Page 5

Guinevere

I woke to sunlight and the sounds of muted conversation. The gentle roll of the ship and the captain’s calming presence had soothed me into a deep and restful sleep—the first I’d had in a long, long while.

The winds had picked up, and we were moving at last.

It took me a moment to remember where I was, but the soft sheets and the lingering scents of sweat and our fucking reminded me. As did the fact that I wasn’t sprawled half out of a hammock in the darkness of the lower berths.

I heard voices. One was the captain’s, and the other I didn’t recognize. I feigned sleep so I could hear what they were saying in subdued tones so as not to wake me.

“This is a safe spot?”

“Aye. It’s quite sheltered, and I doubt there’ll be any trouble. We can set here for a few days, clean and repair what needs done, enjoy the good weather, and then head out again, end of the week.”

I opened my eyes and rolled over, squinting in the brightness and making out two forms standing by Captain’s Martin’s desk.

“Will we go to Tortuga?” the captain asked the fellow who was with him.

As my vision focused, I recognized the Arrow’s quartermaster, Donatello. He wasn’t a bad looking man either, and if I’d failed with the captain, I might have had a go for him.

“I think that would be wise. We can always raid a ship if we find a likely one, but we’ll need proper supplies, which we can get there.”

Donatello glanced over and saw me. His expression remained calm, as if discovering a young man naked in the captain’s bed was nothing to remark upon.

He elbowed the captain’s arm and gestured toward me. “The lad is awake, sir.”

I went up on one elbow and scratched my scalp. “Hello.”

Captain Martin smiled at me.

“Good morning, Simon White.”

“Good morning, Captain Martin.”

Donatello chuckled. “That’s a very formal greeting for a cabin boy who’s probably been fucked sideways three times by now.”

The captain gave Donatello a look. “That’s no reason to give up on decorum.”

Donatello laughed. “If you say so.”

I yawned and stretched. “He hasn’t done it to me sideways yet, in actual fact. And he usually calls me Rooster.”

At this, Donatello laughed louder and raised his eyes at Captain Martin.

“Because of the—” I gestured at my hair.

“My goodness. That’s gone quite red, hasn’t it? And are those”—Donatello peered closer—“freckles?”

“Aye, they’re freckles. It weren’t all dirt, you know.”

“You know, Rooster, you can call me Dinesh,” Captain Martin said to me, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

I shrugged and fiddled with the bedclothes. “I like to call you Captain Martin.”

“That’s fine. Whichever you like.”

“Thank you.”

He pointed to a pile of folded garments on the chair by the bed. “There are new clothes for you there. Do you have a pair of shoes that are relatively clean?”

“Aye.”

“Do they fit?”

“Well enough.”

“You’ll be happy for them if you ever have to climb into the rigging. You need to wear shoes if you’re going to be…uh…working…so close with me. Appearances must be kept up. Can’t have you running around barefoot like a heathen.”

I blinked at the captain. Appearances? “You had your bare cock up my arse, didn’t you?”

He had the courtesy to blush as Donatello cleared his throat and tried not to laugh.

“Yes, but there was no risk of blistering or splinters.”

He had a point. And I had a question.

“What you said about climbing the rigging … Do you think… Do you think I might have to do that? Is that a part of this”—I glanced at Donatello—“job?”

“Well, you never know what you might have to do on a vessel such as this. We’re a crew, and everyone does what they have to do, in times of need,” the captain said. “But it’s not a task I’ll expect of you on the regular.”

I nodded.

I had just the slightest issue with heights, so I was hoping I’d never be called upon to climb the rigging. I’d watched the others scrabble up the ropes, and that alone terrified me. I half expected someone to come crashing to the deck every fucking day. But the seasoned crew members scampered up and down like spiders, as if they’d been born to the task.

“Rooster, this is my quartermaster, Anthony Donatello. Anthony, this is Simon White.”

Donatello gave me a little bow. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello,” I said.

“Mr White,” Donatello said, the corners of his lips twitching. “How are you this lovely morning?”

“Well fucked, and I thank you very much.”

Donatello’s cheeks reddened, but he grinned. “I’d expect no less.”

“Tony,” he said as if to chastise Donatello for speaking the obvious.

“I’m sorry, captain. Only, I’ve known you for so long. And I do have ears, you know.”

“So there’s no confusion, Mr White is twenty-two, and here willingly. You know, I do have some morals.”

“Of course, Captain. More than most, I suspect.”

“That may well be. I do try.”

I sat up but made sure the blankets were covering the important bits.

“What shall I do today, Captain?” I asked, my gaze drifting down his body.

He was dressed in a fine pair of black breeches that buttoned in the front, navy style, and a shirt made of some kind of rough-hewn fabric. A work shirt—not one of his fancy white ones with the full sleeves that made him look like an aristocrat. And he wore the boots, of course. I really liked the boots.

“Well, you’d better check on your chickens,” he said.

Oh fuck.

I blinked back sudden emotion.

“We’re under a light sail at the moment, which means we can relax for a spell. The winds are low and we aren’t moving much. There are repairs and general maintenance that need doing. And my cabin requires a good dusting.”

For fuck’s sake!

“Yes, Captain,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“And bring your belongings here.”

I nodded. “Yes, I will. But…what if everyone finds out?”

The captain frowned. “Finds out what?”

I glanced at Donatello, then returned my gaze to Captain Martin. “You know…that I’m…serving you in those ways…”

“It’s difficult to keep things from the men, Rooster. I’m sure they know already.”

“What!”

“Perhaps not all of them, but rumours do circulate.”

He and Donatello went back to looking at the maps and discussing our future route. I assumed he didn’t want me to get out from under the sheets until they were finished and Donatello had left, so I spent some time enjoying the comfort of my predicament.

I sniffed under my arm to see if the bath I’d had the night before had done anything. I did, in fact, smell much better. The scent of Captain Martin’s expensive soap lingered. I recalled what he’d done with it and marvelled again at the man’s perverse ingenuity. I spread my arms out to each side and stared up at the ceiling of wooden boards, puffing air from my mouth to lift a piece of errant hair off my forehead. I hoped they wouldn’t be much longer. I wanted to get dressed and go see about the chickens.

When they’d finally gone, I slipped out of bed and examined the togs on the chair. There was a striped white shirt, a dark blue short jacket, and tan breeches with brass buttons on the side and on the front flap. Not bad, not bad . There was some kind of soft undergarment, but I dismissed it out of hand. Who wanted to bother with another layer? Not me. And stockings. Maybe my boots would be more comfortable with stockings. I’d never had such fine things in my life.

I put everything on, feeling strange and as if I was living another’s life. The breeches fit well and ended about two inches above my ankles, so I didn’t have to roll them. The shirt was a bit large but I tucked the tails into the breeches and rolled up the sleeves, and the garment looked all right.

There was a looking glass in the corner of Captain Martin’s room. I went over and examined my reflection.

In all honesty, I appeared as some deranged asylum escapee, dressing up in fancy clothes that didn’t suit. Perhaps I was so used to seeing myself in rags, I couldn’t fathom the result of a set of fine togs. I made a face and held my arms up, making fists, to complete the effect. Then I sobered and tried to arrange my hair into a less wild arrangement.

Having been properly fucked before my hair had fully dried made that almost impossible, but I smoothed the strands where I could. The situation would have been much worse without the trim Captain Martin had given me, which had been very thoughtful. Thank goodness my beard hairs were slow-growing and I’d been able to snag a razor from another crewmate, one I kept wrapped and hidden. I had been amused to see him searching for the implement and then simply succumbing to the rampant growth of his whiskers. They suited him, anyhow, and he’d thank me if he knew.

I supposed with my stockings and boots on I’d look more civilized. The fabric of the breeches and the shirt was finer than any I’d had against my skin, and the fact that Captain Martin had arranged these to be provided made me go a bit soft in the chest.

I ate a roll and a slice of mango off the captain’s breakfast plate, then stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind me.

“And where might you be going, Mr White?” Boone asked.

The captain’s guard was again cleaning under his nails with the knife. I wondered how he kept getting his hands so dirty when all I’d ever seen him do was sit in that chair.

“The head, actually. I need to piss and see if Captain Martin left anything up my—oh, never mind.”

Boone looked satisfyingly shocked, but then the corners of his lips twitched.

“Fine. Although you’re probably allowed access to the privy now. As a perk of being the captain’s—” He looked me up and down. “—favourite.”

The privy? My eyes went wide.

“You serious?”

“By my mother’s left tit, I am.”

I grinned and started to walk away, then stopped. “Um. Where is it?”

He gestured down a short hallway to the left of where we were standing.

“In the lower gallery. Down those steps. With a door marked “Privy”. Can you read, Simon White?”

“I can read.” I could read well, as a matter of fact. My mother had had a small library of books, before my father had destroyed them in a fit of pique. I’d never forgiven him for that transgression.

“Off you go then, Simon White. Don’t get lost.”

I gave him a nod and headed in the direction he’d indicated. I located the gentlemen’s privy down three short steps, around a turn, and down three more, nestled in a corner of the quarter gallery, near another door marked “Wardroom”. I didn’t know what the wardroom was for, but the privy was what I needed, at any rate.

I pulled the latch and opened the wooden door, then stood there for a moment, gazing upon Shangri-La. Compared to the heads at the bow, this was a significant upgrade, and I couldn’t believe my luck in gaining such privileges. Perhaps even worth having to do a bit of upkeep in the captain’s quarters.

The privy was much cleaner than the head, for one thing, and enclosed so nobody could watch me shitting out the spunk and soap from an entertaining evening with the captain. The experience proved quite relaxing, as a matter of fact. I’d never taken a lovelier shit in my fucking life. I completely forgot about the chickens and stayed there for longer than required.

Then someone knocked on the door, and I remembered there were other people on board.

“Just a moment,” I said, glancing about for a rag or paper to use to clean up. Someone had piled some pages from an old book on a small shelf nearby, so I used some of those. There was a bowl of water even, to wash hands, along with— gulp —a lovely bar of soap like the one I’d become quite familiar with in the captain’s chambers. I’d never gotten hard from looking at a bar of soap before, but that’s what happened. I willed my cock to behave, pulled up my breeches, and got myself to rights.

I pulled open the door to see Mr Guthrie, the ship’s cook, waiting there. His eyes went wide when he saw me.

“I beg your pardon, sir. It’s all yours,” I said.

Mr Guthrie looked me up and down with a puzzled expression on his face. “Who the hell are you?”

“Simon White. I used to look after the goats.”

His eyes went wider. “What are you doing here? This privy is for the officers and the captain.”

He sounded genuinely confused and not enraged about my presence.

“Well, I’m the captain’s houseboy now. So I’m allowed to use the privy.”

Understanding dawned as Mr Guthrie looked me over again.

“Ah. He’s got you kitted out well, I see. Well, mind that you treat him with kindness, Simon White. We’re all quite fond of the captain.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr Guthrie. So ’m I.”

I went past him and heard him give a soft chuckle. I was feeling quite cheery until I remembered.

Five minutes later, I found myself sobbing by the chicken coops.

The animals were kept in a corner of the hold, in wooden pens that I was supposed to fill with fresh straw every few days. Although I imagined this duty would be passed on to another poor sod since I’d be busy seeing to the captain’s needs.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop yer blubberin’.” Martinez looked about to see if anyone else was near. “Did you get right fucked and now you’re sad about it?”

Jesus. Did everyone know my private business?

I tried to be coherent and stop my embarrassing display. “I’m not sad about that .”

“Why’re you crying, then?”

“You killed Guinevere!” It had only taken me a moment to discern which of my beautiful chooks had been dispatched.

“I killed who?”

“My chicken! The one with the golden feathers by her tail!”

“Oh my God. The lad’s gone and lost his mind,” Martinéz muttered.

Mr Jones, a portly fellow with a mop of red hair, freckles, and a friendly smile said, “Aye, that’s what the captain’s rod can do to a man. Ask me how I know.”

“Not you too!”

“Oh, aye. T’was lovely. He’s very romantic, in a filthy way and all. I won’t forget the experience.”

“Well, you’d better. I’d wager he’s claimed Mr White,” Martinéz muttered. “And he won’t be lookin’ for satisfaction elsewhere now, I reckon.”

“Just as well.” Jones sniffed. “I couldn’t walk right for three days.”

My sobs had died down whilst I was listening to this conversation, and I laughed outright.

“See, he’s all right. He’s just a bit daft about the chickens,” Jones said.

“I’m not daft,” I said.

“Anyway, I didn’t kill yer chicken,” Martinéz said. “’Twas Hillier.”

“That bastard,” I muttered, seeing Hillier across the room speaking with a few of the men. Hillier was an officer, well-liked, and good friends with most.

“On the captain’s orders,” Martinez explained. “For your supper, mind. Captain wanted you to eat well. You should be thankful.”

“Oh I am. But she was beautiful, my Guinevere. And sweet. And I’ve eaten her,” I said, ready to cry again.

Hillier came over. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked of Martinez.

“You killed his chicken.”

“Her name was Guinevere,” I explained. “And she was lovely.”

“Beg pardon?” Hillier said.

“He’s very upset about the chook. Then again, he’s been in the captain’s chambers all the night, and he’s probably exhausted.”

They chuckled together.

Hillier put a kind hand on my shoulder. “Never mind. She doesn’t know you ate her. And now you carry a piece of her wherever you go.”

“Until he takes a shit,” Martinez said.

“Well, all right. I was only trying to comfort the man,” Hillier muttered, clearly wanting to be somewhere else.

I thought about what Hillier had said, and in a way he was right. I’d loved that fat little chook, but now she was gone, and a part of her would be with me always, in an intimate, spiritual way.

“Thank you, Hillier. You’ve eased my mind.”

“Glad I could help, White.”

I looked at the other chickens. “Are they all going to be eaten?”

He shrugged. “Probably. They haven’t been laying all that well.”

I’d known that. I’d thought that if I named them and sang to them in the mornings and at bedtime, they’d do better. But they hadn’t.

“All right, then. I’ve done all I can for you,” I said to the chickens and the goats. “But I’m moving up in the world, and I can’t worry about you lot anymore.” A harsh truth, but I needed to tell it. They might as well know.

And truth be told, Guinevere had been fucking delicious before I’d been made aware of the situation.

I went to the section of the hold where my hammock swung near a porthole and grabbed my boots and the razor I had stolen, wrapped in a worn piece of leather. Apart from my knife, and the new clothes on my back, I carried all that I possessed in the world.

I gazed with nostalgia at the lowly corner in which I’d been living for the past few weeks. Then I inhaled the scent of a hundred men sweating and belching and farting, and bid the place a good riddance.

“Don’t forget about us, White,” Martinez muttered as I passed by.

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” I promised.

I felt like the crew were silently judging me for trading my body for a better place to sleep, but which of them wouldn’t have done so if their proclivities had lain in that direction and the captain had offered? It sounded as if more than one had, albeit temporarily. I couldn’t explain that I felt more than a physical pull toward the captain.

Perhaps I was deluding myself, and he was just using me as a bed warmer and a housekeeper, and when he got bored of me or no longer found me useful or desirable, I’d be tossed aside. But I could enjoy myself in the meantime, learn how to be a privateer, take advantage of the comfort and privileges my place would afford me, and attempt to prove myself indispensable to him so that he wouldn’t dismiss me. I had charm, vigor, a relentless appetite for activities between the sheets—and elsewhere—and a way of ingratiating myself to the men I admired. I had a feeling that at least in some way the captain and I were evenly matched.

I returned to the deck, noticing some men glancing my way and speaking to each other in hushed whispers. I glared at them and made kissing noises, and they turned away. Then a looming shadow blocked my path.

I looked up.

Hanes, a giant of a man with bulging muscles and horrible teeth, stared at me with disdain.

“You Captain Martin’s whore now?” he sneered.

“He ain’t paying me, although he is fucking me, and quite well, I might add. He won’t take kindly to anyone laying a finger to me, I’ll tell you that. So, bugger off.”

I wasn’t afraid of Hanes, even though he could probably squash me with one finger. I was under the captain’s protection now, and they all knew of the circumstance.

Hanes looked me up and down, as if he wanted a turn. Then he smiled.

“Does Captain Martin know he’s invited a hellcat into his bed, I wonder?” Hanes said, gazing at me with some level of admiration.

I blinked. “Get out of my way, Hanes. I’ve an urgent appointment with a feather duster.”

Hanes’s eyes went wide. “A feather duster! Jesus. I’ve not heard that one before. He does get up to some strange things, our captain.”

“Not for that, you idiot. For dusting. I need to clean the captain’s cabin.” I waved a hand in the air. “It’s a part of my new job. The boring part.”

“I thought he wasn’t paying you.”

“He’s letting me stay with him if I clean and manage his rooms and…take care of other sundry…things.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hanes said, nodding. “I’m sure it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, what I do for Captain Martin is none of your business. Now get out of my way.”

“Hanes!”

Hanes and I jumped at the sound of Captain Martin’s stern address. My cock twitched, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if Hanes’s did as well.

The source of my annoyance gazed up at Captain Martin, who stood on the upper deck by the railing like the ex-navy captain he was, commanding respect with his very stance and composure. I struggled to maintain my own at the sight of the man who had spent the previous afternoon doing terrible, wonderful things to me.

“Yes, Captain?” Hanes asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be directing the crew on the foredeck?”

“Yes, Captain. Beg pardon, Captain.” Hanes said, giving Captain Martin a quick salute and moving on.

“Mr White,” the captain said. “I thought I told you to gather your belongings.”

He spoke in a detached, formal way, in front of the crew—as if we hadn’t been intimate at all and were barely on speaking terms. I knew he didn’t want to bandy about his fondness for me, and that kind of detachment in a man I had filthy thoughts about, one who had been demonstrative in private, was beguiling for some reason.

I smiled. “Ain’t got none but these boots. And my knife.”

His face softened before he nodded. “On your way, then.”

I turned in order to proceed, but he spoke again.

“And put those bloody boots on. I didn’t arrange for those fancy clothes so you could continue to go barefooted. You’ll get a nasty splinter and bleed all over my ship.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said and gave him a quick half smile before I made my way back to his cabin.

Boone saw me coming.

“You again,” he said.

“Yes. You’ll be seeing quite a bit of me, I’m afraid.”

“I figured. After the things I heard in there yesterday,” he said, gesturing at the captain’s door.

I blushed, remembering the noises I’d made and the things the captain had done.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna tell anyone. The captain would have my hide.” He made a flourish with his arm towards the door. “In you go, then. Door’s unlatched.”

“Thank you. And, uh, don’t pay attention to any other noises you might hear in there, right?”

“Of course, Mr White.” He tapped his forehead. “Discretion.”

I grinned, feeling much better about Boone and his presence here. I went into the captain’s rooms, latching the door behind me. I trusted him to keep the rabble out. The knowledge didn’t escape me that I had been part of that group up until yesterday. But the latch on the door to these rooms afforded me a welcome sense of privacy that I’d not had for a very long time. Turned out that when you worked as a lowly member of a ship’s crew, you didn’t get your own space. But as the captain’s houseboy, I would cherish this privilege.

I put my boots by the captain’s chest of drawers, then looked about at his cluttered cabin. To be honest, I hadn’t really taken in most of my surroundings when I’d last been here, being much too overwhelmed with the captain himself and what he had been saying and doing to me. And in the morning, with the reminder of what had happened to my chicken, I’d been preoccupied. I still came over emotional when I thought of having eaten my feathered friend. But I gave myself a silent scolding, because you couldn’t afford sentimental musings when you lived and worked on a vessel like the Arrow .

The captain and his officers might think of her as a privateering vessel, but she was a pirate ship, in all fairness, as he had no writ from any king to give him any kind of legitimacy. I didn’t hold that against him, of course, and I appreciated that he put himself and his crew on a higher level than common vagabonds. But pirates were pirates, after all.

The four-poster bed was rather ostentatious, of course, but had practical ramifications and certainly looked impressive.

What a contrast to the accommodations for the crew, which were rope hammocks hung close together in the hold or narrow wooden slabs bolted to the side of the ship, which were barely more than shelves with an edge to keep a body from rolling off.

The stout legs of the bedframe were bolted to the floorboards, which made sense and also helped with vigorous, uh, athletic activity upon the mattress. I gazed fondly at the rumpled sheets, then sniffed the air. Since the windows were shut on a cool breeze, the salty sea air couldn’t hide the tangy scent of our coupling. Did Captain Martin want me to strip the bed and wash the sheets? He hadn’t mentioned it, and he’d listed off a collection of other tasks he wanted tending to. And anyway, we’d likely get up to the same nonsense later, so what was the point?

I gave the air another sniff and remembered the fancy chamber pot, with the hinged lid that fastened shut to reduce spillage in a rough sea. I tugged the porcelain bowl out from under the bed carefully—both of us had pissed before going to bed—and picked it up, holding the curved side to my chest in one arm as I opened the door.

Boone had a hand down his breeches, which he hastily withdrew when he saw me. He needn’t have. Down in the crew quarters, the men fiddled with themselves all day and brought themselves off in the corners, muttering soft words of endearment to the memory of whomever they’d left at home. I didn’t care a whit, honestly.

“Where can I dump this?” I asked.

He gestured to the bow. “By the head is the best place. Over the rail.”

“Really? Not on the foredeck?” I asked, sarcastically.

He frowned. “You always this annoying?”

“So they say.”

“Christ,” Boone said, rolling his eyes. “The captain’s got his hands full with you, then.”

Oh, I’d say that the captain would have his hands very full with me. Every bloody day and night, if I had my way.