I glanced up at Striker as I returned to my seat, and found him trying not to laugh. He quickly stopped Pete from talking to me. Davey was frowning at me in that annoying disapproving way he had.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing… my Lord,” he said quietly.
“What the Hell is that for?” I hissed.
“You’re dead set on being a lord wherever you go, aren’t ya?”
“Aye, it’s in my nature,” I snapped.
Gaston was glaring at him. “Ungrateful whelp,” he said in French.
“He is an angry young sheep,” I replied in the same language.
“Sheep?”
“I will explain later.”
Gaston shrugged and regarded me seriously. “Thank you for that. I cannot make myself heard in these situations.”
I realized I had never heard him speak louder than the low husky voice he was using now, and that he was being literal and not figurative.
“You really can speak no louder than that?” I asked.
He nodded. “The reason is something I do not wish to discuss. But oui, my voice was destroyed years ago.”
“I am sorry, whatever the cause.” I gave him a small bow. “I stand at your service if you need any yelling or singing performed, though I do not possess the one you hate’s excellent projection.”
Gaston smiled. “I will explain my dislike of him when we have time.”
“Am I to understand the tale is lengthy?”
He shrugged.
Bradley called for the vote by a show of hands, and Striker received over two-thirds of the assembly’s support. Striker let Pete jump down to us, and I was hugged until I thought my ribs would break.
“He would have won anyway,” I protested when I could breathe.
“AyeButYaHelped.” He climbed back onto the quarterdeck, with one last pat on my head.
“We will now read the last articles, and any man can make suggestions. We’ll put changes to a vote,” Bradley said. “Article one: In matters of prey or battle, the captain shall have absolute authority. In all other matters, every man shall have his say and his vote. If in battle the captain should be unable to serve, then command passes to the quartermaster until the strife has passed, at which time an election will be held. If not in battle, and the captain is struck ill, then the command of the ship passes to the master of sail until an election can be held.”
My fiendish mind grasped that no provision had been made as to how many of the men need be present to make an election. I could also see where the absolute command of the captain could be abused, if the definitions of battle and in pursuit of prey were loosely measured. But I saw no point in mentioning these things, as this set of laws had obviously been functioning nicely prior to my hearing of it; and if the men on this ship ever felt there was a serious breach of their trust, I was sure no man could stand against them.
No one had any comment on the first article, and it was ratified unanimously.
“Article two,” Bradley continued. “Any man deserting his post or acting with cowardice during battle will be marooned.”
“What’s marooned?” Davey asked.
“Left on a deserted island with a skin of water and a pistol and one shot,” Gaston said.
Davey nodded soberly as we all ratified that article.
“Article three: All booty belongs to the whole of the ship until it is shared out amongst us; and any man withholding any item from his mates shall be considered a thief, and he shall have his nose and ears removed and be cast out. Any man stealing from his mates shall suffer the same punishment.”
There was no complaint or question about this article, either. I raised my hand along with the rest; though I was curious if things that the others would not value, such as books, would count as withholding something.
“Article four: No man shall strike another while on ship. All disputes will be settled on shore by duel of pistol and sword. The quartermaster shall direct any duels.”
“Excuse me,” a man said. “Can the duels just be sword or fist, for the times when the mates don’t want to kill each other and just want to fight?”
There were nods of assent at this, and it was generally agreed to change it. “Article four: No man shall strike another while on ship. All disputes will be settled on shore by whatever means the combatants desire. The quartermaster shall direct any duels,” Bradley read.
We all ratified it. I wondered what happened when there was a dispute on shore; did it immediately become a duel? Once again I kept my mouth firmly shut.
“Article five: There shall be no dicing or cards for money.”
There was some grumbling amongst the men. I thought it a fine rule, as I could see where it could lead to a great many duels amongst ones such as these, so that half the crew might be dead before they reached anything to plunder, and weeks spent getting there on account of having to stop every hour for another duel. It was ratified.
“Article six: No women or boys to be brought on board, or even women dressed as boys. The punishment shall be marooning.”
“With the woman or boy?” some jester asked. There was a round of guffaws and resounding “nays”. I imagined this rule existed for the same reason the prohibition against gambling existed: too many duels. It was ratified.
“Article seven: Every man is responsible for keeping his pieces in working order and ready for service. Every man is responsible for the deck he sleeps on and anything he can reach from where he sleeps. Additionally, men are responsible for the cannon they sleep closest to. Punishment for shirking these duties is left to the quartermaster.”
But not defined, I noted. I looked at the cannon with new concern. I know nothing of cannons.
This article was ratified without comment, and once again I was forced to assume that this rule had performed an adequate job of maintaining the equipment and the ship prior to my arrival; and my advice or thoughts were not required.
“Article eight: All men are to have one equal share, with the following exceptions. The captain will be granted five shares for use of his ship. The quartermaster and master of sail shall each receive two shares. The surgeon and carpenter shall receive two hundred pieces of eight or two slaves for their services, above their full share. The cook shall receive a hundred pieces of eight or one slave for his services, above his full share. Any man losing the use of an arm or a leg, even if it just be a hand or foot, but not a finger or toe, shall receive six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves per limb, prior to the sharing of the booty. Any man losing an eye will receive two hundred pieces of eight or two slaves prior to the sharing of the booty.”
“Begging your pardon,” someone said. “But what if the captain is killed and we go on to other booty? Does the new captain get the five shares of all the booty, or just from when he became captain? And the same with the quartermaster?”
Striker spoke up. “I say my matelot gets any shares I was entitled to, and the new quartermaster gets shares of any booty taken after he becomes quartermaster.”
Bradley sighed and sagged on the railing. “We have had this debate. The matter is too hard to govern if you include matelots. We do not possess a record of who is matelot with whom.”
“We hold a vote,” Striker said. He turned to the ship. “How many of you say Pete is my matelot?” Every hand on the ship shot into the air. “There you have it, and some of them have never sailed with us before,” he told Bradley triumphantly.
The captain was laughing. “We’ll put it to a vote then. All in favor of the matelot of a ship’s officer receiving their shares of any booty taken prior to their demise.”
Many people raised their hand, but someone called out, “Hold. That’s only if they die in battle, right? What happens if we vote them out?”
Another man spoke. “And I would like ta say that me matelot is more valuable to me than me right arm, so maybe we should include matelots for getting’ somethin’ if a man loses one.” I saw who said this, and I w
as sure he was a man I had been introduced to the night before. His nose was crooked in many places; and he had the palest hair I had ever seen, under a strange floppy leather hat. His accent was Scottish. His matelot was a big man with dark hair, who I vaguely remembered had a Dutch accent. Their names came to me slowly: Liam and Otter.
“Nay,” another yelled. “That is not fair to those of us who have no matelot. That money comes out of the booty prior to shares.”
I could hold my tongue no longer and stepped forward.
“How about this?” I called loudly and people stopped to listen. “The original change called for matelots inheriting a deceased officer’s shares. And many seemed in favor of it. Why not add that any man who loses a matelot, as decided by public vote, receives any shares his deceased matelot was entitled to? And also set in the article that a man, whether he be officer or not, is only entitled to shares while he is alive or holding office.”
There was immediate discussion amongst the men and much nodding of heads, until Hastings, the one-eyed former Navy officer asked, “Do you have a matelot?”
I was about to say “nay” when a chorus of voices erupted from the quarterdeck saying “aye.” I winced and looked to Gaston helplessly; and he sighed and shrugged with resignation.
“Apparently,” I said with no real conviction.
“You’re new to us. Who are you and who is your matelot?” Cudro boomed from the bow.
“You can call me Will and…” I looked to Gaston, who stepped to my side and, to my amazement, threw an arm across my shoulder as he gave Cudro a defiant glare. I was extremely curious as to what had once passed between these two men: upon the sight of him, Cudro growled loud enough to be heard on shore, and looked ready to charge us like an angry bull.
“Well that bein’ the case, I do na’ think it matters, as neither of those two will likely die in any venture we may find arselves in,” said Liam, the Scotsman with the crooked nose. This brought a round of laughter and asides. I looked over my shoulder at Bradley and Striker, beseeching them for rescue.
“All right, then,” Bradley called. “Who here is in favor of Will’s suggestion?”
Almost all of them voted their assent.
Gaston pulled me back into the alcove and out of sight of most and released me.
“Um…” I began.
He cut me off with a tired, “Do not speak of it.”
Davey was watching us with a good deal of confusion. “What’s a matelot?”
Gaston rolled his eyes and stared out at the sea, and I was left alone with the question.
“A partner,” I said and hoped he would not ask for more.
This appeased him for a moment and then he asked, “With buggery?”
“Aye, that is apparently an option,” I sighed.
He looked from me to Gaston and back again, and made a small “hmmm” sound.
I tried to ignore him and returned my attention to the proceedings. Cleghorn had been tasked with writing up the new articles, and he was now adding the revision I had suggested. Once the document was complete, every man was expected to sign it or make their mark.
Unfortunately, while I could ignore Davey, I could not ignore my own thoughts – which were profoundly affected by my having a matelot and all that that implied within the Brethren of the Coast. I was married. In fact, I was more than married. A wife would have no say on my holdings or be involved in my business dealings.
I have never wished to be married. Almost all of my adult liaisons with members of either sex have been excruciatingly short in duration, rarely lasting beyond a night or two, and usually over within the hour. A few had lasted months, and none had been exclusive. I had been with Alonso the longest, and though I had considered us partners, I had not considered us married. I might have been induced to give my life for him under certain circumstances, and I had momentarily been tempted to travel to Spain with him. We had cared for each other when wounded. However, we fornicated where and with whom we chose. We only shared items that had been bestowed upon us jointly, such as Teresina’s spare house. Our purses had been our own, and we had seldom known the amount the other possessed. We had respected and trusted one another, and in time loved, but we had never held ourselves out to anyone as a couple – even though many in our acquaintance had known we were close companions and possibly partners. In truth, few beyond Teresina’s household had known we buggered one another.
This was different. It was assumed by all that we buggered one another; and I harbored the great suspicion that any attempts at dalliance with another would be greatly frowned upon by our crewmates and not tolerated by my matelot. In all honesty, I did not think I would tolerate it from him, either. In my understanding, we would share all things, even money. We would care for one another. We would inherit from one another in case of death. We made decisions about our life and livelihood in concert. We were denoted a pair in the eyes of our peers. We were married in all ways in which I understood it, and then much beyond it. No wife could have exercised the hold upon me Gaston did now.
I was trying to determine exactly how this had occurred in such a brief period of time.
“Get up here and sign,” Striker said.
We signed the articles as “Will” and “Gaston”, and moved aside to join Striker and Pete at the rail.
“You’re good,” Striker said with a devil’s grin.
“You would have won anyway,” I said.
“Then why?” Striker asked.
“He is not very fond of Cudro.” I gestured to Gaston. “He promises to explain later, to me anyway.”
“I don’t like Hastings,” Striker said quietly, with a serious frown.
“Have you sailed with either before?”
“Nay, but I have heard things. I was quite surprised they thought they could come here and challenge me.” Striker gave us a warning look, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Hastings smiling at us before signing the articles.
Gaston was glaring past me at Cudro, who was standing in line to sign.
I shrugged. “I am surprised he is staying aboard.”
“I don’t have a reason to turn him out,” Bradley said, from between Striker and Gaston.
I was surprised, as he had not been there when I turned my head. I decided to change the subject, and addressed Bradley and Striker. “Thank you both for confirming that I had a matelot,” I said sarcastically. They laughed. “Perhaps we would have preferred the banns published a while longer and a more formal ceremony.”
“It’s not as if you are married,” Bradley said.
I frowned. “And how is it not? Other than I would not be expected to share property with a wife.”
He grimaced with consternation. “Having a matelot is not marriage.”
“If my understanding of such things is correct, and perhaps it is not, then matelots are partners, considered couples apart from all others, share all things – and they, even by the article we just ratified, inherit from one another. I see it as differing from marriage in that it indicates a condition of greater legal entanglement, not less.”
The Scotsman, Liam, Otter, his Dutch matelot, the Bard, and Siegfried had joined us in the back corner of the deck. Everyone watched Bradley for his answer, and the captain looked uncomfortable under their scrutiny. He gave Siegfried a beseeching look.
Siegfried sighed. “Marriage is a union sanctified in a church.” Bradley looked relieved, and the rest of us frowned. Siegfried looked no more pleased with what he had just said than we were.
“Pardon me,” I said. “I was born to nobility, and I have spent years in the courts of Austria, France and two Roman cities. Amongst people of such birth, marriage has little to do with the church unless there are political considerations between members of two differing faiths. Marriage is a legal contract between families and individuals intended to provide for demonstrable parentage and the care and support of children, and to cement alliances. And on truly rare occasion, it has something to do with lo
ve. The institution also serves to keep people from fighting in the streets about who had carnal knowledge of whom.” I shrugged. “But I am not a religious man. Still, from what little I have seen and been told since arriving here, matelotage serves many of those functions for preserving an orderly society, and thus in my opinion matelots occupy the same level of legal distinction amongst the Brethren as a married couple would in England.”
“What’dHeSay?” Pete asked.
I made note that I would have to greatly simplify my oration if I required Pete’s immediate support in any matter. I also noted that Siegfried was studying the planks with a small smile and not looking at his matelot. Bradley regarded me with consternation. I was sure I had not fallen within the parameters of what he bargained for, once again. Liam grinned; his matelot thoughtfully chewed an apple. The Bard scratched his head and wore a sardonic smirk. Striker was deep in thought. And most importantly, my matelot regarded me with amusement. I was greatly relieved that he was not looking upon me with murder in his eyes.
“I agree,” Striker said suddenly. “I’m more married to Pete than I was my wife.”
“You had a wife?” I asked.
“Aye,” he said soberly. “And a babe, but they caught a fever and died while I was at sea. It was before I came here.”
“I am sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “I think perhaps it was for the best. If they had lived another year, they would have been abandoned when I was shipped here; and who knows what would have become of them. It wasn’t as if I was a good husband anyhow.”
“You’reGoodTaMe,” Pete said with concern, and rubbed Striker’s shoulder.
Striker smiled again. “As I said, I’m more married to him than I was to her.”
“It does not fit within my definition of marriage,” Bradley said. All gazes shifted to his matelot.
Siegfried looked thoughtful. “Nor mine.” He turned away from us, and worked his way through the signing men down to the deck below. An awkward silence followed. Bradley left us, too.
“I cause nothing but trouble,” I said quietly.
“Tell me of it, I married you,” Gaston said disparagingly in French.
Brethren Page 27
