Matelots Read online

“And that great bog behind it?” I asked.

  He shrugged, but his eyes narrowed craftily. “Be’ArdTaRoustAMan OutOv.”

  As I was sure Gaston was quite familiar with the place, I did not gainsay him.

  “Only you would think of owning land you could hide upon,” his matelot teased him.

  “Iffn’TheyKnowYaOwnIt, ThenTheyKnowWhere TaFindYaAlready.”

  “He has a point,” I said.

  “Aye, that he does,” Striker said and shrugged. “Still, I would own land. Perhaps I will tire of the sea someday.”

  Pete snorted.

  “And even if you do not,” Theodore said, “it will be a thing you can leave to your descendants.” He frowned and looked from Striker to Pete and back again. “Should you ever have any.”

  Striker frowned at that, and Pete sobered somewhat as he gazed upon his matelot’s now stiff shoulders. I thought of another conversation from their last visit, and sighed.

  Theodore distracted me from watching them further with a light touch on my arm. I turned to him expectantly and found his mouth partly open, as if he had been about to speak. His face said he had apparently thought better of his planned words, though.

  “I mailed your letters,” he said too quickly.

  “Aye, Pete said you had. And I read the note you sent before.” It had said little.

  I wished to ask him what he decided not to say, but thought better of it. He would tell me in good time, or perhaps it was best to let his unspoken words lie, as they might have been another ill-considered utterance among men with matelots, as his comment about descendants had been.

  “They should arrive in England soon,” he added. “The ship I sent them with was sailing there directly and not to the northern colonies.”

  “Lovely,” I replied. I thought of the joy I hoped their recipients, my sister Sarah, and my former tutor, Rucker, would find with the huge tomes I had started on the voyage from Île de la Tortue. I had finished both missives here, while recuperating from my wound and watching Gaston build the first part of the hut.

  Liam, Otter, and some of the others had joined us, and were greeting Pete and Striker boisterously. I led Theodore to the western edge of the promontory so we could continue to converse.

  “How do you find married life?” I asked.

  “I find it suits me.” His smile said much more than a thousand words could hope to convey.

  I laughed. “I am pleased to hear it. And how is Mistress Theodore?”

  He took a deep breath and glanced about to see if anyone was near. No one was, but he dropped his voice conspiratorially anyway. “She is with child.”

  “Well done, my good man.”

  He chuckled heartily. As it passed, he stared at the horizon with a satisfied smile. “When I first ventured here, I thought I would return to England as soon as I could. I did not intend to stay beyond the business I was sent to accomplish. And then that business led to a lucrative arrangement that required my remaining for a short time. And that short time became… Well, I have been here seven years now. I have always harbored the notion that I would return someday. Now I do not. Now I envision a large house, and many children, and perhaps a position in the local government.”

  “Though I would wish that last on no man,” I said with a smile, “I suppose someone must be a public servant. And I feel in your case, you would actually serve those you administered and not merely your own ends. As for the rest, I am very happy for you, my good friend. I wish you every happiness.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sobered somewhat as he contemplated me.

  “What of you?” he asked. “Why will you not return to Port Royal? Striker has implied it has much to do with your matelot, but he has said little as to the particulars.”

  I was not sure which of the particulars I should relay, though I knew I should tell Theodore if I told anyone at all.

  “Gaston is mad,” I said at last.

  “I have heard rumor of that. How so?”

  With surprise, I realized I could not answer that in any meaningful fashion. I tried to recall the description Gaston had first offered me, and then I remembered his words to Doucette.

  “He experiences acute emotional states in which he is unable to control his actions or faculties. During these times, he is greatly debilitated in reason, and he becomes a threat to those around him: both friend and foe. On occasion, he even forgets what occurs during a bout. His bouts can be triggered by items or memories of traumatic incidents in his life.”

  Theodore nodded thoughtfully. “I have heard he poses corpses.”

  I sighed. “Aye, that is why he is known as the Ghoul. I have seen that, once. He means to offer them respect after a fashion.”

  “Did he stab you?” he asked.

  “Aye, but by accident. He meant to kill Doucette and I got between them.”

  “Who was this Doucette?”

  “Doctor Dominic Doucette is a French physician. He became Gaston’s mentor after a fashion. He was assigned to care for Gaston…”

  And there I stopped, unsure of what to say. Theodore studied me in patient silence. The truth of much of the tale was not a thing that should be related to anyone, even Theodore; but, I needed Theodore to understand certain aspects of the situation if he was to help us with the legal part of that entire morass of insanity that was Gaston’s past.

  “Gaston was exiled here by his father, a French Marquis. They had a… misunderstanding, a disastrous… they had a falling out, over the death of Gaston’s sister. Not that they got on well before, but… I cannot divulge all of the particulars of any of that, even to you.”

  Theodore nodded sagely but remained silent.

  “I can say it is all related to Gaston’s madness,” I continued, “which is a thing that haunted his mother, and has haunted him since childhood. It was made far worse by the… circumstances of his departure from France.”

  There. I had managed to say what I felt Theodore needed to hear, without saying that Gaston’s father had nearly flogged him to death for killing his twin sister after committing incest with her. I did not believe my good friend would understand or forgive my matelot for those transgressions, which sounded so horrific in name. Only I, who had heard the tale from his lips under duress, could possibly comprehend how and why what occurred was more tragedy inflicted upon my love than an evil that he did. I felt sure any other would hear the words alone, and not the aspects of the tale relating to his sister – on her deathbed – manipulating Gaston into helping her live her last laudanum-induced flights of fancy.

  “In your note,” Theodore said. “You mentioned that there was a legal document you might need me to review.”

  “Aye, that is part of the matter. Gaston’s father had Gaston declared incompetent so he could never inherit, and then he named Doucette as Gaston’s guardian. As we see it, Gaston cannot set foot on French soil again. I feel he should become an English citizen, and thus possibly leave the entire matter behind him.”

  “I could easily petition for that,” Theodore said. “But I would see this document.”

  “It is in French.”

  “I assume your French is sufficient to translate it.”

  “Aye.”

  “Where is Gaston now?” Theodore asked.

  “Somewhere.” I gestured at the rest of Jamaica. I thought that would be accurate, as I doubted he had left the island. “He suffered a bout… and he has gone off to be alone and try to recover his reason. He leaves me messages to show that he is well – in body, at least.”

  “Can you tell me what occurred on Tortuga?” Theodore asked. “I have heard a number of things regarding that as well.”

  “Doucette felt he could cure Gaston’s madness by what amounted to torture. I rescued him. In the ensuing battle, I shot Doucette, and the French captain Pierrot nearly beat him to death. But that… treatment he attempted… is largely responsible for Gaston’s current fall into madness.”

  My bringing Gaston to r
emember the events that occurred with his sister had been the rest.

  Theodore watched the sinking sun with a thoughtful mien. I nearly felt disposed to disrupt his thoughts so he could actually appreciate the coming blaze of color, as I doubted he was seeing what was before his eyes.

  “You will not abandon him,” he said at last. It was not a question, nor did it contain resignation: it seemed to simply be a fact he felt the need to state.

  As such, I did not answer it.

  “Are there any other aspects of note that I might be apprised of?” he asked.

  “Gaston is very wealthy. His father exiled him with money, sent money for him every year, and sent money to Doucette to pay for his care. Doucette’s wife gave it to us.”

  “Gold?” Theodore asked with interest.

  “A small chest of it, mostly florins.”

  Theodore nodded appreciatively.

  “And where is it now?” he asked.

  “Gaston buried it in the morass there behind the beach, and then had me memorize the markers he set as to where it could be found.”

  “Good,” Theodore said, “so it is safe and I need not worry about safeguarding it.”

  “Aye.”

  “All right, let us watch this sunset,” he said. “And then we will review the French document and I will tell you of Ithaca.”

  I had nearly forgotten the damned plantation. “Is there anything I wish to hear?”

  “I doubt it.” He smiled.

  “Is there anything I need do?”

  He smiled with pursed lips and returned his eyes to the horizon. “If you trust my judgment, I do not believe there is anything you need address prior to the conclusion of Gaston’s current madness.”

  “I trust your judgment on such matters,” I said sincerely.

  “Then we will let such things lie until you know you will have a matelot at your side again.”

  I sighed. “I will actually be quite relieved to do that.”

  “I thought as much.”

  We watched the sun set in companionable silence, and then went to join the others. The next day, with both of us suffering the ill effects of too much rum, we finally managed to read through the French document.

  Theodore determined what I had surmised: that it would now be best if Gaston were English.

  “However,” he added to his earlier thoughts, “You realize another solution would be to have his father grant you the guardianship?”

  “I feel that would be unlikely,” I sighed.

  “As do I, but I thought it should be noted. I would be remiss in my duties otherwise.”

  “We cannot have that,” I teased.

  “I will draw up the papers. The granting of his petition should not pose a problem.”

  “You will have Governor Modyford sign it while sipping brandy,” I said with a grin.

  “As I have him sign many things.” Theodore grinned, and then quickly rubbed his temples, as if that much movement of his mouth had caused him pain. “Thank God we do not conduct business over rum.”

  I laughed. Until last night, I had not in my wildest fantasies ever conceived of seeing Theodore so deep in his cups that he would argue with Pete about the proper way to dance a jig, and then dance one.

  “There is one aspect of this matter you will need to address,” he added. “A name. I assume Gaston is not his given name. What shall this new citizen of England be called?”

  “Nay, it is not his given name,” I sighed.

  That was Gabriel. I did not think he wished to be known by that name. Nor did I feel he could or should use his father’s title. Yet, he had shown great pride in speaking of his lineage. The chest his father had sent had born the crest of the Sable family. It was his family name.

  “Gaston Sable,” I said with more assurance than I felt.

  I hoped Gaston would not take umbrage at my choice.

  “And should this Mister Sable apply for a grant of land?” Theodore asked.

  “Aye.”

  A thing occurred to me, and I did not like the taste of it.

  “You,” I said, “and perhaps you alone of all the solicitors on Jamaica, will take my word as to legal matters for my matelot because you respect the buccaneer institution of matelotage, do you not? But after this business is completed, I will have no say in that land or any other legal aspect of his existence under English law, will I?”

  Theodore nodded. “Precisely. In that, it would be more convenient, especially considering his madness, if his father were to grant you his guardianship as he did Doucette.”

  I supposed he was correct in that; but I liked the idea of Gaston’s father considering him a thing that must be seen to less than I favored the knowledge that under English law, any bond we had was irrelevant.

  “Once this is accomplished,” Theodore continued, “I suggest that you have the land deeds changed to provide for joint ownership, and I will insist that you draw up testaments as to the deposition of your assets upon death. You can’t bury everything in a morass.”

  “Is this how other buccaneers address the matter?”

  “Aye; truly, changing deeds and seeing that other assets are owned jointly will provide you with far more legal standing than marriage or even inheritance.”

  Gazing upon the matter from that perspective, I wondered why it rankled that we could not be perceived as being married. I could not name the nuance of marriage I required. It was surely not sanctification by the Church.

  “Ah, and there is one other matter I wished to broach with you,” Theodore said. “Would you be inclined to purchase my house? I have had a new one constructed.”

  “As we are no longer letting the Jew’s, I feel that would be prudent,” I said.

  “Wonderful. I hoped you would feel that way.”

  He produced a bill of sale for the house from his satchel. I signed it and thought little of the price. I was becoming a man of property, and it did not have a damned thing to do with my father. I was pleased in that.

  After another night of buccaneer debauch, we sent Theodore back to his wife.

  Two nights beyond that, I was leaning on the newly finished west wall, considering the stars, while smoking a pipe preparatory to going to sleep, when Gaston returned to me. At first I thought him a fanciful vision contrived of smoke from the dying cook-fire. Then a gust of night breeze cleared the haze, and I saw him distinctly. I barely recognized him: he was filthy, wearing crudely-stitched leather hides, and bearded, with a shaggy mane of hair, dark in the dying firelight.

  From his stance and expression, I could see he had adopted the demeanor of a child, as he sometimes did in his madness. It was in this state that he arranged corpses.

  “I am very pleased to see you,” I said softly in French.

  He seemed relieved at these words. Then he slowly extended his right hand, as if I were the one who might startle as he appeared ready to do. He held two eggs.

  I had surmised a fortnight before that he was responsible for what I had initially believed to be the poor laying habits of my hens.

  “Would you have me cook those for you?” I asked.

  He nodded tightly.

  “All right, then, bring them here; you can set them on that stone there if you do not wish to hand them to me. And, likewise, you can sit over there if you wish. But I dearly wish to hold you. I realize you…”

  He was in my arms. The eggs were crushed against my back and I did not care. He was sobbing, and that did concern me, but not so much that I was tempted to release my tight embrace for some time.

  An hour or so later, I at last had him quieted, fed, shaved, and cleaned up a little. He still would not speak, seemingly content just to stay in constant contact with me. We at last curled together in the hammock.

  In the morning I found myself alone again, in body, but thankfully no longer in spirit, no matter how inauspicious his behavior had been. He had returned to me, even at his maddest. Someday we would make right of it all.

  Twen
ty-Seven

  Wherein We Prepare to Weather Storms

  “Well the drink did flow an’ the blood did spill, but iffn’ the boys wish ta fight ya best be lettin’ ’em,” Liam said, and took another long pull on the water skin.

  I had been exerting myself with such dedication for the last hour that my vision now wavered and my heart pounded. Liam appeared an odd apparition: with his darkly tanned skin and pale hair he looked as if all the colors had been reversed, and he was dark where he should have been light. Then he cleared a bit in my sight, and I winced anew at the blue and black blotch across his face and eyes. It was due to his already much-maligned nose taking another blow in the altercation of which he spoke. I was sure that when he healed it would have yet another crook. I wished Gaston had been about to see to mending it, if such a thing were in the realm of medicine and not the Gods.

  I sat in the sand and considered Liam’s words, slowly forming my own above the pounding in my ears. “That is very true. I am glad I have been safely here and not amongst so damn many bored buccaneers this autumn.”

  Liam snorted his amusement and handed me the water skin. “But ye missed all the fun, Will.”

  The Bard walked up and glared at us. “What are ya’ sittin’ about for? We’re not done here.”

  I looked about. The beached Virgin Queen eclipsed my view of the sinking sun to the west.

  “Is not the entirety of the ship upon the shore?” I asked. “Is she not ready for careening on the morrow?”

  “Aye,” he sighed, sounding as tired as I felt. “But with the storm rolling in, we need to tie her down.”

  He stomped off toward the pilings. Hauling the brig ashore had been exhausting labor and taken most of the day. I wanted to be done with it all, but the Bard was correct: if we did not lash the ship down now, the approaching storm could well toss her back to sea like a boy playing with a stick, even if it was too late in the season to be a true hurricane.

  I pushed my aching body upright and followed Liam and Otter to the nearest pylon, to begin hauling on the ropes the Bard and Cudro were setting. Soon I abandoned all other thought except what was required to keep my grip on the cable, and I pulled with the rhythm of the shanty Striker sang.