“It’s not our fault you two were so bloody in love with each other you were blind to the circumstances,” Striker countered.
As Gaston was sitting behind me and I was leaning on him, I could not well see his face to gauge his response, but he hugged me reassuringly and kissed my ear.
“So ya did na know the other could even fight?” Burroughs asked.
“Nay,” I said quickly. “I knew he was a swordsman the moment we met, by his stance and the weapons he carried. I did not know how good of a swordsman, but when he said he had lived here ten years, I thought it likely he was competent.”
“So none of you chose your partners, or matelots, so much for reasons of fighting,” Nickel said.
“Nay, we did not,” I said. “You have that option now, though fate and chance have limited the men you might choose to the ones on this ship.”
“Sure as the Devil not be the French,” Burroughs said, and then glanced at Gaston and added, “I mean no offense. I just… fought the French in the war.”
Gaston shrugged, and I noted another old habit of which Burroughs need be broken.
“Choose a man with skills like your own,” Liam was saying. “Some men be boarders, and some men be musketeers, an’ even though we be raidin’ towns this spring, an’ it not matter quite the same, it be best if ya pair with a man as if it would, that way there be less ta sort out later if we do be rovin’. ’Cause it na be good iffn one man be a boarder an’ the other a musketeer who don’t board, ’cause then ya get ta worryin’ about the other and neither of ya be much good.”
There was an underlying assumption in Liam’s suggestion that they would care about the man they chose.
“Unless you already have a man you do care about,” Striker added quickly, “either a lover or a fine friend that you would rather be partnered with. If that’s the case, and you have differing skills, we’ll decide which team to assign the both of you to.”
And it was also in Striker’s words. We all knew the real strength of matelotage in battle was not that we were simply pairs of men strewn about a battle field, but that we were pairs of men who would die for one another and cared more for our partners than ourselves. I realized that this was not the thing we had imparted to these men as of yet, though. In telling them they need only pair for fighting, and not for sex or love, we were denying them the real strength of matelotage. Yet, judging from the history of the rest of our cabal, I thought it likely they simply assumed that the love would follow. Perhaps, in their experience, it always did. I wished to be alone with my friends to ask of it but we still had seven interlopers to contend with.
And those seven were appearing greatly confused.
“First,” I said, “determine if there is a man among you who you care enough for that you wish to be at their side in any battle to insure no harm comes to them. If no such man exists here for you, then choose a man you get on well with who possesses skills like your own.”
“Aye, what Will said,” Striker said with a grin.
This seemed to help them: I received thoughtful nods and not confused stares.
They began to eye one another. It was likely we should be thankful love was not involved in this undertaking: if they were making decisions with their heads, and not their heart or pricks, there would not be any dueling or other battles.
The next fortnight passed in healing bodies, training, and frolicking. Gaston and I assisted in teaching better fighting methods during the days, and discovered new ways to amuse one another during the nights. The new men applied themselves diligently to pairing up, though not to everyone’s satisfaction, and sometimes the fledgling pairs changed daily, if not hourly. There were no duels; however, Liam and Cudro almost came to blows one afternoon over something. I felt compelled to go and discover what the matter was; but Gaston convinced me not to meddle, and that someone would come to me if they were injured in spirit.
One fine afternoon, Gaston and I swam out to a sand bar at the mouth of the bay with Pete and Striker, who I had been delighted to learn also knew how to swim. The hours were whiled away in idle chatter and horseplay. Striker was relieved to be free of his duties for a time. Pete was obsessed with wrestling a shark if he could catch one. Thankfully, the few small specimens we saw were apparently scared of Pete’s gangly presence in their home, and could swim far faster than he could ever dream to.
Gaston had been as sane as I could remember for the past week. He had even taken to doffing his tunic when we were about our friends, and I was beginning to grow accustomed to seeing him cavorting with Pete while naked. I say accustomed, in that it no longer gave me immediate rise. All was very well with my world.
“I would spend my days like this if I could,” I remarked to Striker as we lay in the surf with small waves lapping across our chests. We were watching what we could see of Gaston and Pete chasing sharks.
“Would you? This, and nothing else?” He sounded curious and not at all sarcastic.
“There is more?” I teased. “What else would you have of life?”
He shook his head sadly; and though I regarded him curiously, he would not turn to face me.
“Things I cannot have here,” he said quietly.
I felt the fool, as I always do when I have been floating in a cloud of happiness with little thought for others. There was a pall of melancholy about him. It was subtle, as compared to my bouts of sorrow. As I thought on it, I realized Striker had been in the grips of it for days. I wondered what had brought it on.
“Children?” I asked gently, as it was the only thing I could think of that he could not have here that I had heard he might want.
“Aye,” he sighed. “And… sometimes I think I would want a home that does not float. But it is mere foolishness,” he added quickly. “I would become bored.”
“I imagine Pete would,” I said carefully.
He sighed again, and though Striker said nothing, I sensed Pete to be at the heart of the matter.
“Is there anything you would have that you can’t have with Gaston?” Striker asked before I could pose a question.
“A consistency of sanity, perhaps.”
He chuckled. “Well, I can see that. He seems to be doing well.”
I accepted his change of the subject. “Aye.”
“You two have been quite… amorous of late.”
“Aye.” I grinned.
“In ways you have not been before,” he teased without looking at me.
“Aye…” I laughed. “As you know, Gaston does not favor men, but his cock has at last found great favor with me of late.”
“Well God bless it,” he crowed. “But could you do me a fine favor, and be more discreet? Pete has become a bit competitive of late.”
I grinned. “And you take issue with that?”
“Four times a day. I’m captain, Will. I have duties.”
His words were light, but he would still not meet my gaze.
We laughed, but I wondered a thing or two, and I did not know how to ask for the answers I sought.
The four of us returned to camp as the sun sank low. Cudro met us. I was surprised when he professed to want to speak to me and not Striker. Then he intimated he wished to speak to me alone. Gaston would have none of it, and so Cudro reluctantly strolled up the beach with the two of us.
“I have a matter I would seek your advice on,” Cudro finally said in French when the three of us were relatively alone. He glanced at Gaston and sighed.
“A matter?” I queried.
“A matter involving matelotage,” he said gruffly.
“I am flattered that men seem to feel I know much of the matter.”
“Do they?” he asked.
I frowned. “Well, you are the second to approach me on such matters. And you did approach me, for some reason.”
He ignored my comment and glanced about. “Who was the first?”
“Well, Dickey, and that was before we sailed here.”
“So none here?” he asked.<
br />
“Non.”
He appeared relieved. Gaston and I exchanged a quizzical look.
“I have been approached concerning the matter,” Cudro said quietly.
“For advice?” I asked.
“Non, for… I have been asked to become a man’s partner,” he sighed.
“Ah! Well then… Who?” I asked.
“There have been two,” he grumbled.
“Do tell. Famine or feast then,” I teased.
He sighed irritably. “I wish for neither… of the men, boys… damn it.”
I sobered. “Let me guess, the candidates are among the new men.”
“Oui. Burroughs and that boy Ash.”
“And you find favor with neither of them.” I was not asking. Cudro had tastes in the matter as refined as mine, and if he had merely wished to have a partner it would have been easy for him to obtain one. Cudro was also as much of a romantic as I, in his own fashion.
“And furthermore,” I added, “they did not seek you because they find favor in you, but because they are seeking a strategic partner as we instructed; and they felt the lone and experienced quartermaster would be an excellent choice.”
“Precisely,” he snorted.
I shrugged. “So… refuse them. Tell them you wish to pair for love.”
He swore vehemently in Dutch at the sky. “I did refuse them, politely even, but not for that reason. I told Burroughs and Ash they lacked the experience to partner with a quartermaster; that my matelot might need to stand in my stead.”
I shrugged again. “That is true, and probably left few hard feelings. So why then are we talking?”
He swore again. “There is a third. One I wish to approach.”
“But you cannot because of the other two?” I guessed.
“Precisely,” he snorted. “The third is young Nickel.”
I laughed. I should have realized. Nickel of the fine features and build would have captured Cudro’s eye.
“Oui, laugh,” Cudro sighed.
I tried to contain myself. “I am sorry, my friend. So is that what you quarreled with Liam over?”
“Oui. I wished to have the boy as a boarder.” He shook his head. “He is, of course, best suited to be a musketeer.”
“And you cannot approach him now, anyway,” I said, “as you rejected the other two for lack of experience, and the same would apply to him. You have fenced yourself into quite the corner. You should not have lied.”
“Oui, I know that now. Thus we are talking,” he said glumly. “I have made a tragedy of it, or perhaps a comedy. I always do. I am nearly never attracted to men who would do well as my equal partner among the Brethren, just as I am ever attracted to those who…” He gave a guilty glance toward Gaston.
“You prefer younger, handsome men,” I said kindly, “such as Tom, or Dieppe, or even Gaston.”
“Oui,” he said quickly.
“Cudro, might I ask, how long has it been?”
“Years,” he sighed. “There have been men, but not men I would want as matelots, or… not men I could take as matelot for battle. There have been men I wanted to lie with, and men I wanted to fight beside, but the two have not been the same. It’s been… Damn it, Will, it’s been so long that if I thought Burroughs was the least bit interested in me, I would take him on and close my eyes at night. But he is not; he said as much.”
“Would Nickel find favor with you?” Gaston asked.
“Non,” Cudro growled in anger, at himself, not my matelot. I was surprised he had managed such a sound with a word with no r’s.
“I know well I am not your kind of man,” Cudro added.
Gaston turned to look at him. “I did not wish to be anyone’s boy.”
Cudro nodded sadly. “That is the crux of it. No man worth having as a matelot in these West Indies would want to be someone’s boy. And I want a boy. I want someone to take care of. It is a thing I do not understand, but the possibility of it is a thing that often drives me concerning love and lust.”
I patted the big man’s shoulder. “I have met young men who would find great favor with both you and being cared for, but you are correct, they would make poor matelots. I see why you are alone, and I am sorry.”
He shrugged. “It is the way of it. Or rather, it is my way.”
“I know not what advice I might offer,” I said.
“Non, neither do I. Perhaps I merely needed to speak of it,” he sighed.
“Find a man who favors men as you do, and fights well, and make the best of it,” Gaston said. His tone was not cold, but it was not kind either.
Cudro snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”
“You make is sound impossible,” Gaston replied. “If you can no longer tolerate being alone, you will find someone, and you will learn to love them.” With that, he left us.
“Though his point is sharp and a bit harsh, it does pierce the truth, perhaps,” I said.
“Oui,” Cudro sighed. “I always wish to have what I cannot, and I never seem to take what I could have and enjoy it.”
“Do you feel some great need to treat yourself so?”
He smiled sadly. “Perhaps I do. I will think on it.”
“You are worthy of love,” I hazarded.
He regarded me sharply. “How would you know?”
I sighed. “I do you no singular favor. No matter what sins they have committed, I feel all men are worthy of love by someone. I might not be the one to grant them that respect or devotion, but there is always someone who will, and if there is someone, then they can be loved. Yet, I know well it is a notion we find great difficulty placing faith in when it concerns ourselves.”
Cudro smiled. “I will ponder it.”
“Then I leave you to that.”
I jogged down the beach until I caught up with Gaston. “I agree that he sets hurdles he cannot jump,” I said as I fell into stride beside him. “And tell me: are you making the best of it?”
He sighed. “I feared you would interpret it in that manner.”
I chuckled. “I say things I fear you will take poorly all the time.”
“I am not making the best of it,” he said. “This is the pinnacle. There is nothing for me to fabricate to convince myself it is such a thing. It is simply the best.”
“But when we started?” I chided, and poked him in the ribs.
He turned to face me, his eyes earnest. “You were of enough interest, and I was lonely enough, that oui, I decided to make the best of it.”
“Then it is not a bad thing at all,” I said gently.
He showed me once again how little of a bad thing it was.
I was pleased we were well down the beach, so as not to arouse Pete yet again by our antics. Still, I noted that the Golden One eyed us curiously as we returned. Our friends were passing a bottle of Madeira, and Striker seemed to have had more than his share, though he was not drunk. When Pete reached for him he did a surprising thing, and stood with a roar of annoyance. All about the fire regarded him with wonderment: most of all, Pete. It was the first time I had seen Striker at a loss for how to behave when he had all eyes upon him. He stalked off into the night. Then all attention turned to Pete.
To my further amazement, Pete did not follow his matelot. Instead, he looked to me and said, “SomeoneShould WatchAfter’Im.”
The ancient Godlike mien had descended into Pete’s eyes once again, but this time it was quite dark in character. Whatever was afoot, he knew the nature of it.
Gaston shrugged when I looked to him, and I turned and hurried in the direction Striker had gone. I found him standing in the surf. I joined him, studying what I could of his profile in the moonlight. His eyes were tightly closed.
“Do you wish for company?” I asked over the waves.
“What did Cudro want?” he asked without turning to me.
I decided responding to his ploy would not be a true breach of Cudro’s confidence. “He wishes for a matelot, but he wants more than a partner in battle, an
d he does not want the men who want him, and the men he wants are not suitable as matelots.”
Striker swore. “At least he…” The growl that followed was unintelligible, but I did not think it was meant to contain the words to finish his sentence.
“What is the matter?” I asked. “I would aid you if I could.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if you would understand.” He finally turned to me. “You want what you have.”
“This concerns Pete,” I said.
“Aye, it concerns Pete!”
He was furious, but I did not feel it was directed at my person.
“You once told me that though you do not favor men, you favor Pete a great deal. Has that changed?” I asked.
He looked away to kick at the waves in frustration and rail. “I love him. I cannot conceive of life without him. A man could not ask for a better matelot. There are times when my member finds great favor with him. And most times I enjoy his finding favor with me. But damn it, Will! The talk of marriage and babies set me thinking, and then he feels it is a threat to him, and then you two are going at it day and night. Now he will not leave me alone! I am so…”
He sat in the surf, and I was forced to drop to my knees beside him in order to hear his words.
“I dream of my wife… and other women, some I have known, others I merely fancied in my youth. I wake hard as iron with thoughts of breasts and the curve of a girlish arse. I want to fuck a woman. I want a frail body in my arms. I want to tongue a teat I could suffocate in. I want to smell the scent of her cunt on my fingers. I want to slide my prick deep inside her without the odor of hogs’ fat or shit. I want to feel that when I spill my seed it might take root. I want…”
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