Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (86 page)

“Modyford,” I snapped.

Striker explained that we had to bribe the governor with something, and the uncut emeralds looked to be our best bet because we could not get full value for them. The men seemed to understand this, and any grumbling ceased. It was agreed by those present that Modyford could have the largest of the uncut hunks. Of course, this would need to go to a vote amongst all the men when we divided the treasure; but for now, the matter was resolved.

I had been thinking on how best to tackle the problem of value during the entire sorting. I could not tell how much the gems were worth in Port Royal, or any place in Christendom. I had initially been baffled as to how to assign value. Then I had come upon the idea of keeping their value relative to one another and not assigning a monetary amount. So I had set about puzzling out a ranking system, wherein a certain number of lower value stones would equal one from the next rank up, and so on. Then I determined the total number of shares we required, eighty-four, and divided the stones into eighty-four equal piles based upon their ranking. Of course, the best stones were worth more than a share; and so I judged them at two shares apiece, and figured they could go to matelots or men like the Bard or Cudro, who received more than a single share.

When this was accomplished, it was getting on to late afternoon, and we discovered we did not have eighty-four sacks to put them in. Striker looked upon the piles and quickly called a halt to the ships; and we roped them together, and distributed the shares then and there.

First came a great deal of discussion and voting concerning the brig.

Striker had cleverly counted out the amount we would receive for the expenses and such, and was able to show them how much would not be distributed to them if we did not buy the brig from them. This swayed many men.

When all was said and done, the brig belonged to Striker and Gaston in exchange for the receipts and all of our shares of the silver, the emeralds, and the cargo. Even without the emeralds, I guessed we bought the Maria for over six hundred pounds. We managed to keep Pete’s and my shares from the matter; and thus, as pairs of matelots, we came out with some money beyond the ship. We had already discussed ways in which the Bard and Cudro could be allowed to buy their way into the endeavor later. Striker had pulled Cudro aside as soon as the boats were lashed and explained the matter to him; thus he aided us greatly in swinging the votes.

Every man received about one hundred and five pounds in silver.

After this was parceled out, everyone except Striker and Gaston drew lots and chose a pile of emeralds. Tom chose for Dickey. I drew a low number and happily picked a pile I had been eyeing.

Once it was all done, I stumbled to our cabin to lie down, as I felt as exhausted as if I had been in battle all day. My bemused matelot found me just as I had drifted off, and I was almost annoyed with him.

He pulled the emeralds from my pocket and arrayed them on my chest. They ranged from a small faceted sliver to a large rectangular gem with few facets and several flaws. All possessed excellent color and vibrancy, though.

“Do these have special value?” he asked.

“They match your eyes.” I showed him one by one. “This is the color of your eyes in sunlight, this in candlelight, this, when you are angry, this is sad, this is in moonlight, and this is when you are in the shade and calm.”

He doffed his weapons and crawled into the hammock next to me.

“Which do you prefer?”

I held up the darkest green. It was roughly the size and shape of my thumbnail. “This, as it is what I see when we make love.”

He studied the stone. “My eyes are truly this green?” he asked. I nodded. He shrugged and regarded me. “I suppose. I am oft amazed at how blue your eyes are. You rival the sky in sunlight.”

I smiled, as I had not realized he considered such things.

“If we ever find sapphires, you can show me,” I said.

He shrugged. “I know little of gems, such as their names and types.

I do know that no gem I have seen matches the color of your eyes.” He scooped up the emeralds and returned them to a small cloth bag. “We will have to hide my eyes somewhere, as I would not want to sell them now.”

I chuckled. “Non, they are quite precious.” Then I sighed, as somehow the laughter had drained me again.

He regarded me curiously and touched my forehead. “Are you well?”

“Oui, I am greatly tired, though. Sorting the stones was a most engaging labor. I truly did not realize how much time passed. I do not think I have eaten or drunk all day, and then there were the hours of arguing with the stakes being very high indeed. I feel wrung out, and I know I shall be seeing stones in my sleep.”

“Poor Will, and here I am showing them to you again.”

“I did not mind.”

He left and returned with water, fruit and a little hot roast beef. I wolfed the food down and drank until my belly sloshed. He sat in a chair next to me and watched, more the physician than my lover.

“Do not look so serious,” I chided. “I am fine.”

“I was thinking that you have only been here four months. You have not seasoned yet. We must keep you well clear of swamps and bogs, and I want you to remain in the ocean breezes as much as possible.” He shrugged. “So I will not be showing you the Haiti while we are on Île de la Tortue, even though it is just across the channel.”

“I am sure we will return there and you can share it with me someday.”

He nodded distractedly. “I do not know if you will see it as I did. I do not know what I would share of it.” He frowned.

“I do not think you would see Florence as I did, though I am sure you would appreciate it, especially the art. I am sure I will see something of beauty on the Haiti.”

“I know. But it is not a place of beauty but of healing for me. In that, it was very private. I would share that with you; but it is not so much the place, but what it means to me.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I thought on things he had said of his time on the Haiti before we sailed. “It appears we will be seeing your Doucette after all.”

He sighed and shrugged.

“Do you feel he will be happy to see you?”

“I imagine so,” Gaston shrugged. “I imagine he will be delighted, especially when I return with a patient. But there is always my concern that I have abused our friendship, such as it was, one too many times; and that he will not welcome me with open arms. Even if that is the case, I am sure he will welcome Dickey, and his hospital will provide the best place for Dickey to recuperate. And I am sure he will give me my money if I ask.”

“So he is still holding the money your father sent for you?” I asked.

“Oui, I made loan of it to him to run the hospital. He had barely dipped into it, when last I asked of it; and he returns what he can when he is well paid.”

I sighed. “I feel as if I will be meeting your father in some way. Which gives me confusing emotions, as your father is someone I think I wish to kill.” I paused and considered him. “When last you talked of this, you said they likewise shared a connection in your heart.”

Gaston nodded thoughtfully. “Oui, I have expended great thought on the matter. I believe I am enamored with living in defiance of my father.

And Doucette, in acting like my father, attracted my ire as if he were the original target of it. I have been a disappointment to both.”

“I understand. In a way I had two fathers myself; and I disappointed both, in that their designs for me were at cross purposes to one another.

Will I be an added disappointment to Doucette?”

“I do not know. He was the one I first lied to about my inability to function. He always wanted to set one of the whores upon me, to prove my health in that regard. I wanted none of that. They were always such sad and ugly women that even if my manhood had been interested, I would have never allowed myself. He has very definite notions about men and sexuality. He is thoroughly of the mind that men never truly favor other men, as it is not within the nature of the design and function of our sexual organs. He said men only lie with other men to fulfill a need of the mind when women are not available. It is an act of desperation and proof of what marvelous and adaptive creatures we are.”I raised an eyebrow. “Well, that has not been my experience of the matter.”

“Truly?” he teased and joined me in the hammock, coming astride me and then lying atop me so that I was fully covered by him. “Nor mine.”

My manhood informed me it had not exerted itself at all during the day and would very much like to do so now.

“Non, wait,” Gaston said. “I forgot. You are tired. I am sorry.”

Grinning, he began to push himself off me. I pulled him to me with such force that I nearly winded us both. I slid my hands down his ribs and waist until I could clutch his buttocks and grind him against me. His eyes widened a little, and he quickly kissed me with a fervor approaching passion.

Tortuga proved to be a lush, green, mountainous hump; and I could see why it was referred to as the Turtle or Turtle Island in every language except English. The small island was separated by a two-league-wide channel from the rocky coast of the Haiti. The port, Cayonne, was a deep and good-sized bay, well guarded by a fort on a rocky peak in its mouth. A mountain rose several hundred feet above the town.

There were three ships at the wharfs and one anchored in the bay. We were pleased to see that one of them was Pierrot’s ship, the Josephine. We anchored our ships near her, and leaving Cudro and the Bard in command of the respective vessels, the rest of our cabal went ashore in the longboat. A small crowd had gathered for our landing, and we were quickly greeted by a representative of Governor D’Oregon.

Gaston translated for Striker, and we soon had a number of merchants happy to bid on the brigantine’s cargo. Gaston had been correct. They were happy to see us and would be all too happy to take our men’s money.

My matelot inquired of his friend Doucette and the hospital, and was assured all was well. Striker rowed out to the brig in another longboat with the merchants. He no longer needed us, as Cudro would translate for him once they were aboard. We returned to the Mayflower to retrieve Dickey and our gear.

Dickey was doing well, in that he was not dead and he had woken two days after the injury. His pain had been great, and Gaston had begun giving him laudanum; and this had left him in a stupor. Tom was always at this side, except when he had been called to duty on deck; and then Gaston had watched over the injured man. Dickey once fevered for over a day, and Gaston was gravely concerned; but that abated, and Dickey’s color and breathing improved. We were not pleased about the necessity of moving him, but Gaston was sure his friend’s hospital and care were best for Dickey. Tom came with us.

Cayonne did not appear much like Port Royal, except for the nature and dress of its denizens; and there were differences even there. It was a little place hemmed in by hills, whereas Port Royal was surrounded by water. There were the same types of buildings: shops, a blacksmith, sailmakers, taverns, brothels, houses, warehouses and the like, all jumbled together. However, where Port Royal looked as if someone had taken an English shire and set it on sand, Cayonne appeared more like seaside villages I had seen near Florence and along the south of France.

The buildings were designed lengthwise, so that they were one room in depth, with balconies and windows or walls of slatted doors that could be opened to allow the breezes through. And where in Port Royal the townspeople dressed as they would in England, here the merchants and others were sometimes difficult to discern from the buccaneers.

The whole exuded a naturalness and comfort that Port Royal lacked.

Cayonne and its inhabitants were not clinging to the pretense that they were somewhere else.

Doucette’s hospital was in a large house next to the Catholic church.

Gaston told me his friend worked with the Jesuits to help the needy and they were all close friends. I was not pleased at this. I had a distrust of anything Catholic and especially the Jesuit, as like any educated man, I had been raised to fear the Inquisition. Gaston assured me priests were easy to shoot, as they were seldom armed; and thus in the West Indies, all but the Spanish ones were quite docile. I found this amusing.

We entered the courtyard, and Gaston led us into a dormitory of sorts. Two of the ten beds were occupied with ailing men. Tom and Gaston set the stretcher across two other cots. I happily relieved myself of all of our gear and set it upon another. A boy hurried to meet us, followed by a young priest in a Jesuit’s cassock. Gaston told them his name and asked them to bring Doucette. The priest appeared confused, and earnestly asked Gaston a number of questions about Dickey. The boy’s eyes widened with surprise, though, and he scurried away.

A minute later, a man entered with the boy and a young woman in tow. Gaston had not described Dominic Doucette, and I had pictured a kindly older gentleman. Instead I found us confronted with a virile man, who appeared possibly only a decade older than I, with odd, long, thick white hair worn in a ponytail, and a handsome countenance despite a heavy brow and nose. His pale blue eyes missed nothing, though he seemed to spare Tom and myself little attention. To my surprise, he ignored Gaston as well, and bent over Dickey. Without even a greeting, Gaston told of the wound and what he had done for the man. Doucette nodded thoughtfully and raised the bandages to examine him.

As they were thus engaged, I took a moment to study the young woman. Once she had caught my eye, it was hard to pull my gaze away.

She was a lovely, lithesome girl with long, mahogany hair and fair skin.

Seen from the left, she was beautiful, with finely sculpted features. Yet the right side of her face was marred by an ugly scar that had split her cheek in two and ran from her temple to the corner of her mouth, which was now permanently puckered in a smirk. Her deep green eyes flicked from mine, and I realized I was staring. I forced my eyes away and murmured an apology.

Gaston and Doucette were still discussing Dickey as they eased him off the stretcher and onto one of the beds. So I approached the young lady and addressed her in French.