“He’s sticking his tongue out,” Striker said.
Pete raised his chin a notch and grinned. “Nay. ’EBe Smilin’AtMe. HeKnowsYa Na’Like’Em.” He turned the plate to Gaston.
My matelot nodded soberly without trace of even a smirk. “Aye, he is smiling.”
I was laughing too hard to play along. My mirth almost drowned Striker’s heavy sigh.
The rest of the slave shares were soon allotted, and the men who had taken them were gathered. One of the men had a die, and it was decided to roll for the order in which we would make our choices per round. All of the men choosing slaves would be allowed to pick in the first round, then those with a second set of shares would pick in the second, and so on. I was relieved there would be rounds, as this meant a man with four picks of slaves would not take his all at once; but I liked the order for the round resting upon the roll of a die very little. It left too much to chance, and I was sure Pedro would be quickly chosen due to his size and general well-being: he would be seen as an excellent field hand and naught else.
When it was our turn to roll, Striker sighed and handed me the die. I told the Gods firmly that we required a one. I rolled a two. One of the wounded men rolled a one.
I tried to keep the concern from my face as the first man made his choice. I thanked the Gods when he did not choose Pedro. Then it was our turn, and Striker chose Pedro. We quickly fetched him to us and removed his bonds.
“Thank you, Master Will,” he whispered. “Do I belong to you or him?”
“Me, I will explain later. It has to do with the way the treasure is divided.”
“I was observing,” he said. “There seems to be a great deal of order to it, Master Will.”
I smiled. “Well, amongst so many armed men who kill others for gold, there must be great order.”
This seemed to amuse him.
As we had to make a second choice, Striker looked to me to make a decision. Though I had known the necessity was in the offing, I had not thought beyond Pedro, and now I looked at the others with dismay.
“Him,” Gaston said, and pointed at a young man hobbled with rope with his hands bound behind his scarred and scabbed back.
“He is very new to slavery, Master Will,” Pedro whispered. “He fights endlessly, and the others told me he is only recently off the slave boat. He speaks only his own language.”
“Well, it is the centaur way,” I muttered. At Pedro’s curious look I sighed.
Gaston led our acquisition over on a leash. I met the new slave’s proud and hostile eyes with a curious gaze. He looked away from me, and took in the rest of us speculatively. He finally settled on Gaston, who was still holding the rope. My matelot studied him in return, with calm indifference and his weight on the balls of his feet.
“’ELooksLikeE’d BeGoodInAFight,” Pete said.
“That is not what you choose slaves for,” Bradley said from nearby.
“Well, it is not what you choose slaves for,” I retorted.
Bradley shook his head.
“Pedro says this one does not even speak Castilian and is new to slavery,” I told Gaston in French.
I looked at the slave and asked, “Do you understand me?”
He looked away.
Gaston shrugged and cut the man’s bonds, including the rope collar. The man rubbed his wrists and regarded all of us warily. Gaston pointed at himself and gave his name and then went about naming each of us in turn. Then he pointed at the slave.
The man pointed to himself and said, “Ikela,” with great dignity.
Gaston sheathed the knife he had used to cut the man free and handed it to him. Ikela regarded him with suspicion that turned to wonder. Gaston moved to check the wounds on the man’s back, and Ikela flinched and stepped away. With a sigh, Gaston unbuckled his belt and un-slung his baldric, handing both to me. He raised his shirt and showed Ikela his own scars. The slave’s eyes went wide. I wondered what he must think. Here was a man more badly beaten than he handing him a knife. He seemed to understand when Gaston dug through our bag and produced a pot of salve, though. Gaston let Ikela smell it and then pointed to the man’s back again. This time Ikela let Gaston tend him.
“What do you intend to do with him?” Striker asked with a smile. “I guess you won’t be sending him to the fields.”
“The Devil if I know,” I sighed. “I imagine Pedro will have some use in Port Royal; he is lettered and speaks several languages. I do not wish to own him, though; I would rather he were indentured. Though I imagine the matter is somewhat more difficult with Negroes than it is with Christian men.”
“I could see it with that one there,” Striker said, indicating Pedro, “but this one,” he pointed at Ikela, “will be nothing but trouble for you. I don’t see him sweeping floors or fetching pails.”
“Aye,” I said.
Ikela had tested the length of the knife and its edge, and now he was adjusting the position of the scabbard in the rope that held up his breeches, so that the blade was fast to draw in a manner he found familiar.
“He is a warrior,” I said.
“I see that,” Striker said. “Pity that. There was a time when there were Negroes among the Brethren, but that was before so many of the Brethren began to own them as slaves. You see how Julio is often treated.”
“So you are saying that is a battle I should not join?” I asked.
“Aye,” he sighed. “He could stay on the ship as a slave, but since you won’t treat him like one, I think it’s best if he doesn’t.”
“Ah,” I said sadly. “Well, I would put him on a ship back to Africa if I could, but unless it was ours, or I was to accompany him, I feel I cannot guarantee he would ever see his home again. We will discover some purpose for him here.”
As Gaston tended Ikela, I looked to Pedro, who had been watching it all with curiosity.
“I do not wish to own slaves,” I told him. “I do not like the institution of slavery.”
He regarded me with alarm.
“Do not misunderstand,” I said quickly. “I do not wish to sell you. I am saying that I would rather have you as an indentured man capable of earning his freedom than a slave. We will find some use for you in Port Royal, one that befits your education. Perhaps you can be a clerk for our business interests. Then I wish to establish a contract of indenture for the money you have cost me.”
“Thank you, Master,” he said reverently.
“And stop calling me that.”
He smiled. “Yes… sir.”
Once Gaston was done, we all walked back toward the shore. A thing had occurred to me, and I asked Striker, “Now what do we do with them while we continue to rove?”
He frowned at me, and then smiled as he realized I did not understand an obvious thing.
“The usual way of it is to send a ship back with the slaves and our wounded,” Striker said. “Then it’ll meet us someplace while we careen and decide our next target. I imagine Morgan’ll want to send word to Modyford, too.”
“Ah, of course,” I said. “So we can send detailed instructions regarding them to Sarah.”
He nodded, but there was a thing he was not saying. He paused, and I stopped beside him and let the others walk on. Striker looked to Pete who was showing the plate to Liam and sighed.
“What?” I asked.
He met my gaze. “Pete and I have been talking.”
“I have seen that,” I said carefully. “I take it you are now discussing matters of substance.”
He smiled ruefully. “Aye.” The smile fled. “He wishes to take Sarah up on her offer to be married to both of us.”
“Oh.” I decided that mentioning matters of squishy and nether holes and the like was not in order.
“Aye, he… I can’t go back, Will,” he said, “not unless we name another captain and… I should stay. But Pete, he wishes to settle this matter as soon as possible. He says he’ll not take me back as matelot unless Sarah will take him.”
He studied me a mome
nt. “Would you go back, with Gaston, of course, and the slaves and see that… It’s not that I don’t trust Pete not to harm her. It’s just that…”
“You need not explain,” I said. “I would feel better shepherding our new sheep to their home, anyway, instead of leaving them to be penned and treated like cattle. And I am sure that Theodore has much to tell me, and there might be matters I must attend to. And, I should see if my damn wife has taken a ship for England or not. And… my presence will smooth Pete’s arrival with my uncle, Ashland, Theodore, and any other male who feels it is his duty to watch over her in your absence.”
“Oh, God, aye,” he said. “I thought of that too. Do not let Pete know…”
“Never.”
I found Gaston standing nearby, and I explained Striker’s request and my thoughts on why it would be good if we returned, anyway.
“We will avoid the Damn Wife,” he said.
Burroughs’ body was delivered to us wrapped in old sailcloth. Our cabal retreated to one end of the cay and prepared to bury him. While some of our number dug the grave, Cudro and I severed the head and placed it in a sack. When the rest of the body was in the ground and a few somber words had been said, I gave the grisly bag to Liam and Otter to take to Crème. Gaston and I followed in their wake, in search of Pierrot.
The big Frenchman embraced us with his usual fervor.
“Liam and Otter are delivering a thing to Crème,” I said quietly. “It will not bring his matelot back, but at least he will know his man did not cross alone.”
He smiled. “Thank you for that.”
“You should know that Morgan was party to it,” I said.
“Good, that is a good thing to hear,” he said thoughtfully.
He looked out over the waves to the North and chuckled. “What a wretched little adventure that was, non? Never again will I raid a town so oddly named. By God, if they do not know where it is they are, how can they be expected to make money for us to steal, non?”
“So where will you hunt?” Gaston asked.
Pierrot shrugged. “We will cruise for the Galleons and the Flota. They are much like a meal at an inn and can feed many.”
“But only if you reach the inn when they have food prepared,” I said.
He chuckled. “That is the way of it everywhere, for those of us who do not cook for ourselves.”
“We are indeed hapless wayfarers,” I said. “We wish you well and hope to see you again.”
“May the angels watch over you, and God smile upon your name,” he said effusively. This was followed by more embraces, and then he was gone.
Then, despite standing on a cay the size of my father’s sheep pasture with several hundred men, we were alone for the first time in hours.
“However did you befriend him?” I asked, and gestured to Pierrot’s retreating back.
Gaston frowned thoughtfully. “It was he that befriended me. He was elected captain of the ship I sailed on after my trouble with Cudro. I was angry and lacked trust. I stayed well away from the others, and there was talk that I should not be among them. Pierrot called me into his cabin and asked if I was as mad as they said. I told him what I could.” Gaston shrugged. “I saw he had books and asked to borrow one. He decided to like me. At first, I was concerned that his fondness might harbor more, but he never acted as if it did. I owe him my life on two occasions.”
“When your life was threatened by the men you sailed with,” I said.
“Oui,” Gaston sighed. “I have never stood by his side in battle with the Spanish.”
I put my arm about his shoulders, and his found the small of my back. We stood companionably for a time, watching the surf.
At last I felt the need to move words past my lips. “I am not pleased with the prospect of returning to Port Royal.”
“Do you feel we must?” he asked with little emotion.
“If not for Striker’s entreaty, non. I could find all manner of ways to dismiss the rest. They could all be written fine letters.”
“Do you fear for your sister at Pete’s hands?” he asked.
“Non, not…” I sighed as I grappled with the cause of my concern. “I do not feel he will do her harm, other than the harm that will occur due to what he intends. That is, I do not feel he will strive to cause her pain, but I believe that his arriving without Striker, and her having to face her strong words made in love when her bed has been cold for these weeks…”
“You think she might have changed her heart?” he asked with curiosity.
I shook my head. “Not changed, per se, but perhaps her perspective of the entire affair has been altered, now that the flame of passion is not so very strong and urgent.”
“Do you fear she faces regret?”
“Oui. And I fear that Pete will not present his case well,” I sighed.
Gaston nodded. “Oui, in that he will not be gentle. He will present an ultimatum.”
“Oui. So I feel we must go to smooth the way.”
“Do you feel the matter of sodomy should be mentioned?” he asked.
“Non, I do not,” I said, amusing the both of us with the alacrity of my response.
“But Will,” he enjoined with a smile, “she will not truly be married to him, so if she does not choose to accept him in that fashion, she can refuse him and break the arrangement.”
I sobered. “My greater fear is that she will be unhappy with the arrangement and choose not to break it. Yet, I feel if we make much of it she might become skittish. And underlying it all is the knowledge that despite our tie of blood, I know her not well at all.”
“Perhaps it is a thing she has fantasized of,” Gaston said with a shrug. “I do not know what women think of such things.”
I mused on old memories. “Some women I have known have been quite enamored with it, both in theory and in practice, and oddly sometimes one but not the other.”
“So they wish for it but do not like it?” he asked.
“Oui, or they profess to not like it and then are quite willing and pleasured by it.” I shrugged. “But truly, I have only bedded a few in that fashion.”
“I would think that it would not be so different for a woman as it is for a man,” he said with a thoughtful frown.
“So would I, but with some, you are the Devil himself for suggesting it.” I clearly recalled being slapped hard for that, after the lady had been making inferences to it all night. “They deem it un-Godly and unnatural. And as they have another hole well suited to the purpose, one can see their argument. However, I still hold that we would not have been created in a form in which we can derive pleasure from many different acts of intimacy, if we were not intended to partake of them.”
He was quite amused with me. “I think you should discuss this with your sister.”
“I think I would rather bed the Damn Wife.”
Gaston chuckled and looked about, as there had been shouting some distance to our left. He tensed. I followed his gaze, and discovered as he had that Ikela was squatting ten paces from us, with his back to the waves and his eyes on the men behind us. I was thankful he did not speak French. Then I was amused, as it seemed he was standing guard.
With Ikela at our heels, we returned to our friends and discovered that the Lilly had been chosen as the ship to return to Port Royal. She was a fast, fore-and-aft rigged sloop who could make easy work of sailing against the prevailing wind with a minimal crew. She had also been careened recently; and her captain, Norman, was a great favorite of Morgan’s, and the admiral trusted him to bear his letters to Modyford.
Many of the slaves were already being moved aboard her. Gaston and I did not wish to board the ship until the early dawn before she sailed, so we decided to spare our men the discomfort of being treated as slaves for the night.
And so we cavorted about on shore with our cabal. Pete and Striker sat apart and talked for a time before joining us, but everyone else was in fine spirits without wine or rum. Ikela and Pedro seemed set on staying close to
Gaston and me. I was concerned Ikela would be confused when Gaston and I chose to spar, but his eyes grew large and his grin wider as we put each other through our paces with swords and daggers. When we finished, Gaston tossed me his rapier and turned to Ikela to bow and gesture with his dagger. Despite his bruised and bloody back, the black man enthusiastically dropped into a practiced fighting stance. He sparred excellently; his speed matched my matelot’s, and nearly matched Pete’s when the Golden One decided to join in on the fun.
Striker joined me to watch that bout.
“Damn, Will, whatever shall we do with him?” he asked, when Ikela offered Pete a curious gesture, obviously a salute, at the end of the match.
Pete pounded Ikela on the shoulder with glee; and it was clear that, though none of us could communicate well with the man using words, the honor of warriors for one another was a thing that needed no translation.
“If I were roving on account,” Striker added, “I would take him on as crew; but here, now, I can truly see no way to do it. As I said before, some of the men would accept him, but others…”
“You sound like Bradley,” I said.
He punched my shoulder, hard, and I swore.
“Perhaps after this season’s endeavor,” Striker said bitterly. “In the meantime…”
“Well, as we have discussed, he will not go to the plantation, and I cannot see him serving as a house servant,” I said. “And I will not take that knife back from him now, after it has so obviously restored his pride.”
“Aye,” he sighed. “But we don’t have need of a fighting man in Port Royal…”
We looked at one another and grinned as we heard the folly of his words.
“Aye, we do,” I said.
“Aye, and didn’t we bemoan not having one to leave behind,” Striker said with equal amusement. “But do you think he could serve as a bodyguard, and would your sister have that?”
I chuckled. “I do not know what my sister will have.”
He sobered. “Will she have Pete?”
“For the love of you,” I said carefully.
Matelots Page 66