Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (78 page)

“At times I have been concerned,” he said seriously. “But those who have pledged their friendship have been quite sincere. And if they have not swayed the others, they have at least given me the peace of mind to sleep at night.” He smiled. “The first time I went ashore in Cuba, half the crew was quite convinced I would betray them, and I knew Cudro would kill me with little regret if I did anything to warrant their mistrust. But he knew what should be obvious: I had nothing to gain in betraying them. I was not a prisoner, and if I had wished to remain amongst my brethren, I would have stayed in Porto Bello. The only thing that could drive me to the Spanish now is fear for my life amongst these Brethren.

“And I understand their fears and hatred,” he continued with another shrug. “I have heard Spanish men brag of what has been done to the pirate dogs should they be caught. And I know how very much my fellow countrymen believe this New World to be theirs alone – by the Providence of God. If they could but mount the ships and men, they would drive every English, French, and Dutch man, woman, and child, from these islands into the sea; put them in slave chains; deliver them to the Inquisition; or simply kill them. They view it as ridding the world of vermin and infidels for the glory of Spain and God.”

I nodded, but his words begged an old question. “Why can they not mount the ships and men?”

He chuckled. “Those same men who brag mutter of that when deep in their cups. No one knows, or admits to it, but all guess. Men know how much gold and silver goes to Spain, but none of it returns.

Spain sends warships to collect it, but they do not stay. We have great cities, but they were built by the generations of Spanish men living here, with no help from the King. Spain sends what she deigns, takes all she wants, and lays down edicts about what men here might do; grow; decide… Spain controls everything in this New World. You must have writs from Seville to do anything of import. It makes everything very slow, and smothers men with any ambition. Spain seeks to keep her colonies from rising to challenge her, but it is like a father who will not allow his son to leave home and face the world. Eventually the boy becomes indolent and resentful, and accomplishes nothing, even for himself.”

“I have heard that,” I said. “The first galleon we took could not have fought us with cannon – even if we had allowed her – because her gun decks were filled with smuggled goods.”

Alonso nodded. “All salaries are fixed in Spain, and no private shipping or trade is allowed, so the Navy officers make money where they can. It is a sorry state of things, and one I am not proud of.” Then he gave me a devilish smile. “But I had nothing to do with it, and now, due to God’s Beneficence, I will profit from it. And have adventure.”

I chuckled. “It is always surprising to see where God chooses to bestow His beneficence. I rather thank it springs from the hearts of men, as all things do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ever the blasphemer.”

“It has not failed me yet.” I shook my head with a smile. “If God in His beneficence has granted you the opportunity to prey on your former countrymen, has He abandoned them?”

“No, no,” Alonso said with a shake of his finger. “He, in His infinite wisdom, has seized upon you pirates as a way of showing our King the error of his ways. Spain is corrupt and she has lost her way. Her citizens are being poorly used. I am an instrument of relieving their pain.”

The quirk at the edge of his mouth, and the sparkle in his eyes, belied the sincerity of his words; yet I knew him well enough to know he did believe much of what he said: he was merely pretending to make fun of it so I did not view him a fool if I should not agree.

I awarded him a derisive snort. “How much conviction will you have for that conceit when you see the ill-used men of those colonies being mis-used further still: robbed, beaten, tortured, killed, all for gold? And by your hand as well, lest your new brethren question your loyalties and turn upon you.”

His brow furrowed, and all pretense of humor or sarcasm fell away.

“I do not know… Will. In what we did this last month, the smuggling, it was a thing that benefited the Spanish colonists we traded with. There was no harm to it. And I know what we will do next: I have spoken at length with Cudro and the others.” He met my gaze. “I feel Spain cares not for a lost town here or there. It is not as if you pirates have taken a city of wealth. You robbed and ransomed Porto Bello after the Fair. The silver had already departed with the fleet: thus Spain did not care.

“Spain is more concerned about the Galleons and the Flota: the wealth going to Spain. However, they will surely be angered enough to send ships and men if you were to take Cartagena or Havana – places Cudro says your Morgan wishes to attempt with that warship. I feel he will bring Spanish wrath upon your little colony of Jamaica if he succeeds. If he does not, then…” He shrugged. “The King truly does not care.” He seemed saddened by this.

I was surprised that he should have such interest in his former fellow colonists – or in anyone: it was not his way. But there was more in what he said. I frowned.

“So you view roving with us against such targets to aid in sealing our doom?”

He smiled grimly and shrugged. “You will do these things with or without me, no? And…” He grinned. “You will not take such cities with less than an army and a dozen such ships.”

“True,” I said. “And true. And I pray men other than Morgan among the Brethren still possess reason, and we will choose a reasonable target. But if you think we will fail, why are you here? Do you not fear dying with us?” I teased.

“I will claim I was a prisoner,” he said dismissively.

I chuckled. “And if the Gods smile upon you, your former countrymen will have no one there who witnessed you running some Spanish soldier through.”

“We must take chances, Will,” he said with amusement. Then he frowned. “And there you go blaspheming again.”

“It is only blasphemy if it is my religion,” I said.

“Now you speak heresy,” he said seriously.

“I have ever felt it to be the least of my sins.”

He shook his head, and spoke with a trace of amusement in an attempt to mask real concern. “I fear you will burn in Hell from the moment of your Judgment, and there will be nothing for it.”

“I find it strange you feel you will achieve Heaven, even after a lengthy stint in Purgatory,” I teased.

“As long as I die in the company of a priest…” he said, and then frowned. “Which is a concern I have traveling with pirates.”

I smirked. “Si, well, we all think we are going to Hell; so why should we seek to be shriven on our death beds? It is hypocrisy. You should live as if you cannot seek redemption short of having Christ’s undivided attention in the moment before you cross the veil. Which returns us to my question: you will rob and kill men, Spanish men, your fellow Spanish colonists, of whom you seem to hold much interest in the well-being of?”

He frowned and looked away. “I must have faith in my convictions.

I will…” He shrugged. “I have robbed men before. And in this raiding we do, Cudro says that it should be possible for me to avoid being involved in the truly distasteful aspects of the matter, such as torture. And I will not seek to kill anyone unless it is to defend my life or that of a friend.”

He nodded at me. “And… If my hand is forced, and I am ordered to commit some sin to prove my loyalty; I will view the sin as being that of the man that made me do it, and not my own.”

“Now who speaks heresy?” I chided. “You are showing inordinate faith in the Grace of God. Well, you shall undoubtedly be fortunate wherever we rove, in that there will surely be priests available to take your confession.”

He frowned with concern and curiosity. “How will you justify what you will do in this endeavor?”

I gave a grim smile. “If all goes as planned, I will not need to be involved in the killing or the robbing. I will be busy tending the wounded: a thing I do not feel even your God will fault me on, with or without His redemption.”

“U… Will,” he chided.

I snorted. “Stop. We have killed for money before. If you believe God’s Grace will give you passage to Heaven, so be it. We all must make our peace with our deeds and what we feel we will find in death.”

“How will you make your peace?” he asked with sincere curiosity.

I had no ready answer for that, and so I considered it. I envisioned my judgment as a court room, with everyone I had ever known lined up as witnesses. Surely I had not done poorly by so very many that the ones who hated me outnumbered those who did not. And, of course, there would be those who hated me through no fault of my own, such as my father or Shane. I thought it would be a very long trial. I sighed. “I hope, that when it is time for me to die, that if there is Judgment, that I will be judged fairly for all I have done, the good and the bad, and by my intentions for those things that appear bad but were not meant to harm, and that I will be found as having done more good than bad.”

“Without Salvation?” Alonso frowned. “You are a heretic Pelaganist!

Do you feel you have done more good than bad? If you were to die this minute, what do you feel that answer would be?”

I sighed again and smiled. “I feel as of this day, I may well need a very sympathetic jury. But I intend to change that.”

Surely the words of those who loved me would count for more than the words of those I had wronged – with anything short of death, I supposed. Perhaps the deaths could only be countered by lives saved.

What would the girl in the church in Puerte Principe count as?

“So, you think this is your answer to peace with God and entering Heaven?” Alonso scoffed.

I shrugged, and realized my shoulder did not hurt as much as it had before. “Alonso, we cannot know what awaits us until we are dead.”

“That is the gamble of a madman,” he said.

I laughed at his assuredly inadvertent choice of words. “Si, it is the plan of a madman.”

The door opened, and Gaston strode in. He was as surprised as I had been to see Alonso.

“We were discussing religion,” I said in French.

My matelot snorted and glared at Alonso, but his words were for me.

“You were to rest.” The ire in his tone was not directed at me, however.

Alonso threw his hands up and stepped carefully around Gaston in the narrow space. “We will continue this,” he said over his shoulder as he opened the door.

“Undoubtedly,” I said with a smile.

Gaston dropped to my side and regarded me with admonishment.

“Hush,” I chided. “You will be amused at his conceits.”

“I am sure I will be,” he said unconvincingly. “Cudro sent Ash to tell us they would dine there and that all is well.”

“So we will assume all might be well and wait?”

Gaston sighed. “Oui. Now what did that bastard say?”

I chuckled, and then seriously relayed all we had spoken of, and my thoughts on the courtroom in Heaven.

“Do you now believe in Heaven and Hell?” Gaston asked with concern.

“Non,” I said thoughtfully. “Not as… Alonso does, but… I believe we are judged, if not by the Gods, then by our fellow man, and if not him, then by ourselves.”

He lay on the mattress and gazed at the ceiling. “Oui.”

My words tickled some memory into rolling over to reveal itself. “You once asked me of that: of sin. You spoke of a man being able to sin against mankind, or himself, or nature, but not God. I thought myself very unwise in comparison, as I had never considered such things as you had.”

He frowned up at me. “Oui, I remember.” His gaze returned to the ceiling and became distant. “That was before you made me remember.

Before… before you, I would sometimes spend days and weeks staring at the sea, trying to comprehend the guilt that followed me. I thought of it as the gulls. It was always there waiting to pick me apart. I knew I had sinned, but I could not reconcile the guilt in the face of my no longer believing in God. And as I could not remember what I had done…” His words drifted off with a sigh.

He looked up at me again with a new frown. “He called you a Pelaginist?”

I chuckled. “Oui.”

“Why does a good Catholic Spaniard know of Pelagius?” he asked.

“I do not know. We never discussed such things before. I… When I was with him, though I might have joked of… blasphemy, I was ever careful not to truly speak my mind on such things around those I could not trust. There are those who take it so very seriously, and I have seen men destroyed by the Inquisition. And around Alonso… He is devout in his fashion, and did not wish to discuss it.”

I poked Gaston. “What do you know of Pelagius?” I teased.

Gaston snorted. “Among monks he carries a certain infamy. They argued about him. I feel many of them wished to believe his heresy: that a man need only live a good life to achieve Heaven, and that it has nothing to do with the Church, or receiving God’s Grace. And you?”

“Rucker educated me well about all manner of heretics.”

“There are many who would call the Spaniard a heretic.” He snorted, and then sat to regard me earnestly. “What do you know of his Horse?”

I frowned as I considered that. I searched through many memories of Alonso, and found no evidence of what I would now consider to be Horse-like behavior. “I have never seen it.”

My matelot frowned. “Is he like Pete?”

“Non,” I said with surety. I could envision Pete as a great golden animal with ancient wise eyes. Alonso was a man upon a horse, and the animal was restrained with iron hands. It pranced, pawed, tossed its head, frothing and champing at the bit, yet Alonso’s seat upon it was solid and unaffected by the animal’s antics. “He is not his Horse. He is…

always in control of his Horse, such that it never moves without him.”

Gaston was thoughtful. “Like you? You once moved in harmony with your animal, such that you never lost control.”

I understood what he meant, but I did not feel it was the same for Alonso. “Non, he does not enjoy riding it. Horses are things he needs in order to travel; they are not things of pleasure.”

Gaston was frowning at me.