Brethren

by W. A. Hoffman

  “I come from a long line of Welsh military men and farmers,” Morgan said. “I do not harbor rebellious thoughts, only ambitious ones.”

  “So how did you come to this life? Did you come here seeking fortune and find an army waiting to be organized?”

  “Aye, in a manner of speaking.”

  This troubled me greatly. I was convinced he planned to use the buccaneers to achieve his ends, which most likely included a very base lust for fame and fortune. Most of the Brethren would not or could not ever comprehend this, because they did not understand the ways of wolves.

  We were thankfully interrupted by the arrival of another captain before I could engage in discourse that could have endangered the voyage, or my future on the island for that matter. I wandered into the garden to wait for Striker and Theodore. They rode up shortly, and I joined them. Striker dismounted and almost fell. He stood stiffly and tested his legs. I knew he would be complaining loudly in the morning, especially as we still had to ride back. I clapped his shoulder heartily.

  “Think of it thusly. At least one cannot get seasick upon a horse.”

  “The Devil with you,” he muttered. “However does one grow accustomed to this?”

  I grinned at him as a number of salacious innuendos lined up to trip off my tongue. I thought better of it, and shrugged.

  “It is like most things one learns to adapt to. May we speak a moment before we enter?” Theodore was ahead of us, talking to the other men on the veranda and we were virtually alone in the courtyard.

  “As it will take my legs a while to carry me to the others; I think we have a moment,” Striker said.

  “What think you of Morgan?”

  Striker sighed and grimaced. “I think him a necessary evil.”

  “How so?”

  “The best booty is to be had raiding, not roving. Raiding any worthwhile city requires several ships full of men. Several ships require coordination and a common leader above the captains. Morgan was Mansfield’s pupil on the matter, and Mansfield was a good leader. Myngs was better, and Mansfield studied him. Morgan is competent. He’ll do his job and provide a rallying point. Most of the men like him, and he has befriended the captains, or at least his friends are captains.” He shrugged. “What think you?”

  “I find him arrogant, irksome, and dislikeable. He is not a buccaneer.”

  “Now you are starting to sound like your matelot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nay. According to my matelot, I was not a buccaneer until I participated in the making of boucan. I care not whether Morgan has made boucan, I care that he holds himself above the buccaneers, yet he claims he is one of them in order to lead them. It is hypocrisy and I do not tolerate it well.”

  “Liam and Otter say he was a bondsman on Barbados, and he joined up with Penn and Venables to take Jamaica here, just as Liam and Otter did. His uncles or cousins or whatnot were military men with Penn and Venables, and they gave him a helping hand.”

  “Truly? Then why in God’s name will he not say that? I would think he would use that as a political tool.”

  “He has, on occasion. Many of the men believe he’s just like them, only risen through the ranks. And he is clever enough for this to be the case.”

  “I am confused,” I sighed. “If that is true, then I find most of my arguments against him quite hollowed. Though I still feel he intends to use the buccaneers to his own advantage. This does not make him any different from any other leader in history, yet it vexes me.”

  “Has Pete told you that you think entirely too much?” Striker asked.

  “Nay, he has told me a number of things, but that one he has not said to my face.”

  “Will, do not take it poorly. According to Pete, every man spends too much time in thought. In your case, I feel he may be correct.”

  “In truth, I happen to agree with him. And I will admit it often causes me nothing but grief.”

  We made our way inside, and Bradley and Morgan were exceedingly complimentary on Striker’s attire. He was gracious about accepting their praise, but obviously not pleased with the reason. I think this was evident even to them.

  Morgan finally quipped, “So are we to understand that you will not wardrobe yourself with the booty from this voyage?”

  “Aye, nor shall I take up planting or seek a wife,” Striker said. Morgan shrugged with amusement, but Bradley withdrew from us; and Striker was quite obviously suffused with regret. He followed Bradley and talked to him in private.

  I let them be, and wandered farther into the parlor. I spied Theodore talking to a portly older man. I quickly lost interest, as my gaze was captured by the fetching creature standing beside them.

  She was a girl, and young by the looks of it, but no child. Venus had smiled on her in a fashion I have always adored. She was not tall per se, though she had good height for a woman, with a willowy body lacking in unnecessary, from my preference, roundness at bust and hip. Her face was comely, with a pert nose and chin gracing strong cheeks and jaw. Her eyes were large and blue, and peered from beneath wisps of golden hair escaping an elegantly coiled pile atop her head. And, more interesting, she was awarding me a come-hither look that would have brought a boy her own age to his knees.

  Bemused, I crossed the room to join them. Theodore quickly introduced me to a Sir Christopher Vines, and his daughter, Miss Christine Vines. I was quite relieved she was his daughter and not his wife, though I had seen worse pairings. Vines seemed delighted to make the acquaintance of an Earl’s son, and apologized for being unable to attend my welcoming party.

  “And I have not had the opportunity to make your acquaintance since. We all must come in from our plantations on occasion,” Vines teased. “Or do you have a thing there to keep you occupied, a wife perhaps?” He was in earnest.

  “Nay.”

  “Ah,” he looked to his daughter, and seemed at a loss on how to proceed. She appeared embarrassed and a little annoyed.

  I was taken aback, as I had not met any young ladies while using my title since becoming old enough to be a threat to them. I was quite familiar with being chased off, not invited in.

  “What do you do with your time, Lord Marsdale?” Miss Vines asked smoothly.

  “I have been roving.”

  This seemed to amuse her.

  “Truly,” Sir Christopher asked, “you feel need to do that?”

  Now I was amused. “I would not know about need, but I do enjoy adventure.”

  “Did you find it to your liking?” she asked.

  “Aye, I did, despite the shipwreck and the like.”

  Sir Christopher was horrified.

  “I would hear of that,” she said quickly. “And I am sure you have much to discuss with Mister Theodore, Father.”

  He took the hint, or rather Theodore did, and they did not follow her as she retreated. I was close in her blue silk wake, though.

  “I was told you are an educated man who has traveled extensively in Christendom,” she said, once we were in relative privacy across the room.

  “And this evoked your interest?”

  “I have traveled, though not as extensively as you I am sure, and I do possess an education. I have found almost no one to converse with on any subject of interest on Jamaica.”

  I was intrigued. “Where were you educated?”

  She gave me the name of an academy for young women in England, and then briefly mentioned her travels. It seemed her family was not of purely English descent, and she had a number of relatives in France and Austria. She was fluent in French and German, and had some grasp of Latin. I was stunned, and barely managed to sound intelligent while touching upon my travels. We spoke of Vienna, which she adored.

  I wondered how it was that she was not married. I could see no easy way of asking, and finally managed to obliquely ask for her age. She was fifteen. She had returned here around the time I had arrived, due to her mother’s ailing health. Her mother had since passed, and now she was seeing to her father’s household
for the time being. She obviously longed to take flight from this dreary provincial outpost: not because of the scarcity of parties or titled bachelors, but due to the lack of reading material and art.

  It was one of the rare times I stood on the road of my life and looked back upon a crossroads I only now knew I had passed. I wondered what course my life would have taken if I had by chance met her before Gaston.

  And as if there was a God and He was smiting me she had to ask, “So are you truly a buccaneer? Have you a matelot?” Her smile was impish.

  I almost flushed. “Aye, and aye,” I nodded with a bemused smile. “He detests gatherings of this nature, as do I.”

  “So why are you here?”

  I thought on it and found no reason to lie. “Political expediency. The Governor suggested Striker come by to pick up the commission for our sailing on the morrow. We did not realize it was a fête of this magnitude. I was invited, our matelots were not, and Striker did not wish to come alone.” I looked about and spied him with Morgan, Bradley, and the two other captains, happily talking and drinking. “As he purportedly detests gatherings of this nature as well; though, he seems to not be despondent about the situation at the moment.”

  “Is he the tall, dark, and handsome one? He would be the only one amongst that bunch I do not recognize.”

  “Aye, he would.”

  “And so he has a matelot as well?”

  “Aye, and a finer man you have probably not beheld. You should see him, simply to look upon a work of art, much as you should see Michelangelo’s sculpture of David.”

  “Is that so?” she laughed. She sobered a little as she returned to studying the men near Striker from behind her fan. “The men here are in general far more hale and virile than the men elsewhere.”

  “True.”

  “They confuse me greatly, though. Many of that gaggle have courted me.” She grinned. “They usually hunt in pairs. At these parties, once I fall within their gaze, they spring upon me, or rather they do not. It is as if I am a fox in a cage that they cannot touch, and yet they must all stare with rapt attention. Tonight they have not noticed me yet, as they have not looked. They do not arrive at a party and peruse the crowd for eligible ladies. Nay, they speak amongst themselves, and then one of them will decide it is time for the hunt to begin; and then they descend on the young women and attempt to be charming and witty.”

  She glanced at me and smiled. “I am not naïve. I have met many men who favor men over women, and from what I am told, this port is rife with them. Yet, when I am in the presence of a man who favors men, he does not look upon me the way a man who favors women does.” She gave me a knowing look.

  I smiled. “I favor both.”

  “I thought as much. So do many men here favor both? Because they all look at me as you do, yet, the reason for my confusion lies in that they do not…” She frowned prettily. “I am not a person they wish to seek out. Once they are in my presence, they are interested in me as a woman. But prior to that, they do not care. It is as if they are young boys and know they should seek the girls out, but know not why.” She sighed. “I am afraid I am not expressing myself well.”

  “I feel almost all men here favor women, and only some truly favor men,” I said. “But any man will take any port in a storm if given little other alternative. As for your observation, perhaps it is because they are having their carnal needs met elsewhere. They do not feel driven. From what I have heard, and bear in mind I am not on confidential terms with any of those men save Striker, I understand they feel a need to have a wife and children. It is a matter of status, and conforms to their sense of rightness in the world. So they court the eligible ladies, but they lack the impetus of a youth who feels he will only be sated if he manages to either marry or seduce.”

  She pursed her lips in thought and nodded. “Thank you, I believe that may explain it all.” She studied me. “And you, dear sir?”

  I sighed. “I do not feel a need to marry or produce an heir at this time. Perhaps that will change, as the title surely requires an heir. In your case, I am sorry I am not in the running. I feel you would be wasted on that gaggle, or truly most men I have met.”

  She flushed and hid behind her fan. “You flatter me, but I thank you for it.” She looked toward the other men, and sighed herself. “I am not destined to marry here. I could make several acceptable, if not excellent, matches in England or Vienna, and I am to return there and do so in time. I am in no hurry to leave here for that, though, as I am not enamored with the idea of marriage. There is so much I would do in the world if only…I were a man.”

  “Ah,” I smiled. “You are not the first of your gender that I have met to hold that sentiment.”

  “I would imagine not, at least I hope not. Though I have met many women in my short life who do not share that sentiment, or are even able to comprehend it. And how feel you on a woman’s place in the world?”

  “Unlike Aristotle, I have oft found women as intelligent and spirited as men.”

  “You believe we possess an entire soul then.”

  “Aye.” I grinned.

  We were called in to dine before she could say more. I offered my arm and escorted her into the dining room. There were no place cards, and so we took seats along the middle of the long table; and I snagged Striker on his way in, and placed him on the other side of her. He got the strangest look on his face upon seeing her and made a strangled little noise of surprise, as if I had suddenly sat him next to a shark. Miss Vines tried unsuccessfully not to laugh, and leaned to me to whisper, “Well, we know despite having Adonis as a matelot, he does favor women.”

  I remembered he had been married once, though after watching him with Pete for several months, I found it difficult to give credence to the idea. I attempted to introduce them, and realized I did not know his given name. Thankfully he supplied it quickly and we learned it was James. He kissed her hand. He was polite and charming, one might even say flirtatious, throughout dinner.

  Her father sat across and down from us, and still appeared delighted she was in our company. The captains and planters who usually pursued her were quite crestfallen that she was with us, as it was obvious they were not going to be able to compete with Striker and me for her attention. I found this all very amusing.

  As the dinner drew to a close, the governor made a pretty speech about how he hoped we would soon have another raid against the Spaniards that would teach them not to question our right to this colony or any other we chose to have across the Line. Then Morgan spoke of his plan to assemble men this winter. Once these necessities were completed, along with toasting the King, England, and all else that was deemed holy in the world, everyone left the table to mill about: as was usual for such occasions. Striker excused himself and made a grab for Morgan, and they approached Modyford and disappeared into the study for a time.

  I was relatively alone with Miss Vines again. We withdrew to the veranda, though we remained decorously just outside the doors and within sight of any who would glance out. Miss Vines leaned on a colonnade and fanned herself. I sat with my back to the opposite column, where I could watch her.

  “So tell me, Lord Marsdale…”

  “Here I go by ‘Will’. We buccaneers eschew titles.”

  She smiled. “So tell me, Will, why did you choose to become a buccaneer so soon after arriving here? Did you learn so quickly that you were ill-suited for the rigors of being a planter?”

  “Rigors of being a planter?” I laughed.

  She had a pleasant throaty chuckle. “Oh, surely you know, the excruciating boredom, the deadly tedium of watching other men toil, the pain of observing the growth of greenery and the humbling knowledge that your entire livelihood rests upon those tiny shoots.”

  We laughed. “I am terribly ill-suited for all of that, I fear. My constitution would not abide it in the least. I am at best able to manage short doses of it, and then only if I am accompanied by hardy companions and take frequent time for respite in the form
of riding.”

  She smiled for a moment, and then her countenance slumped into somberness. “Will you return to England?”

  I guessed at her motivation. “I will not leave Gaston, my matelot.”

  Her lip quirked in a rueful grimace, but she quickly recovered. “How could you, if you love him?” This time she used her fan to proper effect and I barely saw the glance she gave me to gauge my reaction.

  “I love him.”

  She sighed, and the fan dropped to her side. She regarded the night beyond the torches and not me.

  “If… If you had not met him, and if there were no other constraints upon you, such as my family name or any other possible state of betrothal or the like, would you have fancied me?” There was no coquettishness about her question. She was very straightforward.

  “Aye.”

  “And you do not find me forward, or inappropriately educated, or less than feminine in my demeanor?”

  “Nay. I would find you a suitable match because of all those qualities. Miss Vines, do not be quick to wed.”

  “I do not want to wed!” she hissed and turned on me with teary eyes.

  I gave her a sympathetic sigh, though I did not understand her. “I am sorry to disappoint you; or whatever it is that I have done as…”

  My demeanor seemed to enrage her further, and she slammed her fist into the column. I winced. She pawed at her eyes and took several deep breaths.

  “Someday I will teach myself not to cry,” she snarled.

  I do not understand the workings of the female mind, but I do know when it is best for a man to stay very quiet and keep all expression from his face, lest it be interpreted in some unintended fashion. I watched insects fly about in the torchlight. I listened to her breathing become calm and steady again.

  “I apologize for… my lack of composure,” she said. Her tone was pleasant and smooth.

  I considered my words carefully, as any utterance I made would be fraught with danger. I decided that saying little was in order. I looked her over. She was stiffly composed, but her hesitant smile did not seem forced.

  “You should stay a while out here. Your eyes are quite… puffed and red.”