In the present, the cold and the rain gripped me anew, and I was almost overwhelmed with the urge to run. I waged war against it, as it would have done me no good. On a ship there was nowhere to run, and these were the people I could trust most in this place. So I sat and listened to men making love while pressed shoulder and hip against a man I wanted, and I remembered how these things could go so very wrong. I vowed to be still and hope that everyone would sleep soon and forget my existence. My body chose to betray me, though: not in its usual fashion or by way of the usual culprit, but by shivering, violently.
To my dismay, I found myself relieved of my weapons and pulled down amongst them, so that Gaston was pressed against my back and Striker my front. I did not have the strength to fight or even find the voice to protest. My mind was frozen in terror, just as surely as my body was stiff with cold, with muscles held rigid to keep myself from shaking apart. To my relief, no one rubbed or explored, there was only the pressing and holding, and the warmth. In time I stopped shivering, and the fear receded.
I trusted the Gods.
Twelve
Wherein I Come to Understand
a Number of Things
I woke feeling warm and cozy. There were a blanket and arms wrapped about me and the beat of a heart at my ear. It was oddly disconcerting: I could not remember waking this way before, yet I felt completely comfortable with my surroundings and not the least alarmed. I hazarded to open my eyes, and there was darkness which slowly resolved into deep shades of grey. In the position I lay, pressed to someone’s breast, I could only see a shoulder, a wall, and a bit of ceiling. I could smell blood. It took a bit of time, but I slowly recalled who and where I was and the events of the night before. At length I surmised I was with Gaston in the cabin. It was the only explanation that made any sense; all others involved the last week of my life being a dream. That being said, I did not remember moving into the cabin. Nor did I remember removing my clothing.
Anxiety began to clutch at me, and I squirmed in his grip enough to look about. He was clothed. We were indeed in the cabin. It was filled with stacks of oilcloth-wrapped muskets. I could hear snores and wheezing, and I guessed the other ill men were with us, somewhere beyond the weapons.
Gaston’s hand was on my forehead. I tilted my head back to regard him.
“What transpired?” I asked in French.
“You became feverish and delirious. We decided to bring you in here and warm you.”
I swore and sighed heavily and hid my face in his chest again. “I sincerely apologize for being such a bother.”
He snorted with what I hoped was amusement. “You do not know the half of it,” he whispered. I looked up at him and found his eyes kind, though his face was grim. “Can you sit? I need to relieve myself.”
I nodded and reluctantly pulled away to sit slowly. I felt sore all over, as if I had ridden hard for days. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and pulled my knees to my chest to sit against the wall. He stood slowly and carefully picked his way to the window. It was daylight again, but I was not sure if the light was muted due to it being dawn or to the clouds and rain. As he opened a window and the quality of sound changed, I realized the incessant noise residing at the edge of my thoughts was the steady patter of rain. So it could be any time of the day.
“When?” I asked.
“I do not know the time. You became ill in the middle of the night. We are under way.” He finished and returned to sit next to me.
“I was delirious?” I hoped I had not said anything of an embarrassing nature. It was a stupid thing to be concerned with, when my life had been in danger.
“Not raving,” he supplied quickly. “Though incoherent.” He appeared exhausted.
I spied my clothes drying over the back of a chair. For someone as unfamiliar with intimacy as I supposed him to be, dealing with me, naked and delirious, must have been quite the chore. “Thank you. For caring for me. I know it was…”
“We were almost…” He stopped and sighed and rubbed his temples. “If not for Striker, and oddly, the cook, and to some degree Siegfried, the Bard, Liam, Otter, and most especially Pete, we would both be in irons amongst the pigs awaiting marooning. This would all be due to my… temper. The damn surgeon wished to bleed you, and I would have none of it. He said you were under his jurisdiction if you were unconscious, and I disagreed. As your matelot, I have the right to make those decisions when you cannot, and bleeding can be added to the list of things which lead to… my loss of control. I did not have a bout last night, thankfully, but it was close, and Bradley now views me as a loose cannon he does not wish to sail with.”
I tried to imagine the roaring altercation that must have occurred in front of the whole crew in the rain and dark.
“And I missed all of this, pity,” I said as lightly as I could.
He smirked briefly, and then truly smiled as he turned to regard me. “Oui. You do not know how lucky you are.” His mask had been rubbed away by last’s night’s exertion and the rain, leaving dark smudges all about his eyes. Despite this, he looked younger.
“So, will we be allowed to stay, or will we be left wherever we careen?”
“I think it will depend upon Bradley’s mood this day.”
“Which is bound to be pleasant in light of the weather.”
“If we are left on Hispaniola, it is not a great difficulty.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it is a great difficulty, but it does not mean death. Depending on where, we can make our way to Petit Goave or across the Haiti to reach Île de la Tortue.”
I decided not to say anything of how my current physical condition would factor into the odds of our success. “I owe you a great deal.”
He shook his head. “Non, you do not. That was the first time I have become embroiled in a conflict on someone else’s behalf. I think that is a good thing, somehow. It made me feel useful.”
“Would that mean you are emerging from your cave, oh great Chiron?” I teased.
He chuckled. “It would not be because you are Hercules.”
“Non, it would not. I am quite far from being a demi-god of strength, though I have angered a number of goddesses.”
“And recently a surgeon,” he added.
“Though I have befriended Apollo, Adonis, and the cook.”
We were laughing now, and one of the ailing men complained. We apologized and tried to stifle our snickers, but it was to little avail. And thus was how Michaels found us when he entered the cabin. I sobered as he handed me a mug of some brew.
“Good to see you more yourself,” he said.
“Thank you, for this, whatever it is, and the help you offered last night.” I glanced at Gaston curiously.
“It were nothing,” Michaels said. “Damn surgeon. That is broth ta help ya get yar strength back and warm yar belly.”
“No purgative properties?” I asked with a grin.
He chuckled. “Nay. Other than bein’ yourself and in good humor, how ya be feelin’?”
“He is no longer feverish,” Gaston said. “The solution you prepared last night seemed to relieve some of his duress.”
“Aye, that’s an old one I learned from a fellow of Romany descent. I can give you the ingredients if you wish.”
“I would appreciate that very much,” Gaston said.
I felt as if weeks of my life had vanished rather than hours, as Gaston and Michaels conversed about herbs I would never remember the names of. Apparently this area of Gaston’s knowledge was once again due to the monks. I took an inventory of my skills and abilities, and found few of them related to bringing about anything good or useful in the world. I was a collection of useless facts, and my skills were all related to harming people in some fashion.
Michaels inquired of the other ailing men, and left to fetch more broth since they were awake. He informed us it was midday and we were cruising the coast looking for a likely spot to careen, though we would be able to do nothing until the rain stopped. All the while the ship was fil
led to overflowing with hogs and hungry, cold, and wet men. I was sure our days on this vessel were numbered, as there was no way I could foresee this all putting Bradley in a more reasonable state of mind.
I had donned my still-damp clothing, and we were discussing whether one or both of us should return to the deck, when Striker entered. He appeared exhausted and in a foul temper, but he smiled at the sight of me. He squeezed into the small floor space Michaels had occupied and kept his voice low.
“You look better.”
“Aye, I feel better than I suppose I felt last night, though I remember none of it. We were just discussing if it would be in our best interests to return…”
“Nay, it’s miserable, and you’ll only ail again, and we’ve had enough of that.” He regarded Gaston. “And you should stay out of sight.”
Gaston did not appear pleased with what that implied. “I apologize for...”
“For what?” Striker said and grinned. “Though threatening to hack Cleghorn to bits and feed him to the pigs was perhaps not in the best interests of diplomacy.”
“And I missed all of this,” I sighed theatrically.
Striker chuckled. “Aye, you lucky bastard. Your matelot was going to take on the whole damn ship to keep you from being bled.”
“As I would have wished, had I been lucid.” I was almost moved to say that it would not have killed me, though, and I would rather have been bled than both of us thrown over the side. But I understood Gaston’s reasons, to the extent I was able, and I did not feel it was within my rights to discuss them with Striker. “Why would Bradley not respect my matelot’s decisions on the matter? And likewise, why would Cleghorn not?”
Striker considered it quite soberly before smiling and chuckling to himself.
“Maybe he’s right,” he said and shrugged. “Pete thinks it’s because they fuck women or want to.”
I had a glimmer of what Pete meant in mind, but I could not yet focus it. “What would he mean by that?”
“Pete feels women are the root of all evil,” Striker said. “They create nothing but trouble, and they rain all manner of destruction upon men foolish enough to fall prey to them.”
I found myself chuckling. “I have known other men who felt thus. I do not agree with them; however, I can occasionally sympathize. Why would Pete feel thus?”
“I think his mother died early in his life. And his father, if that was who the man truly was, had a succession of wives or mistresses after that; and they all disliked Pete and his siblings, or at least cared none for them. Then Pete was cast out on the street at a young age, and he lived with a gang of boys. The older boys sometimes had girls, and they caused all manner of trouble for the younger ones; and so he never learned to trust or even like women, and he always had other boys. He’s never been with a woman, and he intends to die without ever having been despoiled by one.”
“In some ways that is tragic,” I said.
Striker shrugged and smiled.
“How does this relate to Bradley and Cleghorn?” I asked.
“Cleghorn has a wife in Port Royal, and Bradley is looking to get married and settle down as a planter.”
“Ah, so in the name of the choices they have made or intend to make, they choose not to give credence to the state of matelotage, because if it were marriage then…”
“Bradley is already married, to Siegfried,” Striker whispered. “And any man who has known them for a while can see the strain this is causing betwixt them.”
“I have seen signs of it, and I do not know them well. And how does all this sit? Not the matter between Siegfried and Bradley, but the matter of the dispute last night – with the rest of the crew?”
“Most, even ones such as Cudro, who truly dislikes the two of you,” he regarded us in a fashion that said he wished to know why, “have come forward once they heard the details of what transpired, and said that Bradley and Cleghorn were in the wrong.”
“Truly, that is good to hear. So why must Gaston stay out of sight?”
“Because if he is not in here caring for you, the crew may feel he was told to leave you, and they will become angry with Bradley, and I wish to avoid that.”
“Why did you not say that in the first place?” I said with exasperation. “You made it sound as if we needed to hide lest we be thrown off the ship.”
Striker frowned. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for you to take it in that fashion.”
Gaston appeared relieved. “I am not familiar with public opinion running in my favor.”
“Well.” Striker smiled. “If Pete hadn’t stopped you and you had tried to make good on some of your threats, then I would be bearing different tidings; but as it is, you were not in the wrong.”
“I was not mad last night. Angry, but not mad,” Gaston said quietly.
“Aye, I know it,” Striker said soberly. “You could be reasoned with. I saw you on Granada when you lost your senses. You could not be reasoned with, then.”
Gaston was frowning. “What did you instruct Pete?”
Striker shrugged. “Pete and I discussed it and decided that if Will is unavailable, or in truth, even if he is available, that if things come to that end, it would be best if Pete dealt with you to keep you from harming anyone.”
My matelot appeared sullen, yet he nodded slowly and said, “Thank you.”
“Hold,” I said. “The decision as to what is to be done with him is mine, is it not?”
“Aye,” Striker replied. “Pete will help you as you need him, and follow your direction in such matters.”
I was relieved. I did not need to be fighting both of them at such a time. Still, some of what he said troubled me.
Gaston spoke before I could. “Will, do not let your regard for me blind you when I am blind with madness.”
“Aye,” Striker added. “I believe in that event, Pete will have a clearer mind about the matter.”
I nodded resignedly. The whole possibility seemed remote and impossible, as if we were discussing battling dragons or some other mythical monster. I could not imagine Gaston behaving as they said. I could not picture in my mind what form this insanity took. Did he rave and foam at the mouth? Did he speak in tongues? Did he gain unnatural strength? They implied that he did not know his fellows; but he did not have many friends, so I could see where perhaps he would not want to acknowledge them if he were overwrought with emotion. I doubted it applied to me. I could not see how Gaston would ever hurt me.
The rain stopped in the afternoon. A likely little cove had been found and a boat dispatched to scout the area. They returned bearing the news that though the beach was good for careening, it was a bit shallow; and the entire ship could not be pulled ashore without clearing brush. The maintenance to the boat could still be accomplished, but the whole of it would take several days longer than usual. This would put us in greater danger, as we were in French territory and unsure as to whether or not there was a war. The extra days would, however, give us the necessary time to make the boucan. There was talk of whether or not to wait and find a better location, but the question of the hogs remained. They stank, and they would not survive sailing about the sea, as we had no food or water for them. We would have a ship full of dead swine once the heat took hold. The whole matter was put to a vote, and the common opinion was to get the Hell off the stinking boat – or rather get the hogs off so we could clean her. Even if this took a week and we were in enemy territory.
Once this issue was decided, the discussion began of how best to accomplish this. After great debate, the following strategy was devised: We would be organized into three groups. The first would be relatively small, and was tasked with offloading the cannon and establishing a defensive perimeter, then mounting watches and providing protection to the rest. Striker would lead these men. The second group, which would include most of the crew, would clear space for us to careen, build a small hog pen and assist in the offloading of the hogs, and careen the ship. This bunch would be led by Bradley. The th
ird small group would be composed of actual boucaniers, the men who had actually made boucan. They would build the pits necessary, cut the firewood for the pits, slaughter the hogs, and prepare the boucan.
Gaston and I would be amongst this group, along with Liam and Otter, and unfortunately Cudro. There were three other men I had not met, but Liam and Otter seemed familiar with them. Since he knew all and was not in dispute with any, Liam was placed in charge of the endeavor. I was relieved at this, as I had been afraid Cudro would be awarded command, and I knew he would cause nothing but trouble for us.
As if hearing my thoughts, the big Dutchman immediately grumbled that we would need another man, as I was next to useless in my current state. Liam hushed him and said he didn’t plan on my doing much of anything, anyway, and I would do what I could. I was not pleased. On the one hand, I was obviously well-regarded, but on the other, I felt as useless as Cudro deemed me. I silently vowed to do my share of the work despite my condition.
Weapons and tools in hand, we were one of the first parties ashore. In the name of the common good, Gaston and Cudro did not argue over the details, but they did not converse either. After much thinking and consideration of the lay of the space available, the number of hogs, and the need to hold the entire operation to as short a duration as possible, three large pits were decided upon. One man was assigned to clearing and digging each, while the others began to collect the necessary materials for building the smoking platforms. Gaston and I ended up digging, in the same pit, as I was not deemed an entire person for the purposes of the endeavor.
We worked quickly, as we wanted to accomplish as much as possible before nightfall. After a mere hour, I was forced to admit that even under the best of health I was no match for any of the men about me. I had never performed hard labor in my life. The musculature I possessed, such as it was, resulted from hours of daily practice with weapons, not digging. I did not have calluses to protect me from the rough wood of the shovel, and I quickly blistered. The heat was oppressive, my back and shoulders ached, and my bowels still did not like me in the least. Yet I refused to stop, until Gaston threatened me with the shovel if I did not go and sit in the shade.
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