Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (63 page)

“Fletcher, I break a number of the Commandments on a regular basis. Committing sodomy should be the least of my problems on Judgment Day.”

He had to think on that for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped dejectedly. “This is probably all too true, my Lord. You at least admit it is a sin, do you not?”

“Aye, sodomy is a sin, everyone knows that, so is murder, adultery, robbery, blasphemy, and,” I sighed, “the Seven Deadly Sins which I am sure I embrace with equal conviction.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes.

“Surely you jest, My Lord,” Donoughy said. “You do not appear to be a man who bows before avarice or gluttony.”

I chuckled, as I had not expected such a jest from him. “True, true, thank you, Mister Donoughy. I do not embrace all seven, but I do possess a fondness for lust, pride, and anger, and I have been known to occasionally indulge in envy and I often partake of sloth. And even more strangely, I have been known to commit other sins in the name of such virtues as zeal, generosity, love, and kindness. Though I must admit I have never managed humility, faith, or discipline.”

“You revel in it, my Lord,” Fletcher said with even more exasperation. “How can you revel in it?”

“Fletcher, I do not believe in God.”

“I do not believe you, my Lord,” he said with a dismissive gesture.

“And how can you describe anything as a sin, if you do not believe God made it so?”

“I believe man made it so and,” I thought back to my conversations with Gaston on the subject. “Some things are truly wrong, no matter why we decide they are.”

“And is sodomy one of those things, my Lord?”

This brought me pause, as I realized I did view it as a sin. The question was, why? Was it merely because I had been told for so many years that it was?

I began to think aloud. “In truth, Fletcher, I have never given it much thought. I will not be so childish as to say that since it is something I wish to do, then it is obviously a proper thing. However, I cannot see where it harms one’s fellow man or oneself. I can see where a case could be made that is not in keeping with nature, as it does not produce offspring, which is the purpose we assume for our privates. Yet, our bodies are as they are, and my cock is a thing of pleasure for my person, and it experiences and passes along to me an equal amount of pleasure whether it be burrowed in a man or a woman. I cannot see why it would do thus if it was not in its nature to do so. Likewise, if my arse enjoys something inside it, which it does, I fail to see how it could enjoy such a thing if it was not meant to. I feel the perversity would lie in my creation or design, if such things are wrong and yet make me so happy.”

With that, I had successfully brushed aside all question in my mind as to the rightness of the act; but Fletcher looked as if he still required convincing. Actually, he looked as if he were on the verge of apoplexy, but I pressed on anyway. “And furthermore, were you not the one who posited that a shark could not leap because God did not make it so?

Therefore why may my body experience pleasure in some fashion if it is not meant to?”

Fletcher sighed, and all the fight seemed to leave him. “My Lord, you are correct. You are most probably damned beyond redemption, and sodomy is the least of your sins.”

I regarded Donoughy with expectance and curiosity.

Donoughy shook his head and chided Fletcher, “I would not know about damned beyond all redemption.” Then he regarded me and shrugged. “My Lord, you will do as you will. It is no concern of mine.”

“What of the men here? Is everyone as celibate as monks?” I asked.

Fletcher sighed, and Donoughy said, “Nay.”

I eyed Fletcher. “I would hope there is no condemnation or censure of such activities.”

“Nay, nay, my Lord,” he sighed. “Though I do conduct Bible readings on Sunday mornings.”

I shrugged, as I supposed there was no helping it; and many a man found peace and solace in religion. That was no matter of mine.

Fletcher was regarding me with a guilty countenance. “With all thanks to you, my Lord, I can read the Bible. And Mister Theodore says that once things are in a way in which there will be time for it, a tutor will be provided for the other men, as you have wished.”

I smiled and clapped his shoulder reassuringly. “That is wonderful.

How is the plantation progressing?” As I already knew some of Fletcher’s concerns, I watched Donoughy.

They looked to one another, and shrugged amicably.

“Well enough, my Lord,” Donoughy said. “We’re clearing as best we can and truly making good progress. We’ll plant what we have in August, and once that is done, we can start on the other buildings we need and the mill. There was the one man who ran off. We’ve had others that do not wish to work.” His tone had changed, so that I heard the rumble of anger in the last of his words.

“Truly?” I asked. “And how was that remedied?”

“My Lord, unless they are injured or ail so that they can’t work, if they don’t work, they don’t eat. They all agree on that, at least.”

“That seems reasonable.”

Donoughy gave an exasperated sigh. “If they don’t work, my Lord, and we don’t feed them, they’ll just run off to find something to eat. And since nothing’s been done about bringing the other one back, they don’t have a reason to believe they can’t.”

“Nay,” Fletcher said. “Most of the men did not like the fellow who ran off. It was Creek, my Lord,” he added. I seemed to remember Creek as a big taciturn fellow who bemoaned the lack of copious alcohol on the voyage, and was always trying to trade other men food for their daily ration of beer.

“The others did not approve of him running off, my Lord,” Fletcher continued. “And they don’t approve of the Jenkins boy and Jackson complaining about working, either. It was the men who decided that they shouldn’t eat when they refused to work one day.”

“The Jenkins boy needs a good thrashing,” Donoughy said.

“Oh, that will keep him from running,” I said sarcastically. “And his brother, too.”

“It would if we had a stockade, my Lord,” Donoughy replied heatedly.

“Why not just chain them together in the field?” I snapped.

He shook his head. “We need to bring Creek back and make an example of him, my Lord, but Mister Theodore says you won’t stand for it. He won’t hire the men to do it.”

“I do not know,” I said, as I truly did not. I had given little thought to what would occur if one of them ran away. I had not conceived of the example it set for the other men when Donoughy first told me of it. I would rather not force the man to work, but it was true that we could not have them all running off. At the least, I supposed Creek owed my father forty pounds or so for his passage.

Then another aspect of the matter occurred to me.

“However would you find him? This is a large island, with an abundance of unexplored wilderness.”

“Where he might have run to if he had an ounce of sense, my Lord.

He’s in Port Royal,” Donoughy scoffed.

“You’ve seen him?” I was incredulous.

“Aye, my Lord. I chased him down the beach, but he slipped into the Palisadoes with some men; and I thought they might be armed, and I was alone. I’ve seen him since, and he just laughed at me.”

I grimaced. This explained a great deal of Donoughy’s frustration.

Creek running about Port Royal doing who knew what was a different matter from a man deciding not to work and retreating to the wilderness to make his own way.

“I will retrieve him.”

“He says he’s a buccaneer now, my Lord,” Fletcher said sadly. “I’ve seen him, too. I tried to talk him into returning.”

“Was he armed?” I asked.

Fletcher frowned, shook his head, then shrugged. “Well, with a cane knife, my Lord.”

I sighed. I could not perceive Creek being a threat with a cane knife.

Pete with a cane knife would be death incarnate, but not Creek. But Donoughy and Fletcher were not me.

Still, he was no buccaneer with only a cane knife, though they were essentially cutlasses. “He has not the money to equip himself to rove,” I said. “So unless he has a patron, I do not see how he could be a buccaneer. Yet I am new to this land and their ways, and perhaps there is a thing about it I do not understand. I suppose if he paired with someone with money.” I frowned to myself as I thought of my own circumstances. “I will ask Gaston.”

“And if you can get him back, my Lord, then what?” Donoughy asked.

“What would you suggest, flogging him? Stocks? A pillory? Chains?

I would rather he pay us the money for his passage. And if he can earn that roving, so be it. But then I suppose we will have no one to work the fields.”

Donoughy’s gaze clearly said that this is what he had been trying to say all along.

I felt as if there were phantom chains around my own ankles, and the fight left me.

“Truly, what is done with a runaway bondsman?” I sighed.

“For a first offense, my Lord, his contract can be extended and he can be kept under watch and chained at night. If he runs again, he can be branded on the face.” I winced. He shrugged his wide shoulders. “You bringing him back will show the others this is a serious matter.”

I nodded. “I will do what I can. I make no promises, though.”

I no longer wished to discuss the provisioning. I supposed that argument could wait for another day. It was with heavy heart I returned to the barracks. Gaston eyed me curiously as I sat beside him, on the edge of the clearing the building occupied. He was apparently done with the men, and they were sitting about eating.

“What?” Gaston asked quietly in French, and glared at Donoughy and Fletcher, who had followed me back to the fire. Fletcher seemed alarmed at this, but Donoughy seemed angry. I thought that if he were going to give himself the airs of so bully a sheep, he should at least arm himself.

“The escaped man,” I whispered back in French. “He sets a poor example for the others.” I quickly explained the circumstances.

Gaston frowned. “Unless he is skilled in some way useful to a ship, he will have to provide his own weapons to rove. But he need not have a musket and several pistols. Some ships will take him with a cutlass and a willingness to fight.”

“And if this has occurred?”

He shook his head. “It has not if he is hiding on the Palisadoes.

Buccaneers don’t hide from planters, escaped bondsmen do.”

I saw his reasoning. It was a fine line betwixt the two, though. All Creek need have done was make the proper friends. Had Belfry made sore remark of Davey’s being amongst the Brethren the other morning, I was sure, every man there would have told a tale of how Belfry was mistaken as to Davey’s identity. And a sensible man would not have gainsaid us. Creek had not been accepted by buccaneers when Fletcher and Donoughy last saw him – well at least not when Donoughy last saw him, but perhaps after. We could not know until we found the man ourselves.

“Will you aid me in finding him?”

“Oui,” Gaston said, as if he were curious why I even posed the question.

“You will help me return him to slavery?”

Gaston nodded with understanding. “If he is not flogged. These men are not abused, Will, and he owes you money.”

“My father.”

He shrugged. “It is the principle of the matter. He agreed to a thing, and if what they say is true, he did not feel compelled to escape to protect himself.”

He had placed the matter into the proper perspective for it to sit well in my heart. He did not protest when I embraced him. His body felt good, and I sighed with contentment. Then I glanced over his shoulder, and saw Fletcher watching us with a frown. I must have tensed, because Gaston released me enough to look at me questioningly. I did not wish to speak of the rest of my conversation with the men, though I was curious as to Gaston’s opinion on such things. I was also afraid of it. His gaze was growing in intensity.

“Fletcher does not approve of matelotage,” I said.

“On what grounds?”

There was apparently no avoiding it now. “He is religious. Sodomy is a sin.”

Gaston became tense at once; and I swore silently and released him.

I was surprised he did not move away from me.

“Do you think it a sin?” he whispered.

“Non. And if it is, I have committed far graver. I do not believe it is even a transgression against nature.” I quickly explained my reasoning, as I had to Fletcher.

Gaston grinned, and I was heartened by the sight of it.

“What are your thoughts on the matter?”

He frowned. “I do not feel it is a sin.” He still appeared uneasy, though.

“Other than it being a sin, then, what issue do you have with it?”

“It is not a thing I have wished to do.”

I cringed inwardly and wished to walk away. I remembered his description of it as a thing done by beasts. He was merely stating the truth.

“I know. You do not favor men. I am sorry. I am not thinking as I should.”

He gave me a bemused smile and was about to speak when someone a short distance away made a sound.

“Um, my Lord, sir, we all would like to hear the story, if ya don’t mind,” the younger Jenkins boy said.

“Aye.” I smiled.

“We will talk later,” Gaston whispered. I sighed, and we followed the boy closer to the others.

I was not necessarily in the state of mind to tell tales, and I knew even at my best I could not do the story as much theatric justice as Striker had done; but as I looked over the faces, I felt compelled, and I knew I wanted to tell them. So I leapt into it with all the enthusiasm I could muster. And like most tale-telling, it got easier as I went. At least an hour passed before I finished, and they seemed heartily amused and asked many a question. I must admit I made mention of the death and gore and danger a great deal more than Striker had; and as a result, not a man in my audience professed an interest in going roving, which I was thankful for. Fletcher and Donoughy were regarding me with wide eyes as we finished, and the men stumbled off to their hammocks.

“And you intend to do this again, my Lord?” Fletcher asked.

This set Gaston to chuckling.

“Oh, aye,” I assured Fletcher with a lopsided grin. “I rather enjoyed it.” “You are a madman, my Lord,” he said.