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Whispers of Redemption	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2243 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Year Thirty-two

Elizabeth's Journal

I have doled out the morning's rations, both food and water, and handled the matter of a disagreement concerning the presence of a woman in the berth. Many of the men are not inclined to argue against Henriette's hammock being placed among theirs, but we do have a random few who are, I take it, unaccustomed to sailing with women pirates. These few seem to be in the minority and of the sort who did not sail with the Black Pearl either under Captains Barbossa or Sparrow on previous occasions when women were present. I gathered this much from having read over the two different Articles which have been offered to sailors on this ship.

Captain Barbossa had no woman pirates among his crew, but his Articles mention specific treatments for any woman taken hostage for ransom. Women of Worth and Prudent Nature were to not be touched unless they openly and actively invited such attentions, which was not very likely to happen. This would suggest that I was never in any real danger from the cursed pirates of having my virtue tested or stolen away, due to my behavior as a prudent woman, even as I presented myself as being of low birth and little worth. On the other hand, however, Jack's packet of Articles makes specific mention of woman pirates, woman prisoners, woman passengers, and cabin boys all being protected personages. Of course, I am fully aware that Jack has sailed with woman pirates before. The redoubtable Anamaria comes to mind at the instant.

It seems that Jack does not allow his cabin boys to be molested in any manner, either, which is unique for a man who so obviously, to my mind, does not see the bar of physical gender as an impediment to physical pleasure. He may well be something of a sodomite, as well, not that I would care for his personal tastes in the least. To each his own, I do believe, as long as no one is injured or ruined. Perhaps that is a rather pirate way of seeing the matter, but I never did see the point in the constant marshaling and policing of morality. If Jack prefers from time to time to have a bit of pleasure with a young man or two, who am I to deny my friend what pleases when he does no harm? That's to my way of thinking. It is sweet, however, to know that he disapproves of abusing women and children.

Which leads me to two matters of importance. I have had to settle a disagreement between two men and Henriette De la Hoya, who insisted that we wake the captains and have the matter before them that can rightly dictate ship's rules. She does not like me and I can understand something of her reasons. I am a stranger and she has been expected to see other women as nothing but society ladies, harlots, bar wenches, pirates, or witches.

But, in this matter, both Mister Gibbs and I found that she had the right of it. She does, once she signs Articles, have the right to sleep in the berth. She has not, as of yet, signed said Articles. However, due to her status as a woman, she also has the right to a private spot of her own, for the sake of keeping peace. I am quite unwilling to share my cabinet, for its singular and small nature, but there is a slightly larger space, below the prow, which has served for storing stolen goods in the ship's past, as it has been explained to me. As the ship is currently poor and without pirated goods, I have suggested that, when they are made available to us, Henriette should ask the captains for this space for herself. This would keep the men from complaining about her presence in their sleeping quarters and give Henriette a measure of privacy.

The second thing of which I must give notice to is the strange matter of what occurred last night, once the ship's crew had bunked down. I was called from my cabinet to the purpose of removing all weapons from the captain's cabin. Captains Barbossa and Sparrow shared the cabin, it seemed, having come to some agreement concerning their mutual rights. As I write this, having my breakfast among the crew ondeck, there has been no movement from said cabin. I do hope they have no killed each other in some silent manner during the night. This unusual state of unexplained circumstances was my reason for not disturbing the captains at their rest.

I have my wondering at what the situation speaks for, concerning what little pieces Jack has told me of. I do know, from his words, that Captain Barbossa is much younger than he appears to be and is, as well, Henriette's father, though I admit the thought does disturb my sensibilities. I also know that Jack claims Captain Barbossa was once a good man and I can agree without further proof, having known him to possess some measure of both honor and decency in so far as a pirate is likely to own.

There is something else at work here between these two men, I fear. Offhandedly, I asked Mister Gibbs first thing this morning to tell me what he knows of the word matelot. He did turn rather red and dispute that he himself has never known anything of that nature. But, he was good enough to explain what the word matelot means, in its totality. I am quite surprised at Jack, I admit, and no little surprised at Captain Barbossa. It changes the nature of what occurred last night, I believe. Did our two captains share the bed for more than sleep? I find myself not a little ill at the thought. It makes my skin crawl, the idea of what Jack told me of matelots when combined with what Mister Gibbs has explained. If they shared the bed for more than sleep, then why would they have needed me to remove their weapons? Is this what pirates are, unable to trust one with whom they have shared that most intimate of acts?

If Captain Barbossa and Jack were once matelots, then their relationship was that of closest friends and very likely, dare I say it, lovers. I have, in these last years, believed that there was something lingering between Jack and Anamaria, and if Gibbs is correct, matelots often share the same woman, who need not be a harlot for sale. Mister Gibbs has said that he knew a pair of men, when he was a sailor for the Royal Navy, who did marry the same woman and shared the responsibility of sending home pay to their wife and their children. I find the thought intriguing, really, the idea of being married to two men who are as the best of friends. Was this what Anamaria had, with Jack and Captain Barbossa? If so, I do wish I could have but a day to speak with that woman pirate and ask her if it is true, what I have come to believe about our two captains.

If it is true, as I suspect it is, I feel a great swelling of grief for Jack. He was mutinied upon by his own heart and then, later, at Isla de Muerta, forced to kill that selfsame heart. I have no recourse but to believe that these two men may have been, in their past, more than simply friends or fellow pirates. Why else did Jack lay Captain Barbossa out on that horrid stone chest in the cavern as if to honor a fallen hero? I wonder if I could have done the same death to Will, if forced to the same moment of retribution? But, that is silly of me, isn't it? Will would never do such atrocities to me or my ship, if I did but currently have one.

It does make me curious about the man who has become Hector Barbossa. What was he like, that Jack could love him so, as matelots are said to love? What did he look like, when he was young like Will? Was he terribly handsome and fierce? Oh, that's silliness again. What chance is there that Captain Barbossa was the sailor and pirate that I have often read of, in those books I did read as a young girl? The stories of Barbossa do describe him as a tall, wickedly handsome man with the eyes of a witchling's son and the smile of a Dionysus.

Do I sound as if I have a bit of an infatuation? I do not suffer from such, but I do remember being quite fascinated by the stories of these two pirate captains, even as I did not tell Jack the whole truth of what I did read as a girl. I have read stories that talked of Captain Barbossa and his first mate, but the stories failed to say that it was Jack Sparrow. Those selfsame stories talked of Barbossa's first mate as being, from the description, a man who could surely have been an unnamed and unsung Bootstrap Bill Turner. The stories claimed that the captain and his first mate were an unstoppable team who seemed to be capable of reading one another's minds. I often thought it must be simple writer's license, to make those stories more exciting, but if the first mate was really Jack Sparrow, I know that they were more truthful than not.

Just as often, I read stories that talked of Captain Jack Sparrow and his own first mate who was possessed of a demonic fervor for bloodshed and mayhem but who was easily stayed by his captain's gentlemanly hand. Those stories were all from the same years. I must admit, now, that the writers must surely have gotten the identities incorrect, telling adventures that were happening to the same group of pirates on the same ship. Captain Barbossa had a ship and Jack was his first mate, they sailed together as pirates before the Black Pearl, and they were matelots, declared to be so by Henry Morgan himself.

Does it hurt Jack to be forced to endure the betrayer's presence on his ship, knowing that their love is destroyed and never renewed? Does Jack long for a new chance? I cannot think he would, after all that has happened to him. I do wish I dared to ask Captain Barbossa for his opinion on the matter, but I know what such boldness would earn me. I am not intent on being confined to my cabinet or being the cause of tension among the crew as the captains continue to circle each other in hostility.

***

Year Thirty-two

Oh Bugger

He was suffocating under the weight of the sea. He'd fallen overboard and failed to surface, going down and down and down and down and down and down, until there was no more air and only a flickering white shadow of light that moved and offered and flashed at him in that place where he fell, down to the crushing dark. The sea whispered breathily at him, sighing in a way that was almost a song in itself. 'Jack...Jack, me lad...'

Something in that soaked into his mind and he realized that the sea sounded like Hector.

He hit the surface and found that he was still being crushed. But, the sun was peeking, dappling through the leaded windows at the stern of the ship. His ship. Her deep voice was one that he'd know anywhere. He wasn't alone, however, in his bed---he was laying on his belly, face turned to the side, and someone was sprawled on top of him. Snoring.

The snore was familiar, as was the whispering breath.

Jack groaned to himself, cursing as he found he was well and properly stuck. "Oh, bugger."

Struggling, he managed to push his elbow back and up into the ribs that were exposed; Barbossa snorted, mumbling under the surface of sleep, and then slid both arms down and around him. One arm was under his neck and the other was around his ribs, holding him close. That was worse, to his mind. Well and truly pinned down, as surely as a man chained up. All he could do, from this position, was watch the sunlight as it played on the table and the rugs. Hector's pet monkey sat on the table with cocked head, watching him with intense interest. He whispered at the wee beastie. "I'll have you gutted for chum, mate...t'is your fault I'm here with him. I'll not be forgetting."

Under him, his prick was hard. He needed to pizzle and yet it was more than such a mundane, profane act. He was hard. Harder than he'd been last night, when listening to Hector talk. He had a behemoth laying on him, holding his body down, and Barbossa's breath was ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. He'd thought he might have forgotten what this felt like, but no. Closing his eyes, he sighed with a fresh mutter; his voice cracked a bit. "Bloody familiar, this. Thinks I'm his blasted poppet, no doubt."

No other thing for it, then. He'd have to force his old matelot to give up. Wriggling, he managed to reach back with his free hand; twisting it between their hips, he tweaked Barbossa's ballocks---and realized that the other man was sporting a hardness of his own. Before he could pull the offending hand out, the arm holding his ribs shifted and strong fingers slid to catch his. He bit off a squeak of dismay. But, then, Hector's hand held his in place and began to rub in slow, dreamy spasms---Jack felt the sweat break out on him, in all the secret places. There came a tooting noise; his old matelot farted and a foul stench swelled up to overtake him like a noxious wave. Pickled eggs and ham---the remains of dinner, it seemed.

�Uhhhg---� Jack gagged and shifted his face to bury it into the pillow beneath his head.

As he coughed and tried to find a way to breathe through feathers and flax, he felt it. A gentle kiss, on the place where his jaw and his ear met. Stubble brushed his nape and he froze, stopping all movement. Hector whispered, slurring, very much half-conscious or perhaps even completely asleep. "Jack...mmmph, leave off, boy, an' let me sleep...I'll bugger ye again later, aye?"

Jack rolled his eyes and turned to brave the stench of Barbossa's gassy release. He spoke a bit louder, intending to make himself understood this time. "Hector, mate, I'll be forced to kill you for this. I'm not your lad anymore." He began to work sideways, pushing to get out from under the large, heavy, deadweight body. It was a fight for survival, at that. "It's been...fourteen, uh, years...since, ugh...you had the...bloody hell, the right...fuh...to be so...you evil bastard...familiar...with my..." At last, he fell free of the bed and onto the deck with a thump, arms and legs askew. "Affects." He frowned, looking up at the bed and its occupant. "Or my affections, as it were."

With one arm dragging the floor near Jack's bare foot, Hector didn't move. But, as Jack watched, one blue-green eye slit to blurrily look in his direction. Barbossa's face was half-buried in the pillow now, almost lost beneath a sheaf of gingery-graying hair. Fuzzy drowse became slow concern and then curiosity and puzzlement. Hector was hoarse, breathing the words. "What're ye doin' in th' floor, lad?"

Jack scowled, pushing a hand up through his loose hair; his fingers tangled in dreadlocks and beads. "Well, I was sleeping in the bed until I was voted in as your squeeze-poppet. I take offense at being molested by a murdering pirate as what thinks I'm game for a tumble---am I making myself clear to you, mate?"

The scallywag blinked slowly and then let his eyes fall shut again, voice still low and growly with sleep. "Nay, no more�n usual. I take it, from yer babblin', I've assaulted yer personage an' while asleepin'."

"Aye, that'd be it." He swiped at his face and then scratched his stubbled throat.

It was a small---almost tender!---smile from Hector, who was obviously settling back in for more sleep. "I've nay lost me touch, then."

He reached up and poked at the other man, who only weakly swatted at him with the one, limp hand that dragged the rugs. Hector mumbled something at him about fire and damnation. Jack, nursing a grudge and his sore prick, looked carefully now at the man who'd betrayed him and then brought him back from the Locker for more than a Brethren Court. This was a man who wanted forgiveness from his hands. Nay, not forgiveness...never that. Just redemption.

In the early sunlight, he felt his annoyance melting away as he wondered at what he could see. Hector sleeping and at ease in his presence---even knowing that he, Jack, had a right to kill the dog again. The black, beaded scarf was off Barbossa's hair, laying under the stubbled jaw. The plait was loosened and Hector's long hair was laying lank and gleaming on the pillow in waves...falling against his cheek and throat and shoulder, even. With his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, in repose, his old matelot was at peace and it brought back another glimpse of the youth he'd once been.

Jack could only wonder at the prize they were after---the Fountain of Youth. Would it make Hector eternally young again? Would that make the other pirate as marvelous and fierce as he was, before? If so...maybe the accord that Barbossa had suggested was not such a bad thing. He could live with the idea, perhaps, of Hector---the Hector he remembered best, from when they were mates and friends and lovers---sailing the seas forever. That other Hector did deserve such a thing, aye?

His hardness wasn't fading. Climbing to his feet, he decided that something must be done. Upon casting a new glance around the cabin, he knew he'd rather not use the chamberpot...not while he needed another relief, too. To the head it was, then. Frowsy, he crossed the cabin and threw open the door, ignoring the sharp ache in his skull which made him think at first that he might've been shot by an inept sniper.

Ondeck, the sun was bright. He winced at the pain. Then, he saw that Elizabeth Turner nee Swann was at the helm. He waved offhandly at her, his half-hearted smile nothing more than a grimace. She smiled down at him in obvious bemusement. Jack stumbled down the stairs to the midship berth and gunner's deck and then down another set to the lower hold. He held on to a myriad of secured items as he went, ducking several suspended sacks and nets as he made his way to the rearmost part of the ship. There, in the crawl space where the top section of the rudder's bar passed into the ship---emptying at the waterline---was the head. It was a very small, cramped area and not one that he liked to use, but for privacy of this sort, it would work.

His guts twisted at the smell even as he jerked the door open, intending to take up residence for as little time as was necessary for a pizzle and some well-deserved self-abuse. What he wasn't prepared for was Henriette. Who was already there, seated on two boards nailed over the open hole. With breeches down around her ankles, she peered at him from behind a pair of tiny, silver spectacles perched on the tip of her tiny bump of a nose. She had another one of her cigarillos lit and the smoke of burning, rum-soaked tobacco filled the smallish, dim area. She looked up from the papers clutched in her hands---she was reading in the head.

She looked distinctly surprised, at first, but then the surprise turned to instant disgust as she reached out and grabbed the door, speaking around her cigarillo. "You can wait your goddamn turn, Jack."

The door slammed.

Jack bounced from one foot to the other, enduring the smell as he talked at the closed door. "I spoke with Hisself last night, at some length, and I�m of the thought that we want to offer you the position of physiker and chirurgion. If you'll take it."

There was a rustling around inside the head and then Henriette called back. "Aye? Is there a physiker's box, then?"

Jack scratched at his arse through his breeches, agonized at the wait. "There is, love, and a number of physiking books. Not that we've a powerful need for a physiker as of yet, but you know how these things go, aye? We've a need for your skill as a rigger, too. With two jobs, you'll be entitled to two pay-outs. Think you'll be wanting to stay on?"

The door opened with a squeak and Henriette stepped down; her cigarillo was clenched between her teeth and the papers were secured under one arm as she buttoned up her faded breeches on either side. Her short hair bounced at the end of her scarf as she forced the last button with a grunt, not looking up at him. "I might, at that, uncle. Am I to understand you need me help for the pox, then?"

He considered it, shifting, and then shrugged. "If we've the quicksilver, aye."

They switched places; he pushed in to the head and she into the small space that served as corridor. Henriette scoffed. "Do you think me such a fool as to use that useless poison?" She tilted her head to study him and then reached out to push him at the chest. "Give us me own space for a surgery and I'll clean it down. A few visits to the right islands and cities---the right apothecaries---and you'll have your physiker---til then, uncle, I'll be in the ratlines."

Jack closed the door on the head and fastened it with a bit of ragged cloth that hung there. He dropped his breeches and sat down to pizzle, relaxing. That done, he spit in his hand and massaged at his prick, which was quick to rise again. Aye, it wasn't just his bladder overfull, then. He really did need to spend some quality time alone with hisself, for relief's sake.

He began to pull at the insistent hardness, searching his mind and memory for something that would excite. But, after several exasperating and frantic moments, he realized that there was no wench or young, sweet lad---not even Will Turner or Elizabeth---whose face or body inspired enough lust for the job. Instead, he found himself beset upon by the image of Hector's vaguely smiling face, sleeping and at peace. He stopped a few times, trying to clear it from his mind, but at last, he found there was nothing else which worked.

He let it drive him, giving in. Even as he did so, Jack cringed internally at the idea of it all.

He wasn't supposed to be wanting Hector like this. Not anymore. Fourteen years apart should've been long enough to ruin whatever fine feelings he'd held, as a younger man. He wasn't so young anymore to go chasing after the stray, wicked bit of meaningless skirt---um, breeches. But, meaningless, nonetheless. What else could it be, by Neptune? He certainly didn't love Hector. Not anymore.

Jack sighed, chafing himself to a most unsatisfactory finish.

All that thinking.

A man couldn't enjoy himself, with all that thinking.

'Damn you, Hector.' He kept it silent. 'Damn your poxy, soulless monkey, too.'

***

After washing up for the morning and then receiving back his weapons from Elizabeth Turner, at Barbossa's side, he'd returned to the cabin. A platter of food was brought to him as he looked over a copy of his Articles. At his side sat his co-captain, far closer than he'd have wished. But, as co-captains, they had to present a solid and united front to the men---even as his head hurt at the logistics of the very idea.

They ate, discussing the contract they intended to offer Henriette De la Hoya.

Even though he was captain, and entitled to being a mean and tight-fisted bastard if he liked, he was arguing the case of a triple share to Hector in Henriette's absence; two shares for physiking and one share for a rigger�s work. When they ironed out the details between them, the lass would be called in to discuss the matter. As of yet, the argument was mild.

"What say ye we offer her two and a quarter share, rigger an' physiker." Barbossa scrawled some figures on a piece of parchment with an inked quill, working his way through the sliced apples at a slow but steady pace. "That means she'll receive th' same pay-out as Master Gibbs, it would."

"Mister Gibbs might take offense." He mused, chewing on a bite of only slightly moldy cheese. "He's a highly experienced sailor and, as our first mate and the closest thing we have to a quartermaster...he deserves his share. He might think it wrong if we gave Henriette the same pay. Favoritism and all."

"T'isn't favoritism." Argued Hector, with juice pooling at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, the other pirate stated his case. "I'm not suggestin' she deserves it, but if we keep to th' Articles---which I am---the physiker gets th' same pay as th' second mate on any ship."

"Aye." He frowned, studying the figures that Barbossa shoved at him with one broken-nailed hand. It did make sense. On most merchant ships, the physiker was often the second mate and the carpenter and, sometimes, the cook as well. "Well, mate, what about this, then---we give Henriette what a physiker would earn. We�ve not much of a need.�

Hector grunted his assent, using a knife to cut at the bread.

He watched his old matelot in silence for a few moment, from just over the edge of the scrap of parchment. Barbossa was cleanly dressed and the black-beaded scarf was back in place on his long hair---which was in a neat queue once again, barring the wavy tendrils that fell to either side of his face. Without the hat, it was easy to notice these differences and he marveled to himself.

He never had gotten an answer to his question at this very table, last night.

What was the reason for such a dramatic change, in Barbossa's appearance? Was it that, being alive, the man had regained all his sensibilities concerning the most basic of hygiene? Why, it looked as if Hector had even found his way to the quicklime and a rag, for his teeth did seem a bit cleaner than before. Jack had, over the course of breakfast and the negotiations, found himself staring, from time to time.

"Last piece. Yours?"

He glanced up from the parchment, lost in thought, to find that Hector was offering him the last slice of apple on the tip of his eating dirk. It was being offered with a half-smile that unnerved him. Jack shook his head and tapped at the parchment. "These figures, mate, suggest we'll be drawing profit, soon. You do intend to explain that to the lass, aye? No need to make her think we're sailing for swag in the immediate future. That'd be dishonest of us."

Barbossa shrugged, eating the slice straight from the dirk's edge. "We're pirates, Jack---what are we if not dishonest? Even wi' one o' our own."

"Yes, yes, of course. But, if you lie to this lass and she takes affront to the lie, Hector, she'll not be coddled by another lie." He pushed back his chair and stepped smartly to the cabin door, intending to call in the newest member of their crew. "Could be bloody, savvy?"

Once Henriette was there with them in the cabin, standing before the table, he read the Articles out loud for her sake. "Every man shall obey civil command---goes for women, too, aye? The Captain shall have three full shares in all prizes. The First Mate shall receive two and a quarter shares. The Masters shall all receive two shares. The Ship's Physiker shall receive, also, two shares. All others hale enough to work as they are bid, shall receive one full share. Since you will be doing two jobs, you�ll have two and a fourth. If any man---or woman---shall offer to run away or keep any secret from the Company, he---or she---shall be marooned with one bottle of powder, one bottle of water, one small pistol, and shot."

Here, he cast a dark look at Hector, who met his gaze with all the mildness of a lamb.

"That a man---or woman---shall strike another, whilst these Articles are in force, shall receive Moses' Law on the bare back. That's thirty-nine lashes. If a man---or woman---loses a limb in time of Engagement, shall receive a full share more than due to him---or her---as an able-bodied sailor. If at any time, you meet with a Prudent Woman, that man that offers to meddle with her, without her Consent, shall suffer Death."

Here, Henriette spoke up as he finished, laughter in her green eyes. Her mouth twisted up on one side in a smirk. "Aye, sir, but what of me? If I meet with a Prudent Woman and offer to meddle with her?"

It came to his mouth to suggest that he wouldn't mind seeing her try, for a lark.

But, steadying himself---this was a solemn thing they were about---Jack lifted his chin, pushing the Articles and quill across the table to lay before the young Creole menace. "If you meddle with a prisoner of female persuasion, lass, it would make you no different than Anamaria De la Hoya, and while I have my opinions on the matter, I would suggest that you resist any such urges. If we allow you to take liberties, the men will see that as free license with the same prisoner of female persuasion. That will lead to their deaths. So...unless you want to be responsible for the deaths of your crew-mates, you'll keep hands to yourself."

It was the mention of her mum that did it. To be compared to Anamaria was something horrid, to the brown-skinned lass; he knew it and used that to his advantage. Henriette raised a hand to scratch at her head through the fading black scarf she wore, and then nodded with no verifiable emotion to be seen in her young face. All the amusement was gone.

"Ye'll work as rigger when we've a need an' as physiker when we've a need for that." Hector Barbossa added, cleaning his fingernails with the same eating dirk he'd used at breakfast. "We'll be makin' berth for supplies soon enough. Ye can go ashore an' find what wee herbs an' bits ye need, then. Are we agreed?"

The lass took the quill up and signed her name at the bottom, agreeing to the terms.

Jack offered her his hand in welcome. She shook it, solemnly.

But, when his old matelot offered a handshake, Henriette looked the other pirate up and down for several long moments before accepting it.

"Welcome to th' crew, missy." Hector rumbled, low and throaty. It was a sure thing that Barbossa was waiting for some sour, ugly word from the newest member of their crew; the anticipation gleamed in those pale blue-green eyes.

But, Henriette gave nothing away of her disgust with the expression of her face or the tone of her words. She was downright honorable, shaking his co-captain's hand; her chin tipped up in pride and grim determination. "Thank you, Captain Barbossa."
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Whispers of Redemption