He was focused on the task at hand, and as distant as he had been the previous morning. Once my weapons were ready, I touched his shoulder. He regarded me with a frown that slowly became curious as he noted my agitation.
“It appears we are actually going into battle like an army,” I said.
He shrugged, and dug into his belt pouch. “It is the way these things are done. Once we are past them and in the town, it will be much like it is on a ship.”
I studied the line of distant men. “I have witnessed armies in battle, when the drums and bugles and orderly lines give way to chaos. I have stood on a safe castle wall and watched from above, and heard my companions shout with glee as the side it was in our best interests to cheer performed this or that tactic. And I would look at all the men running about in the smoke and not understand what in the name of God they were talking about or how they could tell. Until finally I saw one color or the other surge forward enough and leave a great number of bodies in their wake. I suppose in a way, it is much like taking a ship, yet… I perceive combat as I have always engaged in it as an orderly thing governed by skill and confidence. The victor is oft decided before the matter is even joined. But on a field of battle, with so many running amuck, one can handily defeat all one sees and still be felled by a ball meant for another.”
I turned back to him. He was watching me with a frown I could not read. When I paused, he began to dab black paint about my eyes. I smiled and held still.
“It will be like the ship, Will, you will see,” he said doggedly.
His eyes were kind.
My gaze clung to them but I shook my head. “I have known good men to die for no good reason, men as proficient at arms as I. And people called them brave… and I secretly thought them fools. And always it is for some damn political ploy. And here we are. And I recall Striker’s words about the gold making the death and risk worthwhile. Morgan marching us into battle on some damn agenda of Modyford’s just curdles my gut. This town had best be rich.”
Gaston took a deep breath. He was not amused. I had almost forgotten how damn shadowed his eyes became when he painted them.
“Must I strike you?” he asked.
It took me a moment to fathom his meaning; and then I smiled and shook my head.
“Non, I will rise to the occasion. What would you have of me?” I asked.
“You will stay behind me,” he said with more patience. “This first part will be like the bull. You will fire while I am loading.”
“The bull was not firing at us while charging,” I noted.
He smirked. “Do you feel any of them can hit anything?”
“Some most assuredly can,” I said. “They have to have men with military experience. Or hunters. And there are always the vagaries of fortune.”
“Some,” Gaston scoffed. “And oui, luck is always a factor.”
I did not attempt to defend myself when he got a strong grip on my jaw and pulled my face to his.
“I have survived dozens of these battles without you,” he said fiercely. “You will live through this one with me.”
Then he kissed me deeply and I was flooded with shame.
“I am…” I started to say but he stopped my words with his fingers.
“When the battle is closer, you will insure that no one gets behind me,” he said intently. “And I will insure that no one gets close to us from the front. We will move with the others. It is just as a ship.”
I pulled his fingers away. “I am a fool.”
He grinned slowly. “Not for that.”
I smiled as I remembered the first time we had made that exchange. It seemed an eternity ago.
“Do not die,” I whispered.
“We will not die. We did well on the galleon, non?”
I nodded. “I will not fail you today.”
“You had best not,” he said seriously, “or we will be arguing about it for a very long time in Hell.”
He turned away and led us to join our companions.
Our brethren had begun to spill onto the plain in a widening crescent. We joined Striker and our men as they passed. The Virgin Queen’s crew was to be the left flank of the buccaneer formation. Cudro asked for order, and we obediently formed into volley lines, one matelot ahead and the other behind. I stood behind Gaston; and the calm I often felt before a duel descended over me.
I was a fool to be concerned. The men around me could fire faster than the Spaniards could approach. If the Gods wished me dead, They had been given ample opportunity many times before this.
I looked about and listened, and realized that every man here had done this before. Liam and Otter were beside us; two men I could not name but knew were to our left; Julio and Davey stood beyond them. Cudro anchored our far end.
Striker and, to my relief and amusement, Pete, walked the line. Striker made eye contact with every man and clasped hands with many. I knew he would lead us from the front. Pete looked like a lord taking a stroll of his grounds. I was pleased to see Gaston was correct: though Pete would not allow them to be called matelots, I thought none would harm Striker while he lived.
I stepped forward far enough to lean out and look across the front of our army. Morgan was walking amongst the Mayflower’s men with Bradley. Both were as heavily armed as any here. So he would actually fight amongst us. My respect for Morgan raised a notch, so that perhaps I gave him the accord I would give a cur.
While I was beside him, I regarded my matelot. He was studying me. I smiled jauntily and kissed him. He was smirking when I withdrew.
“You are well now?” he asked.
“Oui. I am fine now.”
The bugle signaled an advance and we started walking forward. I was amused: no drilling or training was required to keep us in order. Every man among us was experienced and knew his weapon’s length, his matelot’s height, and the amount of space he needed about him to reload.
Over Gaston’s shoulder, I could see the Spaniards advancing toward us. Soon it was possible to discern what a rabble they were. I could not think of the buccaneers as an army, at least not in comparison to the ones I had seen in Christendom. Yet there was uniformity amongst us, in weapons, bearing, and even our attire. The Spanish we faced were a hastily-assembled militia. Though we were not close enough to see their weapons clearly, I imagined many carried dubious matchlocks handed down from their fathers. I also noted the Spaniards merely matched us in number; they did not exceed us in any way.
The buccaneers began to give the hue and cry of war. Distantly I could hear imprecations and curses in Castilian; most seemed to involve us being dogs or the sons of them.
Then they charged. As they closed, I did not hear Striker’s order; but our front row knelt like a rolling wave, until it pulled Gaston under and out of my sight. Then it was very quiet, and I did hear Striker’s voice distinctly over the yelling Spaniards. And then it was like facing the bull. I heard Gaston fire as a noise separate from all the others, even though every retort was so closely spaced as to be a continuous roar. I could swear every ball found a home, as most of the first line of Spaniards jerked and crumpled in mid-stride. I knelt, and aimed at one that did not fall, and fired when I heard the retorts around me. My target fell. I did not care. I was standing and reloading. There was another behind him that Gaston dropped; and then a retreat was sounded on the far side of the plain and the Spanish pulled back. We did not chase them.
And so it went, until the sun was high overhead. We would advance a little, and they would charge haphazardly and then retreat. Every time they pulled away, we came in farther. Soon we were stepping over dead and wounded Spaniards. I had heard a ball rush past me at one point, but I saw no one about me get hit. Some unlucky soul took a ball somewhere amongst us, though, as I heard English curses of pain from the right.
Finally the Spanish broke completely, and it was a rout. The order was given, and we left our lines like long-frustrated dogs loosed from their chains. Howling with glee, we chased them into Pu
erto del Principe.
I clung to Gaston’s heels, and he led us in betwixt the buildings to crouch down and look about. I saw two of our men get shot running up the middle of the street. We could see the Spaniards on the rooftop who had shot them. Gaston fired from our cover, and one man went down. The other hid before I could take him. I found another target soon after, though. There was sporadic gunfire all about. The Spanish were now entrenched in their own homes, on streets they knew well; and thus, it became very much like taking a ship.
Sometime later, we were asking about for a grenadoe to clear a rooftop when a retreat was signaled. We withdrew cautiously to the edge of town and found our own men. Cudro was leading them toward the south of the town, and it seemed all our number were being dispatched to surround the place. The big Dutchman was pleased to see us.
“Striker would like a word with you.” He pointed back the way he had come.
We turned as he suggested, and spied the captains in conference with Morgan. We hurried over.
“What would you have of me?” I asked Striker.
“Translate,” he replied with a tired sigh.
“Eloquently and elegantly,” Morgan added. “We’re taking more of a beating here than we did in the field, and I have had quite enough of it. Tell them we will burn the place and shoot every man, woman, and child that runs from the buildings if they do not surrender.”
“And if they do?” I asked.
He glared at me as if I had impugned his honor in some manner.
I shrugged. “They will ask.”
“We’ll put them all in the church. Assure them no woman will be dishonored, and no child harmed, if they comply.”
“And the men?” I asked.
“Will not suffer if they produce their valuables,” he said with a wave. “And all of this elegantly in their language, you understand? I would not have them thinking we are barbarians.”
“Of course.” I studied the town and chewed my lip in apparent consideration of the task at hand. I hoped it concealed my amusement. “All right, then. How are these things done? Do I approach with a white flag?”
“Nay, they’ll shoot you,” Bradley said.
“Get closer and shout at them,” Morgan said, and waved me in the general direction.
“Well then, it is to be a civilized affair.” I grinned.
Morgan glared, but Striker and Pierrot were ill-disguising their amusement.
I looked to Gaston and shrugged. He was still steeped in battle fury, though it was obvious he was struggling to calm himself. Still, he saw no humor in the situation, and I thought it likely he only sensed another opportunity to kill.
We crept closer, using what we could for cover, until we were within easy shouting distance of an occupied building. I considered my words and wondered how elegant and cordial I should appear. Deciding that honey always attracts more flies than vinegar; I adopted a pleasant tone and called out in my finest Castilian.
“Gentle men and women of Puerto del Principe, I bear a message from Admiral Morgan. Whom may I address?”
I heard muffled discussion until a voice called out, “The mayor is dead.” This was followed by yelling, the gist of which seemed to involve the speaker being a fool for sharing that fact with the damned English bastards.
“State your message, dog,” another voice roared from a building across the street.
“Admiral Morgan regrets the loss of your fine men that this endeavor has precipitated. He wishes to see an end to it, before more are lost, especially since we are now in the town and your women and children may come under fire.”
“What does he offer?” the voice roared, sounding angrier now.
“That all here lay down their arms and proceed to the church, where they shall remain until we leave. He guarantees that no woman will be dishonored or child harmed if this is to occur. The men will likewise not be harmed as long as they cooperate in our securing of their valuables. There need be no hardship in the matter. I assure you, the sooner we have what we wish, the sooner we will depart.”
“And if we do not comply?” the voice challenged.
I slid into a harsher tone. “We will burn the place about your ears, shoot all who come into sight, and sift the rubble afterwards for your gold.”
This precipitated wailing from another building and much discussion from the closest one.
Angry Man finally roared, “Give us an hour to decide.”
I eyed the sinking sun. “Half that. Let us resolve this and have you all safely in the church… or the fires lit, before sunset.”
“We will send a messenger with an answer as soon as we have one,” the man growled.
With that, Gaston and I crept back to the captains and relayed the substance of the discourse. Morgan was pleased I had shortened the time.
Within a half hour, a man emerged under a white flag. The following parley was brief, and soon we were rounding up all the citizens and escorting them to the church. Many houses were empty, though, and we thought it likely their occupants had escaped the town before we surrounded it.
As the sun sank below the horizon, we set about searching buildings for stragglers, booty, and of course, food and alcohol. In addition to a lack of residents, we found many a house stripped bare of anything valuable. There were suspicious shadows on walls where crucifixes had hung, and dustless holes on bureaus where jewelry boxes had sat.
We did find alcohol, though, and soon a debauch was under way.
Gaston and I found ourselves in the yard of a large house on the edge of town. He eyed the deep cistern and cursed.
At my raised eyebrow, he said, “They will most likely have secreted things in it, and we will be swimming about in it tomorrow.”
I did not anticipate the next days with any relish. I wandered into the cook house and found apples, mangoes, and a cold roast that did not smell unduly ripe. I also found several bottles of wine and another of rum. I whooped with joy and a concerned Gaston was soon at my side. He relaxed somewhat after seeing my find, and relieved me of the bottle of rum. We took the food and made our way into the house, still cautious of any stubborn hiding Spaniards.
Thankfully, the building proved to be empty of all save a few bodies. Tragically, one of them was a little boy. They had him laid out on the dining table, and it was obvious someone had attempted to staunch the bleeding. Gaston approached the body diffidently, and carefully raised the cloth draped over the child to eye his wound. I wondered why the family had departed to the church without covering him properly. Then I saw what must have been his mother crumpled nearby. The male bodies near the windows must have been a father and brother.
The house was on the side of town we had first entered. The fighting had been fierce here, and the whole back wall of the room was pocked with musket balls. My fecund imagination could well envision the boy getting hit by a stray shot and his mother leaving the safety of the floor to place him on the table and tend to the wound. She would have done far better to throw the table over and crouch behind it while seeing to him. People who have not lived with armies marauding through their lands do not think of such things, however; and Puerto del Principe had been virgin to the violence of war and politics.
I drank one of the bottles of wine as I watched Gaston tenderly close the boy’s eyes and drape the cloth over his face. I helped him lay the other family members out properly and find cloths to cover them. Even as the wine dulled my thoughts, I could see that Gaston had retreated from the brutality of the day’s events in his own way. When we finished, he stood and regarded me with a child’s eyes.
I retrieved the food I had found and bade him take up his musket again. He did so, and I kissed him tenderly on the forehead. He followed me out of the house.
We wandered about and ate. I traded him a bottle of wine for the rum, and he sipped it thoughtfully. I drank steadily. Once we had finished the food he slipped his hand into mine. We wove our way through clusters of intoxicated buccaneers, seeking the relative quiet
of another side of the town, one not so badly ravaged as the first. We came upon a large house on a relatively quiet street and slipped inside. It was empty. No one had died here, and I was greatly relieved, as I was sure Gaston was in the state of mind to arrange bodies if he came upon them. I was mildly surprised he had done nothing more with the boy.
The house possessed a good-sized bedroom on the second floor, with a wide window overlooking the street. It smelled of perfume: not oppressively, just pleasantly. I relieved myself out the window and stood for a time in the evening breeze. I felt it upon my skin, but little else penetrated my senses. The wine and rum had driven most coherent thought from my mind, and I was pleased with this result. I wished to sleep and dream that the day had not occurred.
I turned, and found Gaston perched on the end of the bed, regarding me. He smiled.
“How are we?” I asked as I went to join him.
He cocked his head in consideration. “I am well. I am with you. My belly is full. The wine was potent.”
“Amen,” I sighed.
I shed weapons and he did likewise. He offered his hand and pulled me down beside him. The bedding was cotton and clean, and the mattress thick. It was luxurious. I stretched and sank into it. I was surprised to realize how much I ached, now that I allowed myself awareness of it.
“I am well pleased with this bed,” I said. “It will be nice to sleep someplace soft for a change.”
He tugged at my tunic and bade me roll over. I stripped, dropping even my breeches, and lay on my belly. He soon had the oil, and I reveled in the glide of his fingers over my flesh. It was not a lustful thing, merely sensual and much needed. When he stopped, I was unsure as to what I wanted: to sleep, or for him to continue. I heard and felt him shed his clothing, and then he was astride me again. This time, in addition to his fingers, I felt another instrument of his sensation and mine, one I was quite familiar with.
I opened my eyes and twisted my head enough to regard him curiously. He was tracing swirls along my back with one hand and handling his erect member with the other. He seemed curious about its state. I pushed through the shrouds of rum and tried to remember. I had never seen him aroused when he was childlike.
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