoulder and chest. I leaned into him with contentment.

  “Did you fear I could not fend off any challengers?” I teased.

  He shook his head with amusement. “I was tired of seeing eyes upon you.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “Non. Many think I have done well, far above what I should deserve.”

  “Because of my father?”

  Gaston snorted. “Because others do not find you revolting.”

  “If what you say is true, then I have truly been leading a blind and blissful existence.” As I thought on it, though, I realized I had not looked beyond him to see what others may have thought of me.

  “I have not noticed,” I added with a bit more sobriety. “Your regard has been all I have sought or been aware of.”

  “I am honored.” He was quiet for a time. “Your last sparring partner was a Spaniard?”

  “Oui.”

  “And he was good?”

  “Oui. You would defeat him handily, though.”

  “Was he the one who was almost your matelot?”

  I moved so that I could look up at him and gauge his reaction. He did not appear as if he wished to hear my answer. “Oui.”

  He grimaced and sighed. “A damn Spaniard… Do not let anyone else know.”

  “Rest assured, I will not. I am dubious about my wisdom in letting you know, considering your feelings for that nationality. Promise you will not view me as tainted.”

  “It will be difficult. I cannot imagine it.” He grimaced again.

  I was amused. He was truly perturbed and not just playing the part. “He was quite handsome.”

  “They are all fat.”

  “He was not fat.”

  “And stupid.”

  “Nor was he stupid. Please grant me some degree of taste and pride. I did not bugger Davey because he was stupid, and look at him.”

  “They are arrogant.”

  “Well, he was that. You might like him, if you did not know him as a Spaniard when you met.”

  “He is still alive?”

  “Oui, I would hope so. He was going to live in Panama on his family’s plantation.”

  “So he is in the New World?”

  “If everything went according to the plans he relayed to me, oui.”

  “Do you wish to see him again?”

  “Non, but perhaps out of curiosity. Are you jealous?” I teased, wondering if he would deny it.

  “Non.” He would not look at me.

  I chuckled. “Well, you are doing a fine job convincing me otherwise.”

  “I am envious. I believe there is a difference, non?”

  There was indeed. I turned in his embrace until I was kneeling before him, so that our eyes were level. I pinioned his gaze with my own.

  “Truly, there is no need for that. There is a definite inequality between what existed with him and what exists with you. If anyone were to observe the entirety of the two situations from an impartial position, they would see that if either of you had reason for envy, it would surely be him. And, having experienced the emotions you engender within me, I would rather be alone than return to what I had with him. For any overtures of love he may have relented to make... pale in comparison to the regard I hold for you.”

  He shook his head as if he did not believe me.

  “Why will you not accept my word?” I asked.

  “I have done nothing to deserve you.”

  I smiled. “Considering the effect I have on many lives, that may speak well of you.”

  He relented and smiled. I turned and settled into his embrace again. I dearly wanted to know what haunted him so; but I knew, as with other aspects of our relationship, the knowledge would be long in coming.

  We sailed the next morning, cruising further north and west, toward the strait between Cuba and Campeche. Our daily routine resumed, and two days after leaving the islands, Striker, Siegfried, Gaston and I were lounging about in the morning after weapons practice. There was too little deck to truly spar, but I had endeavored to give Pete an exhausting lesson – for me – on the rapier; and now the Golden One was training with Davey.

  The match was uneven to the extreme, though Davey had taken well to wielding steel in general. However, Pete was amazingly fast and, as Gaston had noted to me that first night, possessed a genius for all combative pursuits. Thus Davey was covered with little cuts, which he gleefully ignored in the name of trying to deliver the same to Pete, who was noticeably unmarred. I was greatly entertained, as one might imagine, by the sight of two men looking as Pete and Davey did cavorting about, with muscles straining under taut golden skin while wearing only breeches.

  Still, after Davey took another good cut, I was moved to wince and say, “Mayhap someone else should spar with Pete.”

  Striker snorted and frowned. “Let him bleed.”

  I raised an eyebrow in response. I remembered my observation after the duel, which was that I was, quite frankly, not observing enough. I regarded Pete and Davey from a different perspective, that being Striker’s. Pete had called a halt to the match, and now they stood talking and joking about Davey’s wounds. Pete was being Pete: happy, effusive, and the center of all attention. Davey’s eyes were filled with adoration for the Golden One. This was, of course, what rankled Striker.

  “It is hero worship. It will pass,” I murmured.

  “Aye,” Striker said, “and I cared not what the others whispered, especially after the duel, but observe Davey.”

  He stood an
d took my water bottle and walked up-ship. As he passed Pete and Davey he stopped long enough to throw his arm around his matelot and whisper something in his ear. Pete snaked an arm around his waist and listened with interest, and then the two parted and Striker went below to fill the bottle. I had kept a partial eye on them, but as instructed, I had watched Davey. Striker was correct; there was an issue at hand. Davey’s entire demeanor changed in Striker’s presence, and his eyes flashed anger and defiance.

  I wondered how Davey could be so foolish; and then I attempted to see events through his eyes. Pete and I had rescued him; Striker had been robbing the ship with Gaston. Pete had taken Davey to shore and purchased weapons for him. Pete often spent time with him when Striker was busy as quartermaster. Pete was training him; Striker was not. Davey did not sleep with them and see their nightly antics. Davey came from a world where liaisons were of a more casual and less permanent nature. It was entirely possible he did not understand the true depth of their relationship or its duration.

  I had little time to think more on it, as Pete joined us with a grin.

  “YouSparWithMe?” he asked Gaston and Siegfried.

  My matelot smiled. “Aye, tomorrow. You will not fare as well, though.”

  “Good.” Pete grinned.

  We all looked to Siegfried. He shrugged. “God knows I need the practice.”

  Striker returned. He dropped beside us on the steps again.

  “We have not discussed this, and obviously we should. You two are in the boarding party, correct?” Striker said.

  “Aye,” Gaston answered.

  I had assumed everyone was in the boarding party when we took a prize. Not wanting to appear the fool, I kept my mouth shut. Striker seemed satisfied with Gaston answering for both of us. I decided I was also.

  “I would be in the boarding party,” Davey said.

  Striker looked from Davey to Pete and shrugged.

  “He’sReady. NotAloneThough,” Pete said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Davey said.

  Pete shook his head. “Nay. I’mWithHim. BoardInPairs. WatchTheOther’sBack.” He clapped Davey’s shoulder. “Doesn’tHaveTaBeAMatelot. JustAMateTaWatchOutFerYa. AMateThatDoneItAfore.”