Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (71 page)

lucky man, never forget that.” Then he was gone: just another

lucky man, never forget that.” Then he was gone: just another silhouette weavingbetweenthe fires.
“I thought I owed himthat at least,”Gastonsaid quietly.
“I am not jealous, merely surprised,” I said quickly. “And I no longer wished to sit with the others while they gaped in confusion. I know how he felt for you and you for him. I feel I amluckyyoudid not succumb to his charms.”
“It seems a lifetime ago,” Gaston said thoughtfully. “He has always been older, and I was very young then. I would have beenhis boy. And perhaps I knew he could not help me withmy madness.”
“Perhaps he could have.”
My man shook his head. “He is not mad. His Horse is a tame and placid thing. He would never be able to keep pace withmine.”
My heart ached and I kissed him. However, I did ask, “How did he kiss?”whenI released him.
“Like a wet sloppydog,”Gastonsaid withamusement.
We joined the others. Gaston ignored their curious looks. I glared themdown.
“Well, we’ll be retiring then,” Cudro said when it was obvious we would not explain.
With a chuckle fromall, we bid themgoodnight and they wandered down the beach—and then into the forest. We laughed.
“I’mAfraidTaLeave,” Pete said. “GastonMightBidMeFarewell.”
Gastonrolled his eyes, and thenhe wore his Horse’s grin

and he was pouncing upon Pete. They wrestled about quite

and he was pouncing upon Pete. They wrestled about quite fiercely, and Chris backed away with his face taut with concern. I wondered at it until I saw Gaston’s Horse was much about

him. I touched Chris’ armand he flinched. “Theyare playing,”

I said gently.
“I know,”he said tightlyina less-than-manlyvoice. Pete pinned Gaston, and proceeded to kiss him. I noted

that Gaston did not fight him. I did not think Pete kissed like a sloppydog. I did not think mymatelot felt like a mango. “Canyoustop them?”Chris asked.
I snorted with deprecation and amusement at our

concern.Pete released Gaston and began to stand with a laugh

upon his lips. Gaston’s arm came up like a snapping rope and cracked Pete’s jaw. The Golden One fell back and shook his head to clear it. He started laughing again, and Gaston joined him.

Gastonstood and Pete crouched.

“Non, non,” my man said and held up a hand. “Truly, I canonlyplayso long. Mystrengthhas not returned.”
“CouldaFooledMe,” Pete said with amusement and rubbed his jaw.
Chris was stilltense beside me.
“Does it bother you he wished to play so; or did it bother you it was Gaston – and he was…
feral
?” I asked him

quietly.“Both,” Chris said. “I cannot play with him, not like that.

I feelI willalways lack somethingfor him.”
I feelI willalways lack somethingfor him.”
“Sadly, oui:a cock,”I said gently.
He sighed. “Oui. I do not know if he will stay with me

whenthis is done.”

I did not wish to meddle, but I felt compelled. “He wishes to try.”
“He told youthat?”Chris asked witha speculative gaze.
“Oui.”
He sighed and smiled. “We shall see then—when this is over.”
I sighed. That seemed to be the gist of the phrase upon all our lips:
when this is over
:
when this is done
:
when we finish
.
Pete and Chris at last departed and I looked to Gaston with an unexpected melancholy nipping at my heels. “Well, how did
he
kiss?”
“Not like a mango,”mymansaid mischievously.
“Must I hold youdown?”I asked.
He pounced uponme and I let himtake what he would.
Two days later, the six of us ate at our fire once again. When it came time to retire, we slipped away in pairs into the forest and retrieved our bags and weapons. We left the tent and our fire behind and crossed the island by moonlight until we came to the northern shore. Two of Peirrot’s men had purportedly sailed the promised boat out on the pretense of fishing, and not returned withit. Theyhad cached it inDonovan’s cove. All we had to do was locate it by sunrise. I was quite surprised whenwe did.
We lit two torches and Cudro went to prepare the boat
We lit two torches and Cudro went to prepare the boat while we stole into the cave to take supplies we had purchased from Donovan. The Dutchman’s hoarse cry stopped us and we hurried to his side.
We all saw what his torch revealed. Someone had stove the smallboat’s hullinwithanaxe.
Chris took a deep breath to say something, but Pete stopped him.
“Quiet,”he hissed. “TheyBeWatchin’.”
We stood staringat the wreck. Gastontook myhand.
“Now what?”Cudro asked quietly.
“We will rove as the Gods so obviously direct,” I said. The melancholy flirting with me for the past few days descended withgreat force. I felt mywillknocked flat before it. I clutched at Gastonto remainonmyfeet.
He slipped an armunder mine and across my shoulders. “Let us return, and act as ifnothingoccurred.”
“Aye,”I agreed.
“He won’t let us—or rather, he won’t let you—sail with Donovan,”Cudro said as we started back.
“Nay, too muchchance ofour sailingawayinthe night— even with other buccaneers aboard,” Gaston said. “If he gave us that opportunity, I would buyas manymenas I must, and killthe

rest.” “Ashand I cansailonanyvesselhere,”Cudro said.

 

“Pete says he thinks I ama pawn and possible hostage,”

Chris said.
“YaAre,” Pete agreed. “Still, AsLongAsYou
AnMeAreOnA Different BoatThanWill An’Gaston, AnMeAreOnA Different BoatThanWill An’Gaston, WeCanDoSomethin’ IfTheNeedArises. IfWeAll BeTagether,
WeBeEasyTaControlAn’Kill.”
“Peirrot cannot take us,” Gaston said, “but he can take
anyofyou. And he knows ofChris.”
“What?”Chris snapped.
“’ECanBeTrusted,” Pete assured him. “Listen,
WhenWeReach TheTarget, WeAllNeedTa GoAshore.
IfWeNeedTa EscapeAsWeReturn,
WeNeedTaBeTagetherThen. NoHostagesFer’Im.”
“There’ll be a march across land and back for Panama,”
Cudro said. “How men arrive at the ships and leave will depend
onwhenand how Morganshares out the treasure.”
“MaybeWeCanSlip AwayAtTheStartAn’Get
TaDonovanAn’Sail. The OtherShips Won’t’AveOrders
TaChaseUs, An’TheirCaptins’llBeAshore WithMorgan.” “Aye,” Gaston said. “Either then or as we return. There
will be nowhere to run on Spanish land. We will have to escape
onone ofour ships.”
I listened to themand told myself there was hope in their
words, but my heart would not listen and my Horse was scared.
For the first time ina longtime, I felt betrayed bythe Gods.

One Hundred and Nine Wherein We Find Ourselves at Peace in War

My despondency continued for days. Thankfully, I was not needed during that time. Morgan did not visit our camp to gloat. I do not know what I would have done if he had: possibly turned myback onhimand stared into the distance:possiblytorn his throat out. Peirrot did visit, and he too vowed not to give the bastard the satisfaction of showing that anything had occurred. We mourned the little boat and all our broken dreams over a

bottle.Several days into my melancholy, Gaston took the

brandy frommy hand and poured it into the sand. There had not been much left in that particular bottle, but the gesture was not lost onme. He thenshaved me and trimmed myhair.

“I feelthe Gods have betrayed us,”I said quietly after he finished mythroat.
“Is this a crisis of faith?” he asked. “Do you still believe inthe Gods?”
“Oui.”
“Perhaps this is a test.”
“Why do people always say that when the Divine does some inexplicable thing?”
some inexplicable thing?”
He smiled. “Perhaps They are merely busy elsewhere and unable to hear your pleas.”
“ThenTheyare not all-knowingor all-powerful.”
“Perhaps Theycare not what youdo.”
“That is myfear.”
“You would rather suffer from malicious intent than benignneglect?”
“I would rather not suffer; but oui, it appears I am afflicted withhubris.”
“Perhaps it is always a test when the Gods ignore us. Perhaps They wish to see who can do wellenough on their own, and thus measure Their creations and the end result ofTheir past meddling.”
“So you are implying Their faith in me is inversely proportionate to how much They ignore me?” I asked with amusement.
“Oui.”
“Then, oui, I feelmost loved bythe Gods. Thank you.”
To prove his point—or simply to do what was to be done next—he prodded me to remove my clothes and then left me naked before our tent as he waded into the surf to wash them. I was moved by his commitment to the moment enough to stand and follow him.
“What would youhave ofme?”I asked.
“Find your feet. I feel weak,” he said softly even though his choice ofwords denoted harder things.
I put an arm about his shoulder and kissed his temple. “Youare loved.”
“Youare loved.”
“I amafraid,”he sighed.
“Thenhide for a time.”
He shook his head. “My Horse wishes to rage. It is odd. I have little faith in the other men on this beach. I do not trust themto leave me be and not steal fromme or harmme in some other way if I retreated within and frolicked. Yet, I have no doubt that if I were to succumb to my Horse’s desire to rage, and I went and attacked Morgan or some such thing, all would say it was my madness and simply beat me down and truss me up and let me live. It is as if I am safer around them when I am mad. They will forgive my actions. But I feel if we simply brood, and express our hatred ofMorgan—as rationalmenshould—we willendanger ourselves at their hand.”
I understood. “We are far more dangerous to them as men. Animals canbe controlled.”
He nodded and handed me my sodden clothes. “These should be rinsed. And we will need more water—from the spring: the pond is still brackish.” He paused on his return to the tent. “That makes my Horse feel powerless. And if He is powerless, I know not what I have to fight with.”
The bright sunlight reflecting off the water pierced my brandy-soaked eyes and caused me too much pain to think directly on his words. I stumbled back to our camp and rinsed my clothes. Then I donned them and my weapons and took up our water skins to go to the spring. “I willhave ananswer whenI return,”I promised.
“Youwill?”he asked withwarmthand amusement.
“I amsobering. The runwilldo me good.”
He smiled, and I ran to the spring and back. I tried to think as myfeet pounded along. What did we have to fight withif not our Horses—or our Wolves:who also seemed inappropriate weapons for the battle at hand? What else did we possess: our love, our faith? Those were not weapons or warriors.
WhenI returned I found himsittinginthe shade watching the horizonwithtears inhis eyes. “We do not fight,”I said.
He regarded me with curiosity and bemusement. “Which war?”
“All of them,” I said with confidence. “Perhaps this is a test. Perhaps I am acting like one of the children. I am fixated upon a thing I feel I must have. If I but have that biscuit, all will be well in the world; and the Gods, in Their infinite wisdom, are saying, ‘Non, you must not eat that’; and every time I reach for it, They herd me elsewhere. The more I reach, the more They will steer me away—until They finally tire of the endeavor and swat myarse.”
“What is the biscuit?”
“Resolution with my father, perhaps? Maybe it is a thing I should not seek. Maybe the correct path is living a good life. Maybe we should have boarded the
Magdalene
with the others and sailed to a Dutchcolony. I know that is not how things might have been allowed to play out by the Gods, but maybe that should have beenmyaim.”
He shook his head with wonder. “So what would you have us do now? Allow Morganto have his way?”
“Non, and aye. We will seek any opportunity we can to escape this, but in the meantime, we have our love, and we must have faith. If we allow Morgan to make us miserable, then he wins, and myfather wins.”
He nodded. “You feel your decision to pursue your father was wrong.”
“Oui, I chose the wrongpath. I amsorry.”
He shook his head. “But… What of matters with my father? Being driven from French soil is what caused you to choose that path.”
“That was not our war, and we made the best decisions we could—for the children, and for us. But we could have gone elsewhere rather thanturnand fight.”
He smiled. “And when you brought Dutch wrath down uponus?”It was more teasingthansincere question.
“We would take the road that leads ever upward.”
He chuckled. “So now what would you have us do, oh wise and holyman?”
“Killno one.”
He caught his breath and held it for a time. “That will surely be a Herculean task,” he at last sobbed. Then the floodgates opened and I sat and held himwhile he cried.
Fromthat day on we resolved to live in peace and be at peace. We, of course, continued to wear weapons and practice withthem; because beingat peace did not meanturningthe other cheek, per se: we would defend ourselves. And I did not find it withinme to make anoverture offriendship to Morgan; yet, I did allow that such a thing might occur—or at the least, I would not snarl at him when next we spoke. Essentially, we chose to not seek to kill anyone, and to stop gnashing our teeth with impotent anger at all we could not change. We began to enjoy our days

again. Cudro thought us mad; Ash thought us fools; and Pete

thought us wise. Chris seemed uncertain, but then he admitted he had made much the same decision that night when he sat alone uponGaston’s Gift inthe storm.

The remainder ofthe fleet returned as November ebbed. Modyford sent three ships and hundreds of men from Port Royal. They had been raiding and brought their booty there. The Governor had apparently scolded them for making war on the Spanish—and then sent them off to join Morgan. Collier and Bradley also returned from their raiding with our largest ships intact, provisions, and twentypounds per manfor those who had sailed with them. The beach was alive with men chomping at the bit and pawing the sand for blood and treasure. Gaston and I were forced to move further up the coast to retain any semblance ofprivacy.

Over the fall, we had been dismayed to note that no one was hunting cattle: then we thought that best, as there surely were not enough cattle left upon the island to feed everyone. We slipped into the woods and found the great wild beasts, however. We shot two, and with great industry, rendered them into boucan, two nice suede blankets, and a good supply of crocked fat. We were often approached by men during this process and asked when the roast meat would be ready. We told themto go and shoot their own cattle. Afew did, and there were great cattle roasts for a couple nights; but then that seemed to be the end ofthat. KnowingMorgan’s preference for livingoff the Spaniards—as that gave himthe pretense of starving men to justifyhis attacks—we secreted awayas muchmeat as we could inour bags, and sent the rest withDonovanand Peirrot.