by Lee Rowan
Archer was writhing against him now, one hand tangled in his hair, the other arm locked around his waist. He abandoned himself to the rhythm, his hands sliding down with a will of their own to catch Archer’s hips. Davy whimpered, and suddenly they were fumbling with fly buttons—their own, each other’s, it hardly mattered. Trousers slid away, and they were twined together in the straw, rolling around like a couple of young animals, slippery with the sweat of their furious struggle, frantic but silent.
It was like being on deck in a hurricane: no control, no chance of mastery, just holding on for dear life and hoping to survive the cataclysm. Davy’s shirt was an obstacle, bunching up between them, and they wrestled that off, lips separating only long enough to get the thing over his head and out of their way.
The wave broke almost immediately as their naked bodies touched full length, small cries drowning in each other’s throats. The tidal surge seemed to go on forever, then slowly ebbed until they were two separate beings again, two gasping, spent bodies, two very shocked and bewildered young men. But Davy held his face for a moment longer, time enough for a gentle, piercingly tender kiss.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Released, Marshall rolled away, dazed, his body still humming like rigging in a gale. As the feelings calmed and his brain cleared, he realized what had felt like an age could have lasted barely a minute or two. Had they been overheard? The only sounds he could detect were Archer’s ragged breathing, the rustle of the straw, the creaking of the ship. No alarm outside.
Hardly necessary. Alarm was shrieking within him, and he tried to still it with mundanity. “We—we had better wash up.” He groped for the water bucket and shivered as the cold wetness splashed against his belly. Sluicing the water off himself, he passed the refilled cup to Archer.
His breeches had wrapped themselves around one ankle, and the small problem of untangling them and pulling them back on gave him a moment to try to think. It was like swimming in glue. The enormity of what he had just done nearly paralyzed him. What in the world had possessed him? And Davy had thanked him. For stopping, of course. If he could voluntarily drop dead, this very moment, he would. But of course it couldn’t be that easy.
He couldn’t see Davy in the darkness, didn’t have to look him in the face. That was a small comfort, since it meant Davy couldn’t see him either. He couldn’t hear Davy’s breathing anymore, but sensed that he was waiting. Speechless with fury, most likely.
Oh, God, now what? He sagged against the bulkhead, face in his hands, and struggled for words. Finally, he took refuge in formality, pushing the phrases out through a throat almost too tight to breathe.
“Mr. Archer, I—I most humbly beg your pardon. That was inexcusable, I don’t know what came over me—”
Archer had curled into a tight ball, choking on pain, cursing his own stupidity. He could have just released Will, apologized, pretended to be asleep, something. If only he hadn’t said anything! Well, he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about being a pawn in the hostage game. Now Will could simply find the Captain and leave. Or I can just attack Adrian, if I can’t kill him I’ll just go on fighting until he has to kill me. He heard William say something about washing, took the cup that was thrust into his hand, used it to rinse away the stickiness on his belly. For all the good it would do. This won’t wash off.
Then he heard Will’s voice, and his mind finally made sense of the words. Except the words didn’t make sense. Why in God’s name should William be apologizing to him? But he sounded terribly upset, though why should he, and he seemed to be standing there waiting for an answer. What came over him? That was too absurd.
Archer swallowed. “I seem to recall having something to do with it.” His voice sounded almost calm, strange in his own ears. Well, he had just destroyed the last bit of anything that made his life worth living. What was there left to fear? Poor William was breathing heavily, as though he’d run a mile. “Will, for God’s sake, please sit down before you fall over.”
Marshall slid to the deck with a thud, knotting his hands together to keep them from shaking. “If you wish,” he said woodenly, “When we return to Calypso, I shall place myself under arrest for… for indecently assaulting an officer under my command, I shall resign my commission—”
“Are you mad?” Panic flooded out any other feeling, though Archer had just enough control to keep his voice low. “Will, that’s a hanging offense. Have you ever seen a hanging? I have.” Terror made him babble. “I was eight. My father thought it would be an eye-opening experience. He was right. I didn’t sleep for three days.” He took a deep breath and continued, trying to sound more reasonable. “Even if you had done anything to harm me, do you think I would say one word to send you to the gallows?”
Gallows. Maybe he could get hold of that cord they’d woven and hang himself while William slept. It would be a coward’s apology, though, and Will would only blame himself. “It would make as much sense for me to place myself under arrest for seducing my commanding officer.” But, no, that would ruin William too. “They probably would hang us both, for idiocy, if we were fools enough to confess to such a thing.”
He was at a loss for what to say, but the words kept pouring out, regardless. “Or I could report that our genial host has been indecently assaulting both of us and you chose to take responsibility for it all. That’s at least closer to the truth, isn’t it?” He stopped in horror, aware of what he’d just revealed.
“What—no, the beating was unreasonable, but hardly—” Marshall suddenly realized what David wasn’t quite saying. “Oh my God. Davy. No….”
Archer said nothing. That’s torn it.
Marshall had a sudden awful insight. “That’s what you were talking about at the gratings, wasn’t it? That’s what all of it was about—the beating and the maneuvers with food. He’s like Correy. He wanted you, and you refused him.”
“Yes,” Archer said distantly. Good-bye, my friend.
“And the next night—after they’d taken me away?” No response. It was as if Archer were a thousand miles away, not right beside him. Marshall wanted to touch him but was almost afraid to. “Davy, for God’s sake, you should know I’d rather be beaten bloody than to have you… abused… on my behalf!”
“I know you would,” Archer said, very quietly. “And that helped. So very much. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. He made it quite clear that my consent was not required.” Nothing would have made any difference, and the stakes were too high. “He wasn’t just threatening to beat you, Will, he was talking about—about mutilation. And I believe him.” He felt tears spilling from his eyes. He couldn’t stop them. I wanted to protect you. I didn’t mean to drag you into it. “I’m sorry.”
Marshall had never felt so furious—or so helpless. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You already have. You’re still speaking to me.” For now, at least. “Really, it’s… not even as bad as Correy. Not as physically brutal. And at least this way I’ve been able to keep some small illusion of dignity and distract him from—from whatever the Captain may be up to. It’s not your fault, William, and I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop him.”
Remorse tore at Marshall. “I didn’t have to make it worse. I’m no better than Correy—”
Archer seized his arms in the darkness and shook him. He hadn’t meant to touch Will at all, contaminate him, but he couldn’t let him go on like that. “You are nothing like Correy,” he whispered fiercely. “His only pleasure lay in hurting. Were you trying to hurt me?” Stupid question.
“No!”
“Did—did you feel that I was trying to hurt you?” Oh, please….
“Of course not, Davy, but—”
Thank God. Archer let go. “All right. There’s your difference. You were trying to help me, and it… got out of hand.” He was silent for a long moment. He’d been lying, keeping quiet, trying to hide, all for nothing. Best to make a clean breast of it and let Marshall make up his own
mind. It was utterly unfair to let him blame himself for any of this. Archer took a deep breath and said briskly, “Would you like me to tell you what happened a few minutes ago?”
“I know—”
“No, you don’t. Not all of it. What happened was, I was dreaming I was back with Adrian, and he was….” He faltered, his nerve failing. “Amusing himself. Then all of a sudden the dream changed and it was you. I realize now you must have been trying to get away, but I—I thought you were trying to kiss me and that meant I was still dreaming, because of course that couldn’t really be happening, and I was so relieved….” Liar. The word is “happy.” “That—that by the time I realized it wasn’t a dream anymore, I couldn’t stop.”
“And I took advantage of you.”
“No.” How plainly do I have to say it? “Quite the opposite, Will. You didn’t do anything wrong to me. I made a stupid mistake. I won’t blame you for a moment if you hate me for it. I’m quite sure that you never—” He stopped, trying to gather the courage to finish.
“Davy? Are you all right?”
“No.” I will never be all right again. He forced himself to speak, stumbling over the words. “But it is not you, Will. It’s me.” Get it all out, give him the truth, let him decide. “William, Correy wasn’t the first. I’d had similar difficulties with an older boy at school. And now this bastard. I swear I don’t know why it happens, I didn’t choose it, but I’ve learned to survive it.” Stop stalling, you sniveling coward. Give him the truth. “What you did—or, to be precise, how you responded to what I did—I think it was the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I have never before, under such circumstances, cared about the other fellow. Or not been hurt, or afraid. Or felt… loved. William, you were not forcing me.”
Marshall felt the blood rush to his face, felt a little sick. The naked expression of emotion was all the more excruciating because it was true. He did love Davy. He’d thought that he loved him as a brother. But he’d never had a brother, so how would he know? Davy certainly hadn’t been forcing him either. On the contrary, it had felt good, so very good…. God, what did this mean? Was he some kind of ill-born monster?
“Davy, we can’t—”
No, we can’t. Never again. “Of course not.” But Archer couldn’t lie and say he was sorry it had happened, just this once, a tiny bright moment of joy amidst all the pain and fear. “Of course not,” he repeated. “Even if we wanted to—and I don’t expect you do—Captain Smith would drop us over the side in a sack. We’d never have done it on the Calypso. It would never have happened at all if not for this bizarre situation.”
“It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
“But it did.” He had to remind himself that, in this matter at least, William was really quite an innocent. “It does, you know. Lieutenant Hampton—you probably didn’t realize it, but he wasn’t interested in women. He told me once that some Captains turn a blind eye, if the parties involved are of age and discreet. And when that’s not the case… if your quarrel with Correy had been over anything else, you’d never have had the chance to duel him.”
“What?”
“No Captain wants a sodomy trial aboard his ship, Will, you know that, except the hellfire disciplinarians. It taints everyone—and when it’s rape, they often hang the victim as well. Old Captain Cooper didn’t want that. Hampton told me that Cooper had been hoping someone would challenge George—I never realized that or I’d have tried it myself.”
“I look back on that, Davy, and wonder where I ever found the nerve to challenge him. It was sheer luck it turned out as it did.”
“Sheer arrogance on his part, and overconfidence. He didn’t think a vicar’s son would know how to shoot!” Archer smiled at the memory. “At any rate, Will, we aren’t the first. And since it did happen, I’m grateful it was with you. I trust you with my life, and you must know I’d rather die than cause you harm. If we can agree between ourselves that we both became… emotional… and acted rashly, then that’s an end to it. It need never go beyond these walls.”
There, that sounded reasonable. Of course, once they were back on the Calypso and off this cursed ship, after Marshall had a chance to think the matter through, he would doubtless find himself more suitable friends. I will become an embarrassment. He will remember this night every time he looks at me—and how could he ever trust me again? But for now, since Will apparently still felt responsible, they had to put this aside long enough to concentrate on escape.
Marshall could hardly believe how simple it sounded—or how calmly Archer had presented his conclusions. But then, Davy had been facing the problem for some time—and it had been Davy who’d run headlong into a burning powder room to save his shipmate. Whatever his fears, in some ways he had more courage than Marshall would ever have, himself.
“You’ve given this some thought, then?”
“All my life, it seems. How could I avoid it?”
True enough. “How—Davy, how did Lieutenant Hampton come into it?” Marshall was still having trouble with the idea that someone he’d known as a friend could be anything like George Correy.
“I think Correy found out about him and used it to blackmail him—keep him from stopping his filthy games. But—” Archer caught his meaning. “Oh, Christ, no, Hampton wasn’t after me, Will. I think he had a lover aboard ship.” Indeed he had. Hampton’s lover had been Captain Cooper himself, who was the other link in the blackmail chain that gave Correy such power over them all. “Lieutenant Hampton saw what Correy was up to and tried to help me.” How to explain the odd friendship he’d had with their former Lieutenant? Better not to try. “We weren’t lovers, but he taught me some ways to make it easier, to keep from getting hurt. He was a good man, Will, you know that—he just had unusual inclinations. Correy was a beast. He could never even get a woman in Spithead because he was so vile. The dockside whores wouldn’t have him after he beat one of them half to death. I’m not even sure he liked boys as much as he liked bullying. I wouldn’t have left him alone with a sheep.”
Marshall grimaced. There was an idea not worth contemplating. But never mind dead villains. It didn’t seem possible that something as shatteringly intense as what had passed between them could ever work itself back into the fabric of ordinary life.
“So… can we just go on?”
“Will, what else can we do—or say? Whom would we tell? Do you want to go to the Captain and tell him, ‘Excuse me, sir, Mr. Archer mistook me for a mermaid the other night, but it’s all right, we shook hands and agreed to be gentlemen about it’?”
Marshall’s appalled silence was answer enough.
“The only way to survive is to act as though nothing happened. We weren’t the first, I’m damned sure we won’t be the last.” He sighed. “But I promise you, Will, there is one thing I’m going to do if they ever change the dress code about being clean-shaven.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to grow a moustache—and maybe some stupendously ugly side-whiskers—and cover this damned pretty face.”
Marshall relaxed, dizzy with relief that there might be such an easy way out of this muddle, one that would preserve this rare friendship. Half-joking, he suggested, “You could sneer.”
“What?”
“Remember that look Captain Cooper used to give midshipmen who got their navigation problems wrong, when he looked as though he smelled rotten fish? You could practice that. It should repel anything.”
“Oh.” Silence. “There. I’m sneering. Think it’s repulsive enough?”
“Davy, it’s pitch-black in here.”
“Well, I can’t sneer any louder.”
He had to smile at his friend’s irrepressible humor. “You’ll have to try again in the daylight.” He bit his tongue. Another day. Another day of captivity, of helplessness. Another night of Davy being taken away for “supper with the Captain.” His hands curled into fists.
“It won’t help,” Archer said quietly, catching his mood.
“Will, there’s nothing we can do. Not yet.”
“No.”
“We’d better get some sleep.”
“Yes.”
Chapter 14
THEY WERE still lying quietly, eyes open, when the window creaked and let in the dawn. Marshall sighed, realizing he was too keyed up to sleep. Just as well. He wanted to make sure the cell showed no trace of their earlier activity.
His searching glance fell on Archer’s body. “Oh, my God, Davy—” An angry patchwork of bruises marred the fair skin, mostly blotches around the ribs and waist that fit the pattern of fingermarks. And his wrists—
Archer flushed scarlet, grabbed for his shirt, and dragged it on inside out. He realized his mistake when he tried to do up the buttons and put his hands over his face, almost as a child would, as though pretending he wasn’t there.
Marshall reached to touch him, only for comfort, but stopped himself. “I’m sorry, Davy.” He stood up and went to the port, giving his friend the pretense of privacy. He heard the rustle of cloth as Davy adjusted the shirt, but it was really too late—what he had seen was already burned into his mind’s eye. Davy’s whole body had been mauled. The tops of his shoulders were splotched with purple, and at the edge of one bruise, Marshall had discerned, with brutal clarity, the marks of human teeth.
“Thank you,” Archer said in a small voice.
Marshall glanced down, saw that he was covered, and sat against the opposite wall, staring at his own hands, wondering. Finally he could stand it no longer. “Davy. Forgive me, but—I—I have to know. Did—did I do any of that?”
“No! God, no, Will, I didn’t mean for you to see, it was only—”
“You’d said this bastard wasn’t as bad as Correy, but—” He touched Archer’s wrist, looked at him for permission, then pushed the sleeve back. His wrists were encircled with bruises and chafe-marks. “What the hell did he tie you for?”
