Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  “Very,” I said, wondering at his concern. “I could only be better if you were inside me once again.”

  He chuckled on my neck. “I suppose we need not wait until sunset. It is only a little after midday.”

  “Far too many hours to go without doing this again,” I whispered. “I do not think I could bear it.”

  “Oui,” he breathed.

  “Please do that as many times as you are able.” I remembered his impressive libido from the night before last, and laughed. I would not be able to walk in two days.

  He gently urged me to turn until his mouth could cover mine.

  “I was concerned,” he whispered, when he released me.

  “Why?”

  “I did not plan to take you standing. I thought it was too near the angle the Damn Cousin used…” he trailed off with guilt.

  I frowned, and then amusement suffused me; and greater than that, relief, a profound relief. “I did not think of the Damn Cousin even once. Not at all.” I grinned.

  He grinned in return. “Then we have truly conquered him.”

  “Oui, I believe so. Gods, how I love you.”

  We held each other and laughed. And the afternoon spun into evening in a slow tapestry of trysting and cuddling. When the sunset finally came, it found us on our knees with him deeply inside me once again. This time, his hand was about my member and it sang along with his. I watched the pink and purple majesty of the sinking sun and wondered if the sky in Heaven was as beautiful as a sunset all of the time, as I had surely found its counterpart on earth.

  Two days later, we sat in the shade while I rubbed salve onto his burned back. The time had passed much as the first day had, with swimming lessons and trysting. We had been naked the entirety of it, and thus his reddened hide. I, thankfully, was already browned over most of my body; unfortunately, the places where I had been pale had been exposed and in use of late. My buttocks were now as sore from the sun as my opening was from all of the unaccustomed activity. I could walk, but I could not do so without thinking heartily of him.

  “You should allow yourself to brown,” I said as I worked.

  “Why?” he asked sleepily.

  “Then you would be striped in color as well as texture.”

  He smiled lazily and turned so that he could gaze at me. “Would that please you?”

  I thought of how he would appear with the pale scars outlined in strips of nutmeg. “It would make them more evident, but I feel it would be aesthetically interesting.”

  “Anything to please you,” he murmured.

  I grinned. “Non, I am pleased beyond all reckoning already.”

  He was thoughtful. “As am I. Truly. I am happy. I cannot recall feeling thus. With you before, there was always the feeling of incompleteness, but now that is gone. I am content.”

  I knew how he felt. I shared it in full measure. Yet there were ugly and disquieting thoughts lurking about my head. I had been able to push them away, thinking so little of them I could not name them, but I knew I would lose the bliss of ignorance once we returned to the others.

  “Let us stay here,” I whispered.

  “Could we?” It was challenge and not request, yet his tone was resigned and devoid of mockery.

  I sighed. “Men being inconstant creatures such as we are… I will never tire of you, but I can well imagine even this growing tiresome. It is a miserable thing: that we cannot be content to wallow in contentment.”

  “Let us escape as we are able,” he said solemnly. “Not because… I require it, but because we do.”

  “Oui,” I sighed. “I feel we should do this again while we are all still here. They will surely frown on us for fucking continuously on the beach there.”

  “They should not risk my wrath,” he said.

  We were smiling, and though the thing we had not spoken of for two days had drifted in to cover our thoughts, it was not dark or menacing.

  “Do you feel you are ready to return?” I asked. “Or will I need to chain you to a tree?”

  He grinned. “The fucking calms the Horse.”

  “Well then, they will just have to frown upon us for ministering to it often,” I said with glee.

  We finally packed our things and made our way back to the ships and the beach full of men. Striker greeted us with a hearty embrace and relieved eyes. He regarded Gaston speculatively; as much to my amazement as Striker’s, my matelot grinned at him.

  “We are well,” I assured him. “I feel we will slip away again, but for now we will pull our weight. What would you have of us? And how welcome will we be among the French?”

  “There are some who would still see you hang,” Striker said, “but most have taken well to the tale we have spun. I do not fear for your safety as I did before. You need not do much among the French, though. We have a score of fine fools for you to help train. Cudro and Pete have them up yonder on the beach.”

  We went to deposit our things at the camp Striker and our cabal had made, high up the beach around a fire pit.

  Striker called out in our wake. “I would say don’t fence in front of them, but a few of them think they know a great deal, and perhaps you should knock the wind from their sails – but you’ll just scare the rest.”

  “We will be judicious in displaying our prowess,” I assured him.

  We found Pete, Cudro, Julio, Davey, Liam, and Otter with the new men. Our friends were pleased to see us. As was his wont, Pete embraced us so that our ribs creaked. To my amusement, Cudro did likewise.

  Liam appeared ready to do the same, but after seeing me grunt in Cudro’s arms, he stopped and grinned. “Ya be worn out now. I’ll leave ya be. Na’ that I could be ’armin’ ya much.”

  I embraced him anyway.

  I looked over the assembled men. They were standing about in loose clumps, among which Pete and Julio had been circulating. Whatever training they had been about had stopped at our appearance, as the trainees seemed disinclined to continue when our friends came to greet us. They all looked much as the bondsmen had on the King’s Hope: a mix of boys and men, some browned by the sun, some pale, some in buccaneer garb or canvas, others still in wool. There were twenty-six of them.

  I spoke to Cudro quietly. “I believe you mentioned twenty-nine in need of training when we sailed here.”

  He grunted. “Not seasoned. One died, one’s sick. And the third found a matelot.” He shrugged at this last.

  “Oh, well, good for him. So what do we have here? Striker said some feel they know a thing or two.”

  Cudro snorted and then chuckled. “Aye, we’ll give you two that lot. They fancy themselves to be gentle-born.”

  He gestured without actually pointing, and I let my gaze drift to the men in question. They stood somewhat apart from the others. There were five of them, and they appeared rather better dressed than the rest of the lot, and young. All were armed. They minded me of Tom, Dickey and Harry when first I saw them; though, none of these boys radiated Harry’s good-natured innocence, or Dickey’s effeminacy. In the way a few of them stood and spoke to one another, I saw Tom’s arrogance, though.

  “Non,” I told Cudro. “They must learn they are no different than the others. Sending them off with us will just reinforce their assumption of superiority.”

  “Ah,” he said, and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I had not viewed it so, but I see your point. I was just thinking to afflict you with the troublemakers.”

  “They be right full o’ themselves,” Liam added quietly. “But ya be right. Some ’ave heard ya be a Lord.”

  I swore.

  Liam shrugged. “Na’ from me. An’,” he stepped closer and lowered his voice, “they been curious ’bout yur matelot, an’ not in a nice way.”

  “All the more reason to keep them from us, then,” I sighed.

  Gaston shrugged.

  “What were you all about before we arrived?” I asked.

  “Fightin’InTheMornin’. MusketsAfterNoon,” Pete said around a piece of fr
uit.

  I looked to the sky. “Is it not noon?”

  “Fightin’Not…” Pete trailed off in an indecipherable grumble, and gestured angrily with the fruit.

  “The fighting instruction is not going well,” Julio said.

  “Some are military men, and some are tavern fighters,” Cudro sighed. “But most have never killed a man. And we can’t give them weapons to practice with; they would kill each other by accident. So we’re trying to teach them to fight each other with their fists. Gaston could show them a thing or two, but… well, he may not be the best teacher for them. And they don’t think they need to learn to fight. They think they just need to learn to shoot a musket. The army ones know nothing else. We tell them that in taking a ship or a town, they’ll be fighting hand to hand, but it means nothing to them. Or they think they know how well enough. So they play at this and learn nothing.”

  I thought of Striker’s words on men in battle. “They are not desperate.” And then I thought of all the boys I had seen in practice yards. “They have no need at the moment. There is no danger, and they do not wish to hurt their opponents.”

  “Aye,” Cudro rumbled. “So we have been having them wrestle one another. We thought they might at least be competitive. And some are, and they possess a talent for it; but then there are those who aren’t, and they just let the other man run them down.”

  Gaston nudged me, and I looked around and found we had been approached by the group of supposed gentlemen. When my eye fell upon them, a sallow youth with a beak for a nose stepped forward from their number and removed his feathered hat with a flourish.

  “Excuse me, good sir,” he addressed me. “I have heard it said that you are a Lord.”

  “People say the damndest things,” I drawled loudly enough to be heard by the others. “I have heard that Pete here is a Greek God of old. And there are some who claim that my matelot is sane.”

  Gaston laughed and Pete spit his fruit.

  Liam regarded Gaston with surprise. “Do tell?”

  “Aye,” I added. “And I have even heard some say that Liam here is a man of quiet discretion.”

  “Ya been listenin’ ta fools,” Liam grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made me regret my jest.

  I decided I should speak with him later.

  I turned back to the sallow and beaked young man. He was smiling with feigned good nature.

  “So you say it is not true?” he asked.

  “I can do little about the circumstances of my birth,” I said with a shrug, “but here I am no different than any other. I am one of the Brethren of the Coast, as presumably you have also chosen to become.”

  “I am here to kill Spaniards for gold, sir,” the youth said proudly.

  All that we had discussed while sailing here was encompassed in those words. He felt no kinship to the men around him. If all of the newcomers thought as he did, the Brethren would cease to exist inside a few years.

  “Nay, you are here,” I pointed at the sand between us, “to learn how to kill Spaniards as a member of the Brethren of the Coast; because the Brethren are the ones who will sail against the Main this spring. And unless our quartermaster feels you are competent, you will not sail on the Virgin Queen with us.”

  His smile did not desert him. “I am well-versed in combat, sir, I assure you. I do not see where any here, except perhaps another gentleman, might be able to judge my competence with a blade.”

  I drew my rapier. He stepped back in surprise. I grinned and tossed my weapon hilt-first to Pete. The Golden One caught it and grinned around another bite of fruit.

  Pete stepped forward, only to pause and consider the juicy object of his repast. He glared at the youth. “YaGetSandOnIt YaDie.”

  The sallow youth looked at me questioningly. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, you probably will not die.” I shrugged.

  The trainees and our cabal formed a loose circle around the combatants. Pete dropped into en garde, holding his fruit high in his left hand. The sallow youth drew his blade with annoyance.

  Pete removed the boy’s feathered hat on the first rush, slashed his brocade jerkin on the second, and marked him on his cheek on the third. Sadly, the boy seemed to possess good form; he simply was no match for the Golden One in speed or aggression.

  The youth threw his weapon down and backed away. “You are… an excellent combatant, sir,” he stammered.

  “ThankYa.” Pete shrugged and took the last bite of his fruit. He tossed the pit away and then my blade back to me. “NowWeSee Iffn’YaCanFight. ’CauseYaNa’Be Duelin’Spaniards.”

  At which point Pete chased the lad down and trounced him soundly, so that many winced in sympathy. The boy had no knack or training for pugilism, apparently. Not that it would have mattered a great deal: Pete had longer and stronger arms, and a determination to achieve his goal that few could match. He left the youth bloodied, and Gaston was moved to go and set the lad’s beak straight.

  “HeCanna’FightGood EnoughTaTakeAShip,” Pete roared at the rest of them. “YaNeedLearnin’.”

  The rest of the trainees appeared somewhat cowed. The sallow youth’s friends appeared to want to slink away into the forest. I did not blame them.

  “Perhaps I should let Pete trounce the lot of them,” Cudro said. “That might make them want to fight.”

  “It might make them wish to desert,” I said. “And I feel, though I know not how it will be achieved, that we must endeavor to bring them together as a fighting force, rather than pit them against one another.”

  He gave an agreeable grunt and a nod.

  “Perhaps we should move on to musket practice,” I said.

  “Aye,” Liam sighed.

  I went to join my matelot and the youth. The poor boy was as battered as I had been after the tavern. I grimaced in sympathy. Much of the wind was out of his sails, as he was allowing Gaston to tend him readily enough.

  “How are you called?” I asked.

  He regarded me and considered his words. Perhaps there was hope for him.

  “Ash,” he finally muttered.

  “Among the Brethren, one does not often inquire of another’s origins: it is considered rude. So if you do not wish to answer, tell me so. But I am driven to inquire how you came to be here. And your age.”

  “May I ask the same of you?” he asked with a trace of challenge.

  I shrugged acquiescence.

  “I have eighteen years,” Ash said. “My father is a planter on Barbados. We came to that island when I was ten years of age. I am the third son. I am to go to England and study the law. It is not a thing I wish to do.”

  I smiled. “Well, perhaps you are far more sensible than I first thought. It takes a certain type of man to apply himself to law, and in general I find that type of man disagreeable; though, I thankfully have been surprised to find one who did not meet my expectations of a solicitor in the least. But he is only one man among many of that profession. The rest I have met I would gladly run through.”

  “As for me,” I continued, “I am twenty-seven years old. I first left my father’s home at sixteen; I then traveled most of Christendom. When I returned to my father’s house, he knew not what to make of me, and sent me here to establish a plantation in order to be rid of me for a time.”

  “Are you as good as they say?” he asked.

  “Well, that would depend upon the endeavor in question.” I grinned.

  Gaston chuckled.

  Ash’s gaze darted between us, and he appeared uncomfortable.

  “Dueling,” he said quickly.

  “Ah, well, that would depend on how good they say I am, but I will own that I am very well-versed indeed.”

  I wished to spar with you,” he said sadly. “And make your acquaintance on the voyage here, but…” His gaze went to Gaston and he colored a little with embarrassment.

  Gaston ignored him.

  “But I was otherwise engaged caring for my matelot. I understand,” I said. “Well, I
might be able to defeat Pete. I trained him, but he is a genius at all forms of combat, and he possesses an uncanny talent for blades. You should not feel unduly inadequate. Pete could truly take any man I have ever fought.”

  “I did not think that he could be so talented at such a pursuit,” Ash said with a frown.

  “Why, because he is not a gentleman by birth?” I chided.

  “Nay, because he is the captain’s paramour; and in my experience, men of that nature never handle blades well.”

  Gaston and I exchanged a look and a grin which quickly devolved to laughter.

  I finally addressed the boy’s confusion. “Ash, you must never use that term here to describe… Let us say, your interpretation of it in this instance is inaccurate to say the least, from several angles. And to clarify, exactly what type of man are we discussing?”

  “Sodomites,” he said solemnly. “The buccaneers seem rife with them, and they are odd in my experience.”

  He had indeed led quite the sheltered life. “Did you spend your youth with other planters’ sons practicing with swords and pistols and chasing the eligible young ladies? And did you avoid spending time with your father’s servants and bondsmen? “

  “Aye,” he said, as if he wondered what else he could have possibly done.

  I settled more comfortably into the sand and explained what a matelot was and why buccaneers had them. I finished with, “So you see, Pete is not a paramour, in that he is not something as trivial as a lover, he is Striker’s partner.”

  Ash’s eyes were very wide. “So all here are…? Nay,… all here practice sodomy, whether they favor men or not?”

  “They are not forced to, but aye, that is generally the way of it.”

  “Will I be expected to…?” he asked with grave concern.

  “Nay,” I sighed with a reassuring smile, “but if you are to do well amongst the Brethren, it would behoove you to acquire a matelot, at least for the security of having a man to watch your back in battle, or even in taverns.”

  “Many live without one,” Gaston said quietly. “But it is a hard and lonely life.”

  Something stirred in my thoughts in the wake of my pronouncement and his. I needed to mull on it, and speak with Liam, and I supposed the Bard and Dickey, as we had not seen them since the duel. But first, I thought we should assist in the training. So we left young Ash to contemplating his future and went to make ourselves useful.