Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (46 page)

I glanced around, and saw Striker checking all our positions. I grinned at him, and he sighed and shook his head with a lazy smile of his own.

The circle finally became a trench deep enough that over fifty scuffling feet could not easily erase it. Cudro stood a short distance away. As we waited for the signal, I dropped into a fighting stance slightly behind and to Gaston’s left, and eyed the men arrayed before me. Some hunkered down ready to charge, with mischief in their eyes.

Others seemed to think it still something of a lark.

Then Cudro bellowed. The new men did not rush us as one solid wave: they trickled in, though they did move a bit faster and more purposefully, as the battle wore on, and tempers flared, and men became desperate. Time did not slow as it oft did when I was in mortal combat; but it did seem to flow a little sluggishly, as the moments became a seemingly endless procession of punches, blocks, trips, kicks, sand flying about, torn clothing, rabid grimaces, grunts, wild eyes, the often dull and occasionally sharp sound of flesh striking flesh, sprayed blood, curses, scrabbling, bellows, and the momentarily stunning sensation of taking a bad blow myself. I had much to focus on: Gaston was a blur of violence. I had not the time to see if the men he felled rose again, as I was often trying not to trip upon them while their fellows attempted to rush in around us. I kept all from Gaston’s rear, and occasionally redirected him toward assisting Liam and Otter or Julio and Davey. The musketeers were often judged to be the best targets by the canniest of our foes; but thankfully, our attackers never mounted a concerted effort against us. I did begin to notice them working in pairs or trios on occasion, though.

We fought intensely, and I was not aware of how much time had passed until the fighting stopped; and then I wondered if Cudro had called a halt and I had not heard him above the blood in my ears. None attacked us any longer. The eight of our cabal were still within the circle, though not all of us were standing. The new men were strewn all about: some in the circle, some without. The closer ones were not moving, and the ones farther away seemed to be in the act of moving farther still. Then I heard the deep rumble of Cudro’s laughter, and realized he had not called it at all. The whole matter had ground to a halt of its own volition. The new men had withdrawn.

Gaston and I were far from unmarred. I knew I would be stiff later, and by the morrow I might feel nearly as bad as I had after taking the beating in the tavern. As my flesh had not yet fully recovered from that debacle, it was not pleased with me in the least. Thankfully, I had only taken a few blows to the face, and none severe. Gaston now had a split lip and a blackened eye, though. He smiled at me happily as we checked one another over; then judging me not in imminent danger of expiring, he turned to the others.

Julio and Otter had been harmed so that they either could not stand, or were not willing to. Pete was crowing in victory. Striker was leaning over with his hands on his knees, panting, with a wry smile twisting his battered lips.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” I told him.

He swore, but his smile widened. “If you have any other stupid ideas, we must discuss them while sober. By God, I hope they learned something.”

I laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders. “They had best, or we will be repeating the lesson.”

“Na’ all o’ us,” Liam snapped from behind me.

We turned, and found Gaston tending to a gash on Otter’s head. The Dutchman was also cradling his arm to his chest.

“How is he?” Striker asked.

“I will live,” Otter said.

Gaston awarded us a compressed smile. “He is correct. His wrist is wrenched and I must sew this cut. I have not examined Julio, but he says his ankle is likewise wrenched.”

We looked to Julio and found him giving a thin grin and terse nod in agreement. He sat with his right leg carefully extended. Davey and he looked as bad as Gaston and I.

“How are the rest of us?” Striker asked.

Pete walked up and popped one of his fingers into proper alignment with the rest. I winced more than he at the sight of it. He pulled his kerchief off and wrapped it about the wounded digit and its neighbors.

His nose looked bloodied and askew, and I thought it likely his golden skin would soon be purple in many a place.

“IBe Fine,” Pete said. He squatted next to Otter. “Bastard Tha’ Hit Ya Be Lyin’Over Thar.”

We looked. The man he pointed to was one of six I saw who were not rousing themselves from the sand with groans and curses, as so many of their compatriots were. Gaston went to him and examined him gently, before pronouncing him alive and realigning his head into a more comfortable position before moving on to the next man. Thankfully, none of the six who did not rise were dead; though Gaston expressed concern over two of them and wanted them carried carefully to the camps on the beach. The others he assigned men to watch.

The new men not engaged in helping the wounded were coming back toward us, slowly. They were all quite serious now.

Cudro had sobered sufficiently to join us. He looked about, and his excellent voice boomed across the beach. “What happened to the lot of ya?” he harangued the men.

“They be good,” one man yelled back. “Damn good. We can’t fight like that.”

“Bullocks!” Striker countered loudly, surprising the men. “We’re not all that good. Two of our number are excellent at this form of combat; the rest of us aren’t.”

“Aye,” Cudro boomed. He turned on me. “Will, what were you doing?”

“Watching my matelot’s back, and seeing where we might be needed,” I said for all to hear.

“And you?” Cudro asked of Striker.

“The same,” Striker said.

“And you?” the Dutchman asked of Liam.

“Tryin’ ta help me matelot, an’ not get in the way o’ the others,” the Scotsman said with some frustration.

Cudro continued to call on each of us in the circle in turn.

“Helpin’ Julio,” Davey said indignantly.

“Trying to keep Liam and me from being dragged away,” Otter said.

“So that we did not lose because of us.”

“Disabling as many opponents as I could reach,” Gaston said, and sighed as he examined another injured man. “And preventing any of our number from being dragged away.”

“What’ESaid,” Pete bellowed. “So There Be Less O’Them Ta Fight An We Win.”

“You?” Cudro bellowed at a hapless man beyond the circle. “What were you doing?”

“I w-w-were t-t-tryin’ ta grab one o’ ’em,” the man said.

Cudro pointed at another man, one of Ash’s young gentleman associates.

The boy pointed at a downed older man at his feet. “This man thought the thin blond man was a good target,” he said defiantly. “I agreed. So I was attempting to assist him. And then the large blond man stopped us.”

“Good!” Cudro boomed. “You did well. You were working with another.”

The youth blinked. “Oh.”

“That’s right!” Striker yelled at them. “Buccaneers fight in pairs. We work together. You saw that today. Eight men working together can defeat three times their number.”

“Sir? Can we try it again?” someone asked.

This was greeted by a great many curses from his comrades and laughter from Striker.

“Not bloody likely,” Striker said. “I will not be willing to face you boys again if you learned anything from this day.”

This seemed to amuse them.

“I want the lot of you to pair up,” Striker said. “You need not lie with one another, but you must find a man to stand at your side in battle.

Nor need it be a man among your own number. There are men amongst the Brethren who have lost their matelots and seek another. Find someone to stand with. Now, help get the wounded back to the camps.

We’ve all had enough for today.”

The men eyed one another with a new intent. I would have felt victorious, if I had not spent the remainder of the day steeped in guilt as I assisted Gaston in caring for the injured. They had learned, but at the price of many a wrenched joint, broken bone, and blackened eye. But of course, that was better than their not learning, which would have had a higher cost indeed.

That evening, we ended our seeing to Gaston’s patients where we had begun, with Liam and Otter, as they were at our fire. Otter appeared to be sleeping contentedly, but Liam did not look as if he would rest anytime soon. He was frowning at the waves and jabbing a knife repeatedly into the sand. In another, I would have attributed this behavior to agitation, but I had not seen Liam exhibit its like before.

Belatedly, I recalled his reaction to other events and words, and that I had wished to speak with him.

I motioned Gaston away and, as he too was frowning at Liam’s sand-stabbing. He gave a curt nod and went to sit where we would sleep.

“Are you well?” I asked Liam quietly.

He seemed surprised to be addressed. “I be fine.”

I was heartened when he stopped stabbing the sand and seemed surprised he had been doing so. I sat next to him and pitched my voice for his ears alone.

“I am sorry Otter was so badly injured,” I said. “I feel I should not have asked you to participate. You are musketeers, after all, and valued for your ability to shoot; which poor Otter cannot now do with his wrist as it is. I wish there had been another way to teach them, and perhaps there was and I was too stupid to see it. I feel guilt over the number of injured this night, especially when one is a friend and carries more value than the rest of them put together. I only hope the sacrifice of his well-being will save some of their lives.”

Liam took a long breath and spoke sadly. “It na’ be your fault. Ya’

did well. Ya’ be right, on all counts. They’ll learn now, and live.” Then he added vehemently, “And by God, Otter be ten times the man o’ any o’

’em. It should ’ave been me. I’m worthless. The only things I be valued for is firin’’ somethin’, whether it be me musket or me mouth.”

“And you are valued highly for those things,” I said lightly.

“Aye, am I now? Well the one, surely but the other? All know me as a gossip, and ’tis not a thing valued. I can keep a secret, though. I keep many secrets.”

“Liam, at no point have I wished to impugn your honor. I daresay you are especially good at keeping secrets, mainly because few will expect that you hold any, as they feel you tell all. Your propensity for gossip could be considered a distraction for holding that which is most true far from prying eyes.”

He frowned and sighed. “No man trusts me, even Otter at times…

I said a thing too many once an’ he has never forgiven me. He don’t believe in tellin’ no one nothin’. Not even…” He trailed off and shook his head with annoyance. “There I go again. ’Tis as if I canna’ shut me mouth. The words just want ta be tumblin’ out.”

I endeavored to find the words to assuage his guilt. I did not feel he was a bad man for doing as he did. I had known others like him, men driven to confess all, to share all perhaps, with anyone who would listen. I was sometimes such a man.

“I often feel as you do,” I said carefully. “I feel I cannot hold back the words. I find myself frustrated that others will not address things that must be spoken of. I feel compelled perhaps, to insure that all know whatever they might need to know of a situation, even, and sometimes especially, if another party does not wish it to be known for reasons which might be injurious to the party I tell. I do not believe secrets should be kept unless they have great import… and then, well, those secrets are my own: the ones so dark I cannot find the words to speak of them to any except…” I sighed.

I was not sure if that was what he needed to hear, and I felt that it was not a thing I wished to dwell on. He was frowning at the waves. I needed to take another tack.

“I trust you, Liam,” I said. “I trust you not to betray a confidence for the sake of doing so. I feel that your curiosity about the business of others is motivated by a sincere interest in their well-being, and I feel your garrulity is motivated by love and friendship, a wish to share knowledge. And I believe mankind has always needed men who are willing to tell the tales and spread the news. In this latest matter with my matelot, you spread a lie for the sake of a friend. We trusted you to do so. You could have as easily spread the truth, which was that we wanted a lie spread. If I had thought for one second that you would do such a thing, I would not have involved you at all.”

He turned to me with thoughtful surprise. “Aye, I suppose that be true. I had na’ seen it as such. You all make jest of me, and I be thinkin’… Aye, I just didna’ see it so.”

I smiled with relief. I had found the words after all.

“Liam, you are an excellent shot, and I do not fear you will shoot a comrade, as long as you know where the man stands.”

He grinned. “That be so. But iffn’ a man don’t tell me a thing be a secret…” he looked to his sleeping matelot and sighed.

“I hope you can resolve the matter with Otter someday.”

“That wouldna’ be the only thing we tussle o’er, but that be the way o’ it,” he said sadly.

“I believe so.”

I left him smiling at the sea.

The next day, the men who could move were more amenable to training, but as all were bruised and sore, we did not seek to exert either them or ourselves. That evening, our cabal was followed back to our camp by a gaggle of seven of the new men, some still seeking instruction, but others seeking something else entirely. As we dropped into the places we had claimed in a rough circle in the smoke of our cook fire, they clustered awkwardly nearby. Striker invited them to sit with us, and soon he and Liam were telling tales; and roast beef and a bottle of wine were passed about.

Sallow-faced Ash was among them, and he had been followed by another young gentleman who went by the name of Nickel. This planter’s son was pretty, with delicate features and fine blond hair that rivaled Liam’s in its paleness. I had noticed him before, both because he was particularly beautiful, though not in a way I had ever favored, and also because Liam had taken a liking to him, as the boy had proven to be quite the marksman.

Another of the men who had shown promise in that area was also among our guests. He was a tall, thin, lanky man everyone called Bones.