Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (82 page)

“And you feel he understands that?” he asked.

I sighed. “Aye, which is why he is grateful to me, even as he said, and yet he now has another reason to hate me, because he knows I knew him to be the fool.”

“He is a dangerous opponent, for us.” Gaston said thoughtfully.

“Oui.”

“It seems our options narrow as to who we can sail with,” he sighed.

“Oui, but this time it is because of me, not you.” I gave him a rueful smile. “And he is a threat on land as well as at sea, as long as we stay on Jamaica – until he dies or loses favor with the governor.”

“True,” Gaston said.

He pulled me tighter. “Do you feel guilt?”

“Over tonight? Non.”

“Good.” He kissed me.

And I did not. I did not feel I had overstepped my bounds and done the work of Gods, but that I had done service for the Gods.

The Bard had us under way, with the other ships in our wake, before the sun broke the horizon. I looked to the Mayflower often, but I knew not what I expected to see. We would not be informed of events there until we made land to disperse the booty.

By midday we found a likely large cay, with sufficient safe harbor for all the ships, and we dropped anchor and began to offload the treasure, slaves, and able-bodied men. Striker, Cudro, and I took a count of all our men, our wounded, and the number of shares due our officers. We made notes as to the choices of those who would or could not go ashore and who did not have matelots to speak for them. We only had one man due recompense for losing a leg. We had two dead as well; but under the group articles, no one received a thing for them, matelot or no. There were three other wounded, but not maimed so as to be compensated for it, as it appeared they would recover whole: they would receive their usual shares. That done, Gaston and I went ashore, and I volunteered my services for booty sorting.

I soon learned all slaves were valued at one hundred pieces of eight or twenty-five pounds, regardless of age, size, or skills. We had left the infirm and young slaves with the Spanish, so all we had were somewhat able-bodied. There were fifty-five of them. This both simplified my concerns over acquiring Pedro and complicated them.

The valuation of ready coin was also not an issue. While we were in Puerto del Principe, several men had been appointed as clerks to sort, count, and bag it. So we had an accurate accounting. Thus, as it had been with the emeralds last year, the bulk of the job before us lay in ascertaining the value of the odd items, such as silver candelabras inlaid with stones or a woman’s necklace, or at least assigning enough value to separate them into piles of equal worth.

Some pieces gave us great consternation, such as an intricately-detailed gold plate. It must have been the art of the Indians of Terra Firma. I did not recognize the design or the figure in the center with the outthrust tongue, but it reminded me of ancient things I had seen in antiquities collections. It was a flat circle with a rim; but judging from the hooks on the back, it was meant to be displayed and not served with. As it was gold, albeit thin, by weight alone it was the equivalent to some thirty doubloons.

“That’ll be a number o’ shares there,” one of the men sorting said.

“We’ll most likely be meltin’ it.”

With resignation, I placed the value of Pedro’s well-being above the plate, but I called Gaston over and showed it to him anyway. He was quite impressed, and had seen its like before. He had heard it was a thing of religious significance amongst the natives of New Spain.

I wondered at the path it had taken to reach a home in Puerto del Principe.

Pete had followed Gaston, and it did not take a scholar to see what he wondered at. He was entranced by the plate, and I had to pry it from his hands to return it to the piles.

While some of us were thus engaged, the captains gave the accounting of the men aboard their ships to the surgeon keeping the lists. After this, Striker came to stand beside me.

“There has been a death upon the Mayflower,” he said in a conversational tone.

The men I worked with looked up with concern.

“It seems Burroughs took his own life,” Striker said with a heavy sigh. “From shame at what he did, most likely.”

One of the men near us crossed himself, but another muttered,

“Serves the bugger right.”

“Morgan has asked that we see to burying him as soon as the booty is settled,” Striker added.

“Of course,” I said solemnly.

I thought it likely the French would stay until the following morning, but I asked Gaston to speak to Pierrot anyway.

Soon enough, my thoughts were elsewhere once again. As we finished assessing the treasure, Morgan made great show of awarding the boons and recompense for injury. Four men had lost limbs, and were given the equivalent of six hundred pieces of eight or six slaves.

Then two men were awarded boons of fifty pieces of eight each for valor in the initial battle for the town. Then the surgeons, gunners, and carpenters were paid a hundred pieces of eight, or one slave each.

Three of the maimed men, including the one aboard the Virgin Queen, and two of the surgeons, took their recompense in slaves. They did not appear to be land-holding types, and I wondered at this. I also fretted that they had just taken twenty of the fifty-five slave shares available, and I was concerned as to how the allotting and picking was done.

I slipped to Striker’s side. “Do the wounded often take their due in slaves?”

He nodded. “If they can’t rove any longer, they sometimes choose to settle down. Slaves are risky. They don’t always carry the value we assign them, but since they’re a ready commodity, their owners can often trade their labor for a plot of land or the like. Or they can auction them off and receive more money.”

“How is the selection done of the slaves thus allotted?” I asked.

“By picks. Once we know who all will be taking slaves, some order is established, and each man due a slave picks and so on until all have one and then we go to the next round.” He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”

“I am not worried, per se. I can always buy him if he is allotted elsewhere,” I said.

“True, but your interest will drive his price up,” Striker said. “I’ve been thinking on it, and I spoke with the Bard before I left and Cudro just now. If you and Gaston are willing, we’ll pool all our shares and I’ll speak for all of us. As captain of one of the larger vessels, that’ll let me pick early.”

I smiled. “I will, of course, confer with my matelot, but I am very keen on that plan.”

“I thought you would be,” Striker said.

I glanced at Dickey, who was standing nearby, and he nodded. When informed of it, Gaston was in agreement on the matter. Pete was still talking about the plate, and upon hearing this plan about the slaves, he hurried to Striker’s side.

With the wounded and those who would not be compensated in shares out of the way, the total number of shares had been determined at eight hundred and twenty-six. We had thirty-five slaves remaining for a value of three thousand five hundred pieces of eight. There was twenty-eight thousand, four hundred and thirty-one in ready money and approximately another twenty thousand in miscellaneous valuables.

So close to fifty-two thousand all told, divided by the number of shares needed, put each share at about sixty pieces of eight. So all of the last five days, all the death, all the privation, had basically amounted to fifteen pounds per man. That would not pay the debts with which most of them had sailed.

The men were not quiet about airing their disappointment, once the figure was told.

Now that we knew the amount of a share, those of us involved in sorting the odd items returned to them, and ordered them as to how many shares they were worth. The gold plate was thus named at an astounding eight shares. None but a captain could take it.

And a slave was worth more than one share. After much discussion, it was decided that two slaves would equal three shares for this allotment, and they should be parceled out in groupings as a result. I was initially concerned at this, and then I remembered I was a bo’sun, and thus allotted two shares; thus, Gaston and I could acquire Pedro, and apparently one other, with the three shares we had between us.

Morgan was allowed first pick of the booty for his shares as commander. Not blind to the mood of his men, he eschewed the valuable slaves and ready money, and chose necklaces for his wife, and other valuables that would be difficult to sell, from amongst the miscellaneous items. Next came Bradley, as captain of the largest ship.

He took six shares in slaves, so four slaves, and a share in ready money, and a bauble for his wife. Then Pierrot, as the next captain, divided his shares between ready money and jewels from the piles. Then it was Striker’s turn.

He spoke to all. “As we have six owners of the Virgin Queen, plus one additional matelot – and of those men, one is quartermaster, another master of sail and another bo-sun – we have by my reckoning, nineteen shares between us. I have leave of my companions to pick for all of us.

Does that meet with your agreement?”

None gainsaid him, but there were mutters of disapproval.

Striker gave the names of those for whom he would exercise choice, and we were stricken from the lists.

“We choose three shares in slaves, eight shares in ready money, and that gold plate,” he said.

Pete whooped for joy and ran in to snatch up the plate. The buccaneers that had grumbled seemed pleased we took so few in slaves and that we had relieved everyone of the damn plate.

Pedro was relieved to see us. I had not had the opportunity to see to his welfare before now, and I regretted it; though I knew not what I could have done to remedy his situation. He had been collared and leashed with rope, and his hands bound before him for the march to the shore. They had not released any of them for transport on the ship. Still, he looked to be in better spirits and health than the others. I assured him all would soon be well, and we waited.

Our cabal stood about and studied the plate. Striker shook his head in wonder as he handed it back to Pete. I did not think it was due to his being in awe of the workmanship, but rather to bemusement at his matelot’s fascination with it.

“He’s sticking his tongue out,” Striker said.

Pete raised his chin a notch and grinned. “Nay. ’EBe Smilin’At Me.

He Knows Ya Na’ Like’Em.” He turned the plate to Gaston.

My matelot nodded soberly without trace of even a smirk. “Aye, he is smiling.”

I was laughing too hard to play along. My mirth almost drowned Striker’s heavy sigh.

The rest of the slave shares were soon allotted, and the men who had taken them were gathered. One of the men had a die, and it was decided to roll for the order in which we would make our choices per round. All of the men choosing slaves would be allowed to pick in the first round, then those with a second set of shares would pick in the second, and so on. I was relieved there would be rounds, as this meant a man with four picks of slaves would not take his all at once; but I liked the order for the round resting upon the roll of a die very little. It left too much to chance, and I was sure Pedro would be quickly chosen due to his size and general well-being: he would be seen as an excellent field hand and naught else.

When it was our turn to roll, Striker sighed and handed me the die.

I told the Gods firmly that we required a one. I rolled a two. One of the wounded men rolled a one.

I tried to keep the concern from my face as the first man made his choice. I thanked the Gods when he did not choose Pedro. Then it was our turn, and Striker chose Pedro. We quickly fetched him to us and removed his bonds.

“Thank you, Master Will,” he whispered. “Do I belong to you or him?”

“Me, I will explain later. It has to do with the way the treasure is divided.”

“I was observing,” he said. “There seems to be a great deal of order to it, Master Will.”

I smiled. “Well, amongst so many armed men who kill others for gold, there must be great order.”

This seemed to amuse him.

As we had to make a second choice, Striker looked to me to make a decision. Though I had known the necessity was in the offing, I had not thought beyond Pedro, and now I looked at the others with dismay.

“Him,” Gaston said, and pointed at a young man hobbled with rope with his hands bound behind his scarred and scabbed back.

“He is very new to slavery, Master Will,” Pedro whispered. “He fights endlessly, and the others told me he is only recently off the slave boat.

He speaks only his own language.”

“Well, it is the centaur way,” I muttered. At Pedro’s curious look I sighed.

Gaston led our acquisition over on a leash. I met the new slave’s proud and hostile eyes with a curious gaze. He looked away from me, and took in the rest of us speculatively. He finally settled on Gaston, who was still holding the rope. My matelot studied him in return, with calm indifference and his weight on the balls of his feet.

“’ELooks Like E’dBe Good In AFight,” Pete said.

“That is not what you choose slaves for,” Bradley said from nearby.

“Well, it is not what you choose slaves for,” I retorted.

Bradley shook his head.

“Pedro says this one does not even speak Castilian and is new to slavery,” I told Gaston in French.

I looked at the slave and asked, “Do you understand me?”

He looked away.

Gaston shrugged and cut the man’s bonds, including the rope collar.

The man rubbed his wrists and regarded all of us warily. Gaston pointed at himself and gave his name and then went about naming each of us in turn. Then he pointed at the slave.

The man pointed to himself and said, “Ikela,” with great dignity.

Gaston sheathed the knife he had used to cut the man free and handed it to him. Ikela regarded him with suspicion that turned to wonder. Gaston moved to check the wounds on the man’s back, and Ikela flinched and stepped away. With a sigh, Gaston unbuckled his belt and un-slung his baldric, handing both to me. He raised his shirt and showed Ikela his own scars. The slave’s eyes went wide. I wondered what he must think. Here was a man more badly beaten than he handing him a knife. He seemed to understand when Gaston dug through our bag and produced a pot of salve, though. Gaston let Ikela smell it and then pointed to the man’s back again. This time Ikela let Gaston tend him.