Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (73 page)

The buccaneers began to give the hue and cry of war. Distantly I could hear imprecations and curses in Castilian; most seemed to involve us being dogs or the sons of them.

Then they charged. As they closed, I did not hear Striker’s order; but our front row knelt like a rolling wave, until it pulled Gaston under and out of my sight. Then it was very quiet, and I did hear Striker’s voice distinctly over the yelling Spaniards. And then it was like facing the bull.

I heard Gaston fire as a noise separate from all the others, even though every retort was so closely spaced as to be a continuous roar. I could swear every ball found a home, as most of the first line of Spaniards jerked and crumpled in mid-stride. I knelt, and aimed at one that did not fall, and fired when I heard the retorts around me. My target fell. I did not care. I was standing and reloading. There was another behind him that Gaston dropped; and then a retreat was sounded on the far side of the plain and the Spanish pulled back. We did not chase them.

And so it went, until the sun was high overhead. We would advance a little, and they would charge haphazardly and then retreat. Every time they pulled away, we came in farther. Soon we were stepping over dead and wounded Spaniards. I had heard a ball rush past me at one point, but I saw no one about me get hit. Some unlucky soul took a ball somewhere amongst us, though, as I heard English curses of pain from the right.

Finally the Spanish broke completely, and it was a rout. The order was given, and we left our lines like long-frustrated dogs loosed from their chains. Howling with glee, we chased them into Puerto del Principe.

I clung to Gaston’s heels, and he led us in betwixt the buildings to crouch down and look about. I saw two of our men get shot running up the middle of the street. We could see the Spaniards on the rooftop who had shot them. Gaston fired from our cover, and one man went down.

The other hid before I could take him. I found another target soon after, though. There was sporadic gunfire all about. The Spanish were now entrenched in their own homes, on streets they knew well; and thus, it became very much like taking a ship.

Some time later, we were asking about for a grenadoe to clear a rooftop when a retreat was signaled. We withdrew cautiously to the edge of town and found our own men. Cudro was leading them toward the south of the town, and it seemed all our number were being dispatched to surround the place. The big Dutchman was pleased to see us.

“Striker would like a word with you.” He pointed back the way he had come.

We turned as he suggested, and spied the captains in conference with Morgan. We hurried over.

“What would you have of me?” I asked Striker.

“Translate,” he replied with a tired sigh.

“Eloquently and elegantly,” Morgan added. “We’re taking more of a beating here than we did in the field, and I have had quite enough of it.

Tell them we will burn the place and shoot every man, woman, and child that runs from the buildings if they do not surrender.”

“And if they do?” I asked.

He glared at me as if I had impugned his honor in some manner.

I shrugged. “They will ask.”

“We’ll put them all in the church. Assure them no woman will be dishonored, and no child harmed, if they comply.”

“And the men?” I asked.

“Will not suffer if they produce their valuables,” he said with a wave.

“And all of this elegantly in their language, you understand? I would not have them thinking we are barbarians.”

“Of course.” I studied the town and chewed my lip in apparent consideration of the task at hand. I hoped it concealed my amusement.

“All right, then. How are these things done? Do I approach with a white flag?”

“Nay, they’ll shoot you,” Bradley said.

“Get closer and shout at them,” Morgan said, and waved me in the general direction.

“Well then, it is to be a civilized affair.” I grinned.

Morgan glared, but Striker and Pierrot were ill-disguising their amusement.

I looked to Gaston and shrugged. He was still steeped in battle fury, though it was obvious he was struggling to calm himself. Still, he saw no humor in the situation, and I thought it likely he only sensed another opportunity to kill.

We crept closer, using what we could for cover, until we were within easy shouting distance of an occupied building. I considered my words and wondered how elegant and cordial I should appear. Deciding that honey always attracts more flies than vinegar; I adopted a pleasant tone and called out in my finest Castilian.

“Gentle men and women of Puerto del Principe, I bear a message from Admiral Morgan. Whom may I address?”

I heard muffled discussion until a voice called out, “The mayor is dead.” This was followed by yelling, the gist of which seemed to involve the speaker being a fool for sharing that fact with the damned English bastards.

“State your message, dog,” another voice roared from a building across the street.

“Admiral Morgan regrets the loss of your fine men that this endeavor has precipitated. He wishes to see an end to it, before more are lost, especially since we are now in the town and your women and children may come under fire.”

“What does he offer?” the voice roared, sounding angrier now.

“That all here lay down their arms and proceed to the church, where they shall remain until we leave. He guarantees that no woman will be dishonored or child harmed if this is to occur. The men will likewise not be harmed as long as they cooperate in our securing of their valuables.

There need be no hardship in the matter. I assure you, the sooner we have what we wish, the sooner we will depart.”

“And if we do not comply?” the voice challenged.

I slid into a harsher tone. “We will burn the place about your ears, shoot all who come into sight, and sift the rubble afterwards for your gold.”

This precipitated wailing from another building and much discussion from the closest one.

Angry Man finally roared, “Give us an hour to decide.”

I eyed the sinking sun. “Half that. Let us resolve this and have you all safely in the church… or the fires lit, before sunset.”

“We will send a messenger with an answer as soon as we have one,”

the man growled.

With that, Gaston and I crept back to the captains and relayed the substance of the discourse. Morgan was pleased I had shortened the time.

Within a half hour, a man emerged under a white flag. The following parley was brief, and soon we were rounding up all the citizens and escorting them to the church. Many houses were empty, though, and we thought it likely their occupants had escaped the town before we surrounded it.

As the sun sank below the horizon, we set about searching buildings for stragglers, booty, and of course, food and alcohol. In addition to a lack of residents, we found many a house stripped bare of anything valuable. There were suspicious shadows on walls where crucifixes had hung, and dustless holes on bureaus where jewelry boxes had sat.

We did find alcohol, though, and soon a debauch was under way.

Gaston and I found ourselves in the yard of a large house on the edge of town. He eyed the deep cistern and cursed.

At my raised eyebrow, he said, “They will most likely have secreted things in it, and we will be swimming about in it tomorrow.”

I did not anticipate the next days with any relish. I wandered into the cook house and found apples, mangoes, and a cold roast that did not smell unduly ripe. I also found several bottles of wine and another of rum. I whooped with joy and a concerned Gaston was soon at my side. He relaxed somewhat after seeing my find, and relieved me of the bottle of rum. We took the food and made our way into the house, still cautious of any stubborn hiding Spaniards.

Thankfully, the building proved to be empty of all save a few bodies.

Tragically, one of them was a little boy. They had him laid out on the dining table, and it was obvious someone had attempted to staunch the bleeding. Gaston approached the body diffidently, and carefully raised the cloth draped over the child to eye his wound. I wondered why the family had departed to the church without covering him properly. Then I saw what must have been his mother crumpled nearby. The male bodies near the windows must have been a father and brother.

The house was on the side of town we had first entered. The fighting had been fierce here, and the whole back wall of the room was pocked with musket balls. My fecund imagination could well envision the boy getting hit by a stray shot and his mother leaving the safety of the floor to place him on the table and tend to the wound. She would have done far better to throw the table over and crouch behind it while seeing to him. People who have not lived with armies marauding through their lands do not think of such things, however; and Puerto del Principe had been virgin to the violence of war and politics.

I drank one of the bottles of wine as I watched Gaston tenderly close the boy’s eyes and drape the cloth over his face. I helped him lay the other family members out properly and find cloths to cover them. Even as the wine dulled my thoughts, I could see that Gaston had retreated from the brutality of the day’s events in his own way. When we finished, he stood and regarded me with a child’s eyes.

I retrieved the food I had found and bade him take up his musket again. He did so, and I kissed him tenderly on the forehead. He followed me out of the house.

We wandered about and ate. I traded him a bottle of wine for the rum, and he sipped it thoughtfully. I drank steadily. Once we had finished the food he slipped his hand into mine. We wove our way through clusters of intoxicated buccaneers, seeking the relative quiet of another side of the town, one not so badly ravaged as the first. We came upon a large house on a relatively quiet street and slipped inside.

It was empty. No one had died here, and I was greatly relieved, as I was sure Gaston was in the state of mind to arrange bodies if he came upon them. I was mildly surprised he had done nothing more with the boy.

The house possessed a good-sized bedroom on the second floor, with a wide window overlooking the street. It smelled of perfume: not oppressively, just pleasantly. I relieved myself out the window and stood for a time in the evening breeze. I felt it upon my skin, but little else penetrated my senses. The wine and rum had driven most coherent thought from my mind, and I was pleased with this result. I wished to sleep and dream that the day had not occurred.

I turned, and found Gaston perched on the end of the bed, regarding me. He smiled.

“How are we?” I asked as I went to join him.

He cocked his head in consideration. “I am well. I am with you. My belly is full. The wine was potent.”

“Amen,” I sighed.

I shed weapons and he did likewise. He offered his hand and pulled me down beside him. The bedding was cotton and clean, and the mattress thick. It was luxurious. I stretched and sank into it. I was surprised to realize how much I ached, now that I allowed myself awareness of it.

“I am well pleased with this bed,” I said. “It will be nice to sleep someplace soft for a change.”

He tugged at my tunic and bade me roll over. I stripped, dropping even my breeches, and lay on my belly. He soon had the oil, and I reveled in the glide of his fingers over my flesh. It was not a lustful thing, merely sensual and much needed. When he stopped, I was unsure as to what I wanted: to sleep, or for him to continue. I heard and felt him shed his clothing, and then he was astride me again. This time, in addition to his fingers, I felt another instrument of his sensation and mine, one I was quite familiar with.

I opened my eyes and twisted my head enough to regard him curiously. He was tracing swirls along my back with one hand and handling his erect member with the other. He seemed curious about its state. I pushed through the shrouds of rum and tried to remember. I had never seen him aroused when he was childlike.

“Do as you wish, my love,” I whispered.

My manhood stirred in anticipation, and I smiled.

He shifted back and slid his member between my buttocks experimentally. He seemed to like the sensation. Despite the alcohol, I began to tense with anticipation. My anxiety was contrary to our mutual needs, and I tried to will myself to calm. I thought of how to gently phrase my need for preparation to him, as I could not be sure how much he understood in this state.

Then he lay beside me, and I turned my head in that direction to find us face to face. He had an imp’s smile as he kissed my nose. He was on his belly with a hand beneath him. I rolled away enough to rise on an elbow and regard him.

“What do you want, my love?” I asked.

He smiled. “Make love to me.”

He spread his legs and raised his arse enticingly.

Of their own volition, my fingers caressed his buttock, and he made the happy humming sound I so adored. My member throbbed, yet I paused. There was some cautionary thought swimming in the sea of rum between my ears. I could distantly hear it yelling at me; but alas, the sea had begun to roil with my lust, and whatever I wished to tell myself was lost between the swells. Then the oil was in my hand and dribbling down his backside and I could not think of much else.

He was gloriously tight as always, and his squirming and mewling drove me to distraction so that I was pleased I had the rum in me to slow my pleasure. We made quite a go of it, humping away with abandon, until he came with a startled cry and I followed two strokes after. I collapsed atop him as I withdrew, and we giggled like boys.

Sometime later, we crawled to the headboard, arranged our weapons, and settled into the clean bedding to sleep like babes.

I woke with an aching head and a sense of unease. I was alone, or so I thought initially. Gaston was not beside me, but he was sitting, dressed, at the foot of the bed, staring toward the open window. Even though he must have heard me moving, he did not turn to regard me.

I lay still and listened, wondering if there were some other thing that held his attention and prevented him from giving greeting. I heard buccaneers in the street and little else. Then I came to understand he was the cause of my unease: his mood had penetrated even my slumber.