Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (74 page)
Read Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves Online
Authors: W. A. Hoffman
himarrivingto kneelonthe other side ofPete.
“What?”mymatelot asked as he lifted the bandage. “Arrow,” Pete said and gasped and cursed as Gaston
probed the wound.
“It went right through him,” Chris said—thankfully in
French. “He broke it offand… Never mind. I tried to remember
what Will did for your wound. I poured rumon it and pressed a
bandage tightly on both sides. I did not know if I should stitch it,
so I did not. He bled, but not a great deal.”
I looked and saw a short slash of a wound between two
of Pete’s ribs, far out on the right side of his chest. Gaston had
him roll onto his left side and he examined another slit resting
betweentwo ribs opposite the one inthe front.
“Did it enter fromthe front?”mymanasked.
“Non, the back. We were retreating. We would dash in and out and…”Chris shook his head.
“You are a lucky bastard and you will live,” Gaston pronounced. “It shows no sign of sepsis, and it apparently missed your organs.”
“Tol’Ya,”Pete said to Chris.
His matelot sighed and appeared close to tears.
“What happened here?”I asked.
Chris sighed and looked about. “We arrived in the morning, and Bradley had everyone put ashore. We marched down the coast and climbed up the mountain to attack this damn place from behind.” He shrugged. “Well, it cannot be attacked fromthe front. It has cliffs onthree sides.
“We arrived in the forest behind it in the middle of the afternoon. There was a great wooden palisade, and then a deep trench—two men deep at least—and then another palisade. The Spaniards had the land well-cleared, and they and their Indians could fire on us with cannon, muskets, and arrows before we could get inrange oftheir walls withgrenadoes or fire pots.
“We attacked anyway. We would run at themand try to fire and chase themoff the walls long enough for our men to get close and attack the palisade itself. I have read about such battles. They are always spoken of by observers or officers—or stupid historians who never even saw a battle. They are not described bythe menwho wage them,”he said vehemently.
“It was hellish. It was night. Men were screaming. The Spanish were taunting us from the wall and laughing at our wounded—who we could not reach to rescue. I could barely
see for the smoke and darkness. And then the cannon balls would come and… Twice men standing near us were there, and thentheywere simplygone.”He shuddered.
“’EDidGood. Never’AdTaLookFer’Im. KeptShootin’An’Reloadin’.”
Chris snorted. “I could do nothingelse.”He regarded his hands. “It was as ifI did not have a thingto do—a logicaltask— I would go mad. And I had the musket in my hands, so I kept shooting.”
“We have all been there,” I said kindly. “You did as you
protruding from his chest, and I screamed.” The remembered horror contorted his face.
“LikeAGirl. NoOne’Eard’Im,”Pete said witha grin.
I laughed. “I doubt it.”
Chris glared at us. “It is not funny. He had an arrow in his chest. I tried to drag him further into the trees, but he was cursing and he stood his ground. He pulled the arrow further out ofhimand snapped it offand told me to pullthe fletched halfout of his back. So I did, and while I was at it, this arse reloads his musket and shoves the arrow in the barrel with the paper of his cartouche as wadding. Then he yelled some stupid thing about sending it back and he fired high over the wall. The damn arrow caught fire fromthe powder and arced over the wall and landed on a thatched roof. It caught fire. Then everyone near us was doingit:firingburningarrows onto their roofs.
“The Spaniards did not see the burning buildings behind them until the fires were raging. Then many of them turned their them until the fires were raging. Then many of them turned their attentionfromthe walls and we were finallyable to get menclose enough to burn the outer palisade until it could be pushed down to use as a drawbridge across the trench. Once that happened, I finallygot Pete to sit and let me tend his wound.
“We finally took the fort. It has been five days since then, and we have had no food save what we carried, and we have had to haul water up from the river—the Spanish used all they had fighting the fire—and the fire burned all their stores. And there are dead bodies everywhere and the only ones being buried are ours. There were more of theirs. And they’ve been torturingthe few Spaniards who lived.”
“So youhave not had anyfood?”I asked.
“Our boucan, nothingmore. Thank God youarrived with the rest ofthe provisions.”
I grimaced. “About that…” I told them of losing the
Lionhearted,”I said.
“Are youwell?”Gastonasked Peirrot.
Our friend smiled and showed Gaston a stitched gash on
“Non,” I said. “Not until they saw men from the other ships attemptingto signalus.”
“How much did we lose?” he asked. “Morgan was vague.” I told him. He whistled with sad appreciation. “He will have to move quickly now. There is no food. And I pray for you allthat youwillnot have to take another fortress like this one.”
“Youprayfor us?”I asked.
“Morgan has asked that I stay here and hold this castle with the wounded and another two hundred men—including the crews ofthe ships.”
“Good,” I said. “It will be nice to have someplace to returnto.”
“If we do not starve. I have asked Morgan to leave us the provisions we will need. He seems to think you will find enough from the Spanish along the river.” He looked at the ruin around us, and his long expression told what he thought of that idea.
“Youwillstayhere,”I told Pete.
“Oui,”Gastonseconded.
“Oh, oui,”Chris said firmly.
Pete grimaced, and Peirrot chuckled at himas he stood. “Youdamnfool, listento those who love you.”
“Oui,”Chris breathed.
Peirrot patted me on the shoulder and went about his
Pete grinned. “IKnow.”
Chris rolled his eyes.
I was reminded of a passage by Plato in which he
extolled the virtues of an army comprised of lovers. He had believed such an army would be powerful indeed, because no man will fight as hard as when he stands shoulder to shoulder withone he loves.
“Non,” he said, encompassing worlds of resignation and bemusement inthe one word.
I leaned close and whispered to him, “I am proud of
Knowingthemsafe, Gastonand I went about tendingthe rest of the wounded as best we could. That night we collapsed with sad hearts next to our friends. I asked the Gods to love the dead—and the men who made them that way; as though they were fools, perhaps theywould be less so withmore guidance.
We stayed at San Lorenzo for six full days. During that time, Morgan sent ships up and down the coast to steal canoes with which to navigate the upper river—and provisions if they could find any. Meanwhile, the sixteen hundred or so men we now had ate much of the food on the ships. They did repair damage and cut wood for the fortress, though; and form a bucket chainto fillher cisterns.
Gaston and I watched men die, or wish they could. There were close to a hundred wounded men, and there was not enough laudanum to dose them all, and it seemed cruel to give even the worst a brief respite from pain if it could not be continued. So we cared for themas best we could, and removed flesh and limbs that would never heal or showed signs of putrefaction.
Pete thankfully continued to improve, enough so that his libido returned. Much to my dismay and amusement, I was roused from slumber one night by their amorous activities—as Gaston and I were lying directly next to them—and saw that their trysting was of such a position it was obvious Pete was in the wronghole.
the wronghole.
I teased him about it the next morning when Chris was fetching their rations and Gaston was busy with patients. “So how is the squishyhole?”
Pete snorted with surprise and amusement. “Squishy. IPreferTheOther. ItHoldsTighter. ButIRealizedIMightDie, AndIWanted TaKnowAforeIDied. Didna’GoThereWit’Sarah. ThatWereStriker’s. IDidna’WantMySeedIn’ ErBellyConfusin’Things.”
He sighed. “One. NoOneWants’ImDead. NoMatterWhat May ’AppenTaUs, Chris’llLive. Two. NoOne’llHarm APregnantWoman—Na’IfSheBeOne O’OurOwn. Three. ’EWillNa’Show AforeWeLeave’Ere. Four.” He grinned. “TheGods’AveBeen KnownTaHateYou An’YurMatelot OnTheMatter, ButNa’Me.”
I had to laugh at his perilous reasoning. “You damn fool, untilnow youhave not givenThemthe opportunity.”
“An’Five,” he said seriously. ‘Iffn’IDie, There’llBeAnother MeTa CarryOn.”
As I would not want a world without a Pete—and I was not even he—I could well understand the last. I found myself heartened that there were two little versions of Gaston somewhere in the world that would carry on in the event the unthinkable occurred. And two more of me as well, if the Gods were kind and protected themevenifTheycould not aid me.
“I understand,” I said soberly. “I will say nothing else of it.”
“An’,” he added seriously. “WeCouldNa’Stay
“An’,” he added seriously. “WeCouldNa’Stay OnTheShip. I’AveAReputation, An’TheFrench BeWonderin’WhyI TookOnSuchAWeak Lookin’Matelot. TheyMadeFarMore CommentO’ItThanThe EnglishThat
“Aye,” he said. “SoI’AdTaProve WeCouldFight, That’
E
CouldFight, An’No BeABattleLikeItWas.
ICouldNa’Send’ImBack.
IBeGreatlyRelievedItBeMeWhoBe Wounded. IfItWere’Im, I’dWantTaKillMeself.”
I had wondered why they would take such a risk, and wrongly assumed it was due to Pete’s boredom. I was glad to hear I had underestimated him—and that brought guilt.
Pete shook his head. “Naw. ’EFought. ’EFoughtGood, ButItWereFer MeAn’Because ’EWereThere WithNoPlaceTaRun. ’ETookNoJoyInIt.”
“That is a relief, I suppose; unless you stillwish to die on the field ofbattle or at least not safe inyour bed.”
He snorted. “Will, ASafeBedBeSoundin’Good.”
I chuckled. “Come now, you have been wounded
before.”“Na’Lately. I’mNa’ABoyNoMore. IUsedTo’AveNothin’. NowIDo. Don’tWantTaLoseIt.” He sighed and smiled. “Don’WantTaSitAboutAn’ Whine’BoutNa’Losin’ ItLikeStrikerNeither.”
“Aye,” I said with a smile at the last. “When I traveled OneThoughtThisWould ByTheTimeWeKnew,
AndAye, Christendom, I took risks I would never take now. It did not matter.”
“Aye,” he said. “NowItMatters.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “It MatteredWithStrikerToo, ButIThinkIWereAFoolThese LastYears Aroun’’Im OnAccountO’’ImWishin’TaBeSoCautious.
IFeltOneO’UsOughtTaTake RisksElseWeWould DoNuthin’ButBecome OldMen. ItScaredMe. Now, WithChris, ItBeDifferent.
“WithStriker, Iffn’IDied, IThoughtItWould Serve’Im Somehow. That’ECouldSit AboutWith’Is WifeAn’MournMeAn’IsYouth. ItWereMaudlinAnFoolish. IfILeaveChris, Who’llTakeCareO’’Im?”
“Well the Gods know Gaston and I have done a pisspoor job on that account,” I sighed. “But, if something dreadful were to befall you and not us, then we would do all in our power.”
He grinned. “Aye, ButNowYaPoorBastardsAreMoreLikelyTaDie
ThanIAmThisYear.” He sobered and frowned. “TrulyWill. Don’BeBraveOnThisShiteCampaign.”
I laughed, though I knew himsincere. “I swear I willnot. It is not mywar, and I have nothingleft to prove.”
“Na’YaDon’t,” he said with a smile. “NoneO’UsDo. Na’Anymore.”
I thought that sentiment applied to us all, and not merely those we knew well and loved. I dearly wished that Morgan could be convinced of such a thing. Listening to him talk, this campaign was more about showing the Spanish a thing or two than it was about the plunder; and I saw him as sincere in that regard. He trulywished to be renowned inhistory.
I truly did not wish to be part of his bid for infamy—in any way. In those days of general confusion and disorder, with ships coming and going at all hours, Gaston and I considered slipping away. We were not sure how we would abscond with our friends, though. Upon discussing the matter with them, they encouraged us to seek our own escape if it came to that. They were all sure they would be well enough to catch up with us or our loved ones inFrance at a slower pace ifnecessary.
Gaston and I approached Peirrot when he came to ask ofthe wounded.
“We do not wishto add to your concerns, but one ofus, or Chris, needs to board your ship and retrieve an item Pete stashed there,” I whispered. The item in question was our gold. “We intend to leave some part ofit withyou,”I assured him.
Peirrot grimaced to hide a snort of amusement. Then he shook his head. “It is not wise. Not now. I am being watched; and Morgan chastised me for taking on Pete and his matelot— and especially for allowing said matelot to enter the battle. He is verykeenthat small, thincousins be protected.”
I sighed withdisappointment.
“Do not fret,” he continued. “When all is chaos upon your return, then we shall see about spiriting you away. There is a place on my ship where you can be hidden—a secret compartment. If you can swim to my ship in the night, my men canget youaboard and hidden.”
“Thank you,”Gastonsaid. “That is a relief.”
Peirrot smiled grimly and patted my man’s shoulder. “Youmust survive to return, though. Be verycareful. And do not worry so much about Pete and his man: I will do what I can for them.”
“And they will do what they can to watch your back in return,”I told him.
“I hope so,”he said witha smile.
He left us withhope and a sense ofpurpose.
Though it was not a thing discussed by many, Morgan waited until after Bradley died on the Seventh to announce we would proceed up river onthe Ninth.
On the night of the Eighth, Cudro and Ash broke away fromtheir duties and joined us for a farewell meal with Pete and Chris. We toasted one another’s safety until we should all meet again—wherever and whenever that might be, as it was obvious now that we would probably not leave this coast together on the same vessel.
Pete, Chris, Gaston and I might leave together on the
Josephine
if all went well, but it would be difficult for Cudro to slip away due to his duties as a captain. Of course, his being a captain gave him some say as to where his ship would sail after this war. He was sure they could get to the Northern colonies; and that even without any booty fromPanama, they would have enoughto book passage to anywhere inChristendom.
We discussed where our friends might be with the
Magdalene
, and assured ourselves that should anyofus become separated, we all knew where to go to find one another again. That night, Gaston and I walked to the edge of the forest and prayed out loud. Despite this, I did not sleep well.
In the morning, Morgan led us south up the river. We were now approximately thirteen hundred men in nearly a score ofstolen canoes and caraques, and a handfulofbuccaneer boats with shallow hulls—the new
Virgin Queen
thankfully not among them. I feared for the safety of these vessels on the treacherous river; especially since we were crammed into them in such numbers they rode dangerously low in the water. Of a necessity, with only enough space to carry our men, we had left behind the remaining provisions. This was a boon for Peirrot, but a horrible thing for the rest of our forces. Men were complaining of empty bellies bymidday.
Our progress was slow on the unfamiliar water. Our four guides from Providence Island had traversed this river before, but they had not been the pilots of the boats they rode in, and they were not sailors in general. They knew little of navigation or the needs ofvessels beyond a canoe.
Gaston and I were thankfully on one ofthe larger vessels with Morgan; but despite the actual deck to stand upon, we were indeed standing and little else. Men could sit or kneel—if they kept their knees pulled in and did not mind staring at crotches. At least Gaston and I could take turns sitting on the medicine chest; though, every time I felt its sturdy presence under my arse, I could only dread how heavy it would become whenwe had to carryit.
Mymatelot and I were also fortunate inthat we carried a small horde of boucan. We had no intention of sharing it. We had discussed the matter and made a solemnvow to not give any away no matter how moved we were with compassion for the plight ofthose around us.
And wisdomalso gave us one more modicumofcomfort in relation to our brethren: we were slathered in fat to keep the mosquitoes at bay.
Morgan called a halt after approximately six leagues at a place our guides named De los Bracos. Everyone gratefully clambered fromthe boats and stretched their aching limbs. Then men spread into the surrounding fields and forests to see what the closest plantations might have for victuals. They found nothing except evidence the Spanish had fled before us. That night there was much grumbling around the fires, both from mouths and emptybellies.
The next day, we started early and traveled until we reached a place called Cruz de Juan Gallego. We found no Spaniards and no provisions. We also saw in the waning twilight that the way ahead would quickly become impassable for the larger vessels. The River Chagre was unusually low this year, and the navigable channels were hindered here and there with clumps of debris from some previous year’s flooding. The Spanish apparently did not try to navigate anything other than canoes or shallow-bottomed boats and barges beyond this point, even when the river was high. Our guides assured us the way would be clear to walk on the western bank ofthe river in only a few leagues. Where we now stood, the forest was so thick it was nearlyimpenetrable.
That night, Gaston and I chewed on tiny bits of boucan