Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (9 page)

So I was both pleased and surprised when the Bard joined me, and then I remembered that he might have matters to discuss with me in private.

I was correct.

“Apparently a ‘thank you’ is in order,” he grinned. “Dickey has not shared the particulars of what was said, but I understand I have you to thank for raising the sail on the matter.”

I chuckled. “He approached me to ask advice of how best to woo you, and over the course of the conversation realized he had misinterpreted a number of signals from your quarter.”

The Bard sighed. “He is such the lad; I did not know what to say to him without being blatant.”

“It is a new and somewhat thorny matter for him.” I shrugged. “Until this summer, I do not feel he ever considered a man at all.”

“Nay, he did not. And even now…” He studied the horizon with a frown and shook his head.

“Do you judge him insincere?”

“Nay,” the Bard said firmly. He eyed me in a speculative fashion.

“You favor men, true? As your first choice?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t. Not as my first choice. Men are a thing I learned since I went to sea as a boy. And he doesn’t favor men. To me it begs the question of what we’re about. Things aren’t as they were in the West Indies a decade ago. There are women here now, though they be few.

Granted, I spend all my time aboard a ship, and that’s no place for a woman. There’s no place in my life for a woman at all, as I wouldn’t want one sitting in port. But Dickey has other choices he could make.”

I was surprised and curious. “You are the one who knows so much of matelots, are you not? Does not the heart sometimes lead the loins?”

He sighed and awarded me a wry smile. “Sometimes.”

“What is your real concern?”

“Damn you,” he muttered with a grin.

“To the Devil with you as well,” I said good naturedly.

He checked the consistency of my tar and played with the sand a little before finally speaking. “It is a huge thing, the taking on of another.”

“Ahhh.” I smiled.

“I’m used to being my own master,” he said. “I rely on no man. I’m respected. I have my skills. I have my money. I have not had to share it all in a long time. I have yearned, but never reached, for another these last years. And, bless his heart, he’s young. I’m afraid he’s swept up in the tide of coming here, and he’ll change his tack once the bloom fades.”

“I see. Hearts can change, but in the time I have known Dickey, I have found him to be consistently a man, albeit young, of sober reflection and steadfast but principled loyalty.”

“I know.” The Bard smiled. “Else I wouldn’t have found myself so fond of him.”

“Are there other issues of compatibility, beyond the concerns of wisdom and the cynicism of maturity?” I teased.

“Nay,” he chuckled. “Not that can’t be won.”

“Are there issues with gentling him down?”

He snorted and scratched his head with embarrassment.

“I do not mean to pry, and I will leave well enough alone,” I said quickly.

“Nay, nay, ask away.” He shrugged.

“All right then, understand, I usually do not engage in this topic to any detail with men I do not intend to bed.”

He chuckled. “Neither do I.”

“Am I correct in assuming you would rather be sailed than do the sailing?”

This time he laughed. “Aye. But it has been a very long time since that has occurred, Will.”

“Ahhh…” I sighed.

“And he is such a pup. He knows … nothing, yet he has a great deal of enthusiasm. And I had rather hoped he had sought your advice on that.”

I grinned. “Well, send him back and I will tell him what I can.”

“Truly, Will, I’m amazed he can pleasure himself without incident.”

Davey awarded us one of his usual disapproving looks when he found us laughing such that we could not fill his pail steadily, leaving him to tend to it himself. This only amused us more until he left.

When we sobered a bit, I said, “I am sure you are a fine teacher in that as well as sailing.”

“I’ve never had to teach another that,” the Bard sighed. “It’ll be an adventure. And my getting sailed in that manner will be a long time in coming.”

I thought on my own fate at the hands of love and sighed. “I am sure it will be worth the time and effort.”

“As am I. I shouldn’t whine so. ’Tis good to have someone.” He shrugged.

And as if he had read my mind with the same ability he read the winds, he asked, “And you?” He looked up at Gaston, who was still working on the side of the ship.

“We are together,” I sighed. “And I do not fear a change of heart. And I truly believe the things we hope to achieve are both achievable and worthy of the effort.”

“But it is not an easy road you walk?” he asked kindly.

I shrugged. “Nay, it is not.”

“Is he well?”

“It is made all the more difficult by the scrutiny of others,” I said.

He nodded soberly. “Sorry, but Will, he’s going to scrape those planks to paper.”

I looked up and saw what he spoke of. Gaston was working at his section of planks like a man possessed, and I realized he had been at it far longer than a normal shift.

“I see your point,” I said quickly. “Watch the tar, will you?”

Gaston did not stop when I joined him in kneeling on the angled hull. I had to place both hands upon his before he slowed. His eyes glittered with a dangerous rage I knew far too well. I did my best not to flinch.

“I think you should stop now,” I said lightly.

He pulled away and flung the scraper down. He began to clench and shake his hands, and I surmised the old damage had made them numb again. I snatched one hand and turned it over to see the blisters. His callused hands had not wielded a tool steadily or with such force these last months.

“When last I did that to myself you became quite distraught,” I chided gently.

He jerked his hand away and balled it into a fist. He hugged himself and studied his handiwork of the last hour. His eyes softened.

“They keep staring,” he hissed. “I hate it. I have always been stared at. Always.”

I knew and understood, but what could I say?

“I would hate to think that I have chosen a matelot so unremarkable that no one would notice him at all,” I said lightly.

This earned me an exasperated look, just short of eye-rolling by virtue of anger.

“I am sorry they are as they are,” I added quickly. “It bothers me, too. They generally become bored after a time, though, and move on to something new.”

“Not when I give them new reasons to stare,” he muttered. “I am sorry, Will. I thought I could do this simple thing, and they would indeed become distracted, but I kept feeling eyes upon me and it minded me of all the other times and…”

“I understand.”

He looked at his palm and cursed quietly.

“I should stay with you,” he finally muttered. “You should keep me on a leash.” This last was quite bitter.

“I am sure your Horse will calm once it becomes accustomed to them again.”

“Non, it does not wish to be calm for just such a reason. It feels it is an imposition, an offense, that it must be calm and not allowed to express itself. It is why I often hate being about others. It is not a polite shadow on the wall. I do not wish to play their games. To follow their rules. It is not fair,” he ranted with more pain than anger.

That was indeed interesting, and I studied him with wonder. “Non, it is not. You wish to confront them?”

“Oui,” he smiled ruefully. “I did as a child. I would yell and tell them to leave me alone. As you can imagine, that led to more trouble. And I was always punished for it. So the Horse learned to hate them.”

I could well envision it. His fellow students would have been a pack of hounds on a fox.

“I thank the Gods I was not subjected to large packs of wolf cubs in boarding schools in my childhood,” I said. “I did occasionally encounter the local herd of lambs on my father’s lands. As I was a wolf cub, they would not play with me, and it left me more lonely than abused. Later, when I met wolves of my own age, I learned to be a jester in order to disguise my…. dissimilarity, because that is never tolerated.”

“I am not amusing,” he said sadly, and I nearly chuckled. Thankfully he saw the humor of his words and did not anger at my smile. A grin twitched at his lips.

“Non, you are not,” I said. “I was blessed with the ability to play the fool.” The thought pulled the smile off my face. “I am not proud of it. It shames me at times. Because, I too, want to tear their hearts out, and yet I make some jest and they feel safe and I allow them to. I feel the coward in that regard. I am not brave… in that.”

He shook his head and smiled. “This from a man who will confront priests… and me.”

“It is true,” I sighed. “We do not always see ourselves as others do.”

I looked about to see who might be watching us and found Davey glaring from farther down the hull. “Davey, for example. I doubt he understands what a belligerent goat he is. But is he brave in that regard? He surely does not feel the need to hide any thought he has.”

Gaston smirked. “That is because they are few and fleeting.”

I chuckled briefly. “What shall we do? I love some of these men as brothers, and the rest are our brethren as they are the Brethren.

They mean no harm. And I know the knowing of a thing means little in comparison to the feeling of it.”

“That is the crux of it,” he sighed. “I know they are our friends, yet I do not feel that now. I feel this great gulf between us, caused by my madness. They have all looked askance at me since Île de la Tortue.”

“I know. Yet, you did not have a great deal of trouble with our favorite wolves last night and this morning, or were you keeping an iron grip on the reins?”

I knew this was due in part to the chiding I had given the wolves; and their seeing that Gaston was somewhat stable, thus they had not been staring.

“I was sitting well, and the Horse does not dislike them.” Gaston smiled.

“Then let us do what we can to narrow that gulf with the rest of our cabal,” I said. I saw two men talking with the Bard and eyeing us with annoyance. “And let us stop impeding progress on the careening and allow someone else to work up here. And we should see to your hands.”

He solemnly followed me down to the fire. The other men went to take our place, and the Bard awarded us a jaunty smile.

“Thank you, mate,” he told Gaston. “For settin’ such a fine example.

Now the rest of them will think they should work that hard.”

I could have kissed him.

Gaston smiled weakly and bowed. “I am pleased to be of service.”

The Bard chuckled. “Can you two tend this now?”

We nodded, and he clasped Gaston’s shoulder and gave me a smile my matelot would not see and left us.

I knelt and stirred the tar.

Gaston sighed, “Why can I remember every slight, but find it difficult to trust that that man has always acted as my friend?”

“I think it is a matter of what we are accustomed to,” I said. “I have known men who could not see wrong being done to them because they had never experienced it before.”

“I wish to become accustomed to friendship and goodness,” he said wistfully before frowning. “And love,” he added, and kissed my forehead.

“I will fetch unguents and bandages.”

As I watched him walk away, I decided I wished to never become so accustomed to love that I did not feel wonderment at the sight of him. I did not want the welling of emotion he caused to ever become commonplace.

Gaston returned, and we set about bandaging his hands so that the blisters would not rupture and fester. Once we finished, he sat and looked about while I stirred the tar again. He seemed at ease.

“So was the Bard seeking your advice too?” he asked.

“Oui,” I said with a smile. “He said he wished to thank me for whatever advice I gave Dickey; but in truth, I feel he wanted someone to assuage his concerns.”

“What concerns?”

“Well, for the first part, he is concerned because Dickey does not favor men, and he wonders if Dickey is perhaps caught up in the Ways of the Coast and not making a wise choice.”

Gaston frowned. “Dickey told us he wished to seek love wherever he found it.”

“Oui, I did not relate that to the Bard, though. I feel Dickey is sincere and does not make haphazard choices. I did tell the Bard that.

Moreover, the Bard has not had a matelot in several years, he is not accustomed to sharing his life with another, and thus he views it with trepidation. He knows the degree of commitment involved in matelotage.

He will overcome his own doubts because he is lonely, too, just as he will overcome their other concerns.” I chuckled.

Gaston raised a curious eyebrow, and I sighed as I realized he might not find much amusement in the Bard’s other worries, due to the nature of our relationship.

“Dickey possesses no experience with men, or women, and a great deal of enthusiasm,” I said carefully. “And the Bard has not been with a man who did not know as much or more than he about the matter of trysting before.”

“Did you have those concerns?” Gaston asked.

“Non, you did not possess an abundance of enthusiasm,” I teased.

He snorted.

“But truly,” I continued in a more serious vein, “you possess a great talent for the matter and you have been an apt pupil.”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “You have truly been an excellent teacher, then,” he said sincerely. “But then you have had many to learn from.” This last was only partially good-humored jesting, and I heard his jealousy.

It was my turn to snort disparagingly. “I have taught most of my lovers. But oui, thankfully, I was blessed with a few adept teachers amongst my countless conquests. You have been appreciative of their council on more than one occasion.”

Julio joined us to get more tar. When he was gone, I found Gaston studying the horizon with a rueful smile.

“I enjoyed the other night immensely,” he whispered. “That is a technique I would practice on you.”

My heart skipped a beat, and my cock stirred fitfully and began to listen. “I am pleased to hear it. I have never been touched in that manner before. I would enjoy you doing so.”