Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  She was gone up the stairs before I could finish the utterance.

  Just as quickly, I joined the men at the table and snatched up a piece of fish.

  My uncle seemed distraught, and I wondered if there had been blood on the table when they arrived.

  “Where is she off to?” he asked.

  “To speak with her… bridegroom.” I shrugged.

  “I suppose… well…” he trailed off and changed the subject. “And how is it that you are dressed like a common peasant, dear boy?”

  Rucker smiled with suppressed amusement, but my uncle was frowning as he regarded me.

  I had at least bothered to don a tunic in addition to my breeches; but still, with my shorn head, my earrings were evident.

  I smiled about a mouthful of fish and swallowed. “This is how I usually appear.”

  “Truly?” my uncle asked.

  “I find it quite comfortable in these climes,” I said.

  “But Marsy, you are a gentlemen, we are expected to present ourselves well before… commoners.”

  I frowned. “Uncle, I know no common men here, at least not by my own definition, and that has nothing to do with breeding or wealth and all to do with their actions and beliefs. And I do not use my title here amongst men I call my equals. Nay, here, I am known as Will. I do not expect you to call me such, as it is foreign to you, but I do expect you to respect my choices on the matter, and refrain from ever referring to the men I call brothers as commoners. Especially since, as with me, you cannot know the station of their birth or wealth by their attire.”

  As I spoke, my uncle flushed and opened and closed his mouth to speak several times, but as I finished, he calmed and nodded thoughtfully. “I will remember that. I meant no offense.”

  “This is not England,” I said kindly.

  He frowned with more thought. “I see it is not. I… It is just that the colonies to the north are more in keeping with English tradition, and many of the men I have met here so far have been as well.”

  “Aye, I realize that,” I said. “They wish to bring all things English here. I do not associate with men who do that by choice. This is a new land, and it deserves new traditions. And though I feel the old ways will win out in the end, I wish to live by the new.”

  Gaston had joined us; and now he stood at the bottom of the stairs, with his arms crossed and a small smile that told me he expected to always find me pontificating while dining.

  “Gentlemen,” I said with pride, “allow me to introduce my matelot, Gaston Sable.”

  Rucker was already on his feet and bowing. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

  “This is Mister Ira Rucker,” I said.

  Gaston smiled and shook his hand. “As I am you. Will has said many wonderful things about you, and blames you for making him a man of the people, for which I commend you.”

  “And this is my uncle, Mister Cedric Williams.”

  My uncle belatedly stood and bowed, but the gaze he cast upon me was confused. He had not read my letters, and my father would not have ever mentioned Gaston to him, by name or possibly in any other fashion. Apparently my sister and Rucker had chosen to either be discreet, or what they might have said had fallen on deaf ears, as my uncle would not have realized the import.

  “Gaston is my partner, in all things,” I said.

  My uncle’s eyes narrowed and then widened with new understanding. “Oh.”

  “Gaston is another example of one not being able to judge a man by his attire,” I added. “His father is a Marquis.”

  I hoped Gaston would not mind this added information, but I knew that, sadly, it would aid matters in sitting well with my uncle. My glance to my matelot proved he understood, and he bowed to my uncle only so far as would be proper for a marquis’ son to greet a man of lesser rank. I was amused by this, but sought to suppress it.

  Gaston took a seat beside me, but at the head of the table, and helped himself to the fish with gentlemanly care and decorum.

  “Does your father know of... Mister Sable’s involvement with you?” my uncle asked.

  “Please call me Gaston,” my matelot said.

  “Aye,” I said with a grin, “and he sent a bride in response.”

  “Did he feel you would refuse her, I wonder?” my uncle asked.

  “I feel that to be the case.” I shrugged. “However, my bride avers that there was some matter of political or monetary expediency involved in the arrangement.”

  “Interesting,” Uncle Cedric said. “Whitlock is… Well, the former Earl was well-loved in the old King’s court before Cromwell. I would imagine the King restored many of the taxes and other incomes granted to the current Whitlock, as he did with many of the houses that supported his return to the throne. But the current Earl is a man given to the excesses of the Restoration, from what I have been told.”

  “His daughter mentioned debts,” I said.

  “Ah,” he nodded. “Well, your father is very keen on the sugar business, and Whitlock might have held some import tax or other gratuity related to that.”

  I shook my head. Perhaps I was being quite the fool in feeling that my father was going to lengths to thwart me. Perhaps he paid me little mind at all, yet…

  “Nay,” my uncle was saying. “Many pieces of the matter do not sit right with me.”

  “How so?” I asked. “Truly, tell me, do you believe he wishes for me to inherit?”

  My uncle regarded me with a somber frown. “Nay, my boy, I do not. Not now.”

  “Has he said as much?” I asked.

  “Nay, not to me,” he said sadly. “Before your return, I thought of the matter differently than I perceive it now. I have come to believe that you are correct, that he holds Shane in far greater esteem and would have him as his son.”

  Something my sister had said stirred the fish in my gut.

  “Please,” I said, “in the name of God, tell me there is no chance Shane could actually be his son.”

  My uncle gasped. “Nay, my Lord, I should hope not. Nay, he never liked Shane’s mother. He despised the woman and had little to do with our cousin after his marriage.”

  “Another strange thought has crossed my mind,” I said carefully. “It is said that they were very close, my father and your cousin. Could it be that they were… lovers?”

  His eyes narrowed and then darted from Gaston to me. He met my gaze and took a deep breath. “I have no knowledge of such a thing, nor have I heard rumors other than what is often said when boys are such close friends at a tender age. Yet, I have never been privy to my brother’s thoughts or feelings to a degree that reasonable discretion on his part would not have thwarted my knowing of such a thing.”

  “Truly…” I breathed.

  “It would explain his…” he sighed.

  “His love of Shane,” I said.

  “Aye, but why would he frown upon you so very much?” he asked.

  “Perhaps he wished to spare you grief,” Gaston said.

  I turned to find him regarding me with a troubled frown.

  Anger ignited in my roiling belly.

  “Gods!” I swore. “Why is it at every turn I know not whether to hate the man or… pity him, such that I should try and make peace with him?”

  “What?” Striker asked.

  He stood with Sarah on his arm at the bottom of the stairs.

  “My father and my damn cousin’s father might have been lovers,” I said.

  “Might,” my uncle added emphatically.

  “But you think it is within the realm of possibility?” Sarah asked my uncle.

  He nodded resolutely; and then his attention turned to Striker at her side, and he frowned.

  “Uncle,” she said proudly, “this is Captain James Striker, and we have decided to marry.”

  My uncle stood. He seemed as appalled at Striker’s appearance as he had been at mine.

  They had dressed Striker in a shirt, coat, and boots, with a kerchief to hide the bandage on his head, bu
t the rest of the livid bruises on his face and his swollen eye were all too evident.

  “I ask that you excuse my appearance, sir,” Striker said. “I was involved in a bit of a brawl last night.”

  “As a young man who finds he is soon to marry and lose his freedom is often wont to do,” I added quickly.

  This brought a little smile to my uncle’s lips. “As long as it is not a thing you are prone to.”

  “Sir, I am prone to fighting the Spanish, but not in fighting my brethren for the sake of it,” Striker said.

  My uncle shook his hand. “Marse… Will… speaks highly of you.”

  “And of you, sir,” Striker said, “though I know you are not marrying anyone’s niece this day.”

  My uncle chuckled at this. “Nay, opinions of me matter little in this matter. So, when shall the ceremony take place?”

  “Today,” I said.

  Striker and Sarah nodded. My uncle frowned.

  “We sail on the morrow, sir,” Striker said.

  “Well then, I suppose it must be today,” my uncle said and returned to his seat. “And all other arrangements must be made as well. I seem to recall mention being made of securing land for a house here in town.”

  “Aye,” I said.

  Striker’s good eye was fixed upon me, and concern tightened his features.

  I smiled at him but addressed my sister.

  “Sarah, you will need to consult with Theodore on the matter. I know I will have little say in the house that will be built for my wife. I am sure she will choose to have a home similar to all the others built here, but I would suggest that you not build an English house. Houses designed and constructed as the French build in these parts are more conducive to comfort in the heat. They are much like homes along the Mediterranean.”

  I sketched with my fingers on the table, and they came to sit so that they could see.

  “I have seen just such a fine home built in a horseshoe shape,” I explained, “with the rooms arranged in rows so that shutters or windows can be opened across from one another to allow cooling breezes to pass through. The inner area can be a garden, with the cookhouse and other structures well behind.”

  “Like a Roman villa?” Rucker asked.

  “Aye, just so,” I said.

  “Like Doucette’s house?” Striker asked.

  “Aye.”

  “That would be a fine thing,” he said with a thoughtful nod.

  Sarah was frowning at my hands and the imaginary lines I had sketched. She looked to Rucker. “You know what he is talking about?”

  “I believe so,” Rucker said.

  “Good, then you will design it,” she said. “It sounds a fine thing to me as well.”

  Striker was regarding me with concern again.

  “We will leave you with the money I keep in town,” Gaston told Sarah. “It should be adequate for building such a house and providing for your expenses, possibly even for pursuing the business matters that were discussed the other night.”

  “I have money,” Striker said uncomfortably.

  “This will be Sarah’s dowry, so now you will have more,” Gaston said.

  Sarah stood and embraced him.

  “Wait,” my uncle said. “My brother sent money for the construction of a house for Will’s bride, and he sent some money to see that Sarah was cared for. I cannot have, and do not need, someone not of our family providing her dowry. It just would not be proper.”

  “All I have is Will’s,” Gaston said firmly. “He is my matelot; it is as if it comes from him.”

  “Well,” my uncle said slowly, “I suppose that is acceptable, then.”

  Striker’s gaze was locked with mine.

  “Take it,” I mouthed.

  He snorted. “Sarah, you will keep an accounting of it.”

  “Of course,” she said as she sat again.

  “There is no need,” I said as firmly.

  “You will keep an accounting of any money used for a business,” he said just as firmly.

  She was smiling. “And the both of you will always have a room at our house.”

  “That will be a good thing,” I said, “as Gaston and the Bride will not share a roof by mutual accord.”

  “Someday, we will build a house at the bay I now own on the western shore,” Striker told her.

  I chuckled. “Someday, Gaston and I will build a larger dwelling upon the Point, but the Damn Bride will never live there. Though,” I turned to my uncle, “I am supposed to have Ithaca when I produce an heir. Would you know if that still holds true?”

  He shrugged. “He has made no mention of it to me; however, I know he has little use for the plantation itself. He has far more interest in the importing and refining of sugar.”

  “Well, when Ithaca is mine, it will no longer grow sugar,” I said.

  “Truly?” my uncle asked. “It is quite lucrative from what my new acquaintances here have shown me.”

  “There are more useful and less troublesome crops to be grown here,” I said. “Whether or not they have any monetary value, they will at least feed people.”

  He seemed perplexed by this. “Such as?”

  “Pineapple,” Gaston said.

  “Ah,” my uncle said with a bright smile. “I adore that fruit. It is considered quite the treat in England as well.”

  I looked to my sister. “Perhaps you could explore the idea of exporting pineapple to England. See if there are any taxes associated with it.”

  “I will do so,” she said with a smile. “I have much to do, I should be taking notes.”

  “I am,” Agnes said.

  As was often the case, the girl had joined us without my noticing.

  “What is this business you are speaking of?” my uncle asked.

  “There was discussion of starting a shipping concern,” Sarah told him.

  “Is that a thing a young lady should be...” he began.

  Sarah cut him short. “I learned much from Father, Uncle.”

  “Aye, but you will be married now, and…”

  “I will be happy to have my wife engaged in such activities,” Striker said.

  Uncle Cedric’s face fell.

  “It is a bold new land with new traditions,” I said with a smile.

  My uncle chuckled. “Aye, it is not England, so you keep saying.”

  Sarah was deep in thought. She looked to Striker. “So any business venture I start should include Gaston and Will, of course, but I believe you mentioned others.”

  “Aye,” Striker said. “The Bard, Dickey as his matelot, Cudro, and… Pete.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Agnes, did you record those names?”

  “Aye,” the girl said as she finished writing on a page in a new sketchbook.

  “Theodore knows them all,” I added. “Also, remember to consult with Belfry. And, there might be others who wish to invest in the matter over time. As it is, we will have to see what contribution some of those listed will wish to make. I know the Bard is particularly interested, but I should discuss matters with Cudro.”

  Gaston tapped my arm and pointed. I looked up and decided I was blind or my sight was in some other way impaired. I could understand not noticing Agnes, she was a mousey thing; but I could not believe I had failed to see Cudro standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “How much need I explain?” I asked him with a chuckle.

  “I have money I would invest in such a venture,” he rumbled. “And if you are moving to a new house upon our return, I would be interested in purchasing this one. But… I would know why Striker is calling your sister his wife.”

  “I will wed her this day,” Striker said.

  Cudro nodded thoughtfully and scratched his beard. I thought he likely had a thing or two to say about that matter, but would not say them in our current company.

  “Cudro, you have met my sister, Sarah; this is my uncle, Mister Cedric Williams, and my old friend and tutor, Mister Ira Rucker.” I grinned at the big Dut
chman. “I am sorry, friend, I know no other name for you.”

  He chuckled. “Wilhelm Voorman.”

  He bowed and shook hands with my uncle and Rucker, and joined us at the table. We all set about discussing business ventures; and if Cudro had issue with my sister being in charge of the matter, he did not indicate it. And, thankfully, my uncle voiced no further reservations. I began to feel optimistic about what we would leave in the wake of our sailing.

  Our discussion was interrupted sometime later by the arrival of Theodore. He was apprised of the particulars and more talking ensued, for so long that Gaston and I were finally forced to slip away to the market, to acquire more food to sate the rumbling bellies about the table.

  “What shall we call this venture?” I asked as we headed to the market. For the last several hours it had simply been called the Venture. “I would assume that there are several companies with Jamaica and Port Royal in the title, and of course, West Indies and the like. I would not have us be so common.”

  Gaston shrugged. “Though your sister will manage it, there are too many involved to name it after one or even two.”

  “Oui, we have quite the Round Table of participants.”

  None had been willing to take the head of the matter, and so the governance of the venture was now seen as a democracy of sorts. I had been musing on the idea of new traditions for hours. Perhaps we were building something akin to Camelot: a place where brave and hearty knights were all equal. Was that not what the Brethren represented?

  But did that not make Sarah Guinevere? Nay, she had another role to play. Striker was the one who had changed partners. Perhaps he was Guinevere. But did that leave Pete as Arthur and did that then make Sarah Lancelot?

  Gaston proved once again that he knew me well.

  “You cannot call it Camelot. It is a thing of wolves… and money,” he said seriously. “It must not be whimsical.”

  I grinned at him. “But as I am a centaur, if it does not contain some element of whimsy I shall want no part of it. And if it is Camelot, who is Arthur?”

  He snorted. “We will sail soon and have endless hours to discuss it. If you do choose a whimsical name, I suggest you hide it well. Planters will send cargo on ships named after mythical beings or tales, but they will not trust a merchant company named after one.”