Title: Young But Growing Status: Originally posted as a WIP May 2002. Final Edition March 2004 Series: The Education of Jonathan Riley Book 12 [I think?] The story takes place immediately after Peace and Purgatory. Summary: Set in June 1802 and told from different character POVs, this story continues Jonathan's tale of life in the Royal Navy Disclaimers: Them majority of these characters are original. Occasional mention may be made of characters from the Hornblower universe who are not mine and are only visiting. Rating: R18+ Warnings: The usual! M/M M/F sex, violence, rape, blasphemy, bigotry and death, characters may be considered under aged by today's standards. The opinions stated by characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author. Feedback: Always appreciated. Notes: This story has been through several rewrites. Parts of the original plot line and subsequent ending were thought to be unrealistic and the characters actions and reactions out of character. For better or worse, I changed things, then had to change more and yet more as a domino effect was set in motion. I put the story away for almost a year and took it out again, only to find the same problems surfacing. At this point I feel there is little I can do to rectify the perceived 'flaws'. SO, I am posting it here, warts and all, including the original discarded which I will call the Alternate Ending. Now hopefully I will be able to move on to the next story in the series. JJ Young But Growing The Trees they do grow high, The leaves they do grow green. Many's the time my love I have seen. Many's the hour I've watched him all alone, He's young but he's daily growing. Part 1 Portsmouth June 1802 "I am sorry Mr Riley, but when I didn't hear from you I presumed you were not interested. I've given the Midshipman's position to another." Captain Robert Bell leaned back in his chair and flexed his big hands. He did not look unduly worried. "But Sir, surely we could take on one more Midshipman?" Peter Crittenden perched himself on one corner of Bell's desk and smiled. "After all they don't take up much room and Jonathan really misses the sea." "I already have one more Mid than I care to carry, Mr C," Bell interrupted. "I don't need another. If Mr Riley is so desperate for the sea then he can sign on as a rating." "Robert! You can't be serious?" The outburst earned Peter a stern look from his Captain. "I'd watch myself if I were you Mr Crittenden. You seem to forget who is in command here." Bell looked back to Jonathan. "And if I were YOU Mr Riley I would think seriously before I turned the offer down. We are about to embark on a long voyage and if anything should befall one of the Young Gentlemen I would naturally look to the crew for a replacement, I dare say you would be the best qualified. My offer is not as callous as it may seem." Jonathan took a deep breath as he considered his options. They were few. In peace time a ship-board posting was scarce even for a common sailor. Bell could find a dozen able men on the Portsmouth hard who would jump at the chance to sign aboard. Unemployed midshipmen were ten to a penny in London and Portsmouth. There really was no decision to make. "Thank you Sir. I'd be pleased to accept your offer." To one side, Peter Crittenden gave an audible sigh. Bell sat up, ignored his pouting Lieutenant and began shuffling papers around on his desk. "I am pleased that you see the sense of it Mr Riley." He turned to Peter who was still sitting jauntily on the desk, arms folded.  "Mr C will take you to our First and he will put you on the books. Good day!" The dismissal was unmistakable. Neither man spoke until they were on deck, then Peter said, "Jonathan I am so sorry. I had no idea the Captain had taken on somebody else. That was the first I heard of it." "It's not your fault Peter," Jonathan kept his voice low, conscious of the ratings working around them. "I should have written sooner. It's just that it took me some time to work out what to do and get things settled with the house." That much was true. It had taken Jonathan far longer than he had imagined to get his finances arranged with the bank and see Jerusha Tyler settled into his mother's house. But now was not the time to burden Peter with Jack Kerrison's infidelity and Jerusha's revelation. It would only add to the look of pity that was already growing in the green eyes. Jonathan had enough of pity. He was beginning to despise it. Peter stopped short of the climb to the quarterdeck. "Wait here, Jonathan. I'll have a word with Mr Macquarie." For a moment Jonathan stood stunned, not understanding, before the painful realisation that he was no longer welcome on the Quarterdeck struck him. He nodded, unable to speak as Peter gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "It won't be for long Jonathan. I AM sorry." With that Peter left. Around him the crew were busy loading stores and making last minute preparations for the forthcoming voyage. Jonathan didn't know these men. Although he had sailed with them for several weeks after his rescue, he had been too caught up in his own problems to take much notice of the crew. Now he would be one of them. It was a sobering thought. He looked at them, studying each man closely, trying to ascertain something of their characters and dispositions. They stared back, as ratings do when confronted by a new Midshipman; stared with something akin to defiance. It was a warning that let a young Mid know just how far he could push a man who had been at sea more years than he'd been alive. Jonathan dropped his eyes. He was a Mid no longer and very soon these men would find that out. He'd be one of them and they wouldn't take kindly to the fact he had been staring at them while they worked. Most likely he'd start at the very bottom of the pecking order too. He was not yet 17 and unless the First Lieutenant was willing to overlook his age and sign him on as Ordinary Seaman, then ship's boy second class was the best he could hope for. He took a deep breath and wondered if things could possibly get any worse. "Jonathan? Jonathan? Is that you? I didn't know we'd be sailing together again." The timid voice spun Jonathan round on his heels. Ned Grayson stood like an apparition in blue. The midshipman's jacket was finely tailored, the dress hat resplendent and new, the shoes polished until they shone like mirrors. But beneath the finery hid the ghost of the boy that Jonathan had once known. Ned's face was thin and drawn, his complexion pale, his hair hung limp in it's long queue. And his eyes, his innocent, laughing blue eyes that Jonathan so well remembered, looked dead. "What are you doing here?" Was it really Ned or some spirit conjured by Jonathan's own guilty conscience? A spirit, come to gloat at his singular form of punishment. If so then Jonathan deserved it, for surely he was as guilty as Jack Kerrison for what had befallen Ned Grayson. Slowly Ned's pale lips tightened into a timid smile. "I'm sailing on the Nightingale, but I didn't know you were. This will make it so much better Jonathan, having you here. You were always a good friend to me and..." "I'm not going to be here, Ned." Jonathan watched the light vanish again from the blue eyes as quickly as it had come. "At least not as a mid. I'm to be a common rating, nothing more." "But why?" There was no chance to explain for the First Officer climbed down from the quarterdeck and both boys snapped to attention. "Midshipman Edward Grayson reporting aboard, Sir." For a moment Jonathan almost replied the same way, but he caught himself just in time. "Riley, Jonathan Riley, Sir. Awaiting your orders, Sir." He stumbled over the words, not quite sure what to say. The Captain had said he had a position, but he didn't want to assume too much of the First Lieutenant until he knew the man better. Macquarie turned to Peter who hovered behind him. "Take Mr Grayson below to report to the Captain. I'll see to this fellow. Have Wiles bring me up the book and a pen." Peter shot Jonathan one final look before marching off, Ned Grayson in tow. Jonathan turned his attention to the First Lieutenant. Macquarie was of middle age, but a cut a fine figure, tall, strong, no hint of weakness or ineptitude showed. He was a man whose mere presence commanded respect. "So, our Captain has taken pity on you and agreed to take you on?" he growled out. "Yes Sir," Jonathan answered meekly. "Well don't think you'll be getting any favours because of what you once were. That's in the past now and you'd do well to remember it. You'll not be treated any differently from the rest of the crew, do I make myself clear?" "Yes, Sir," Jonathan replied again. A cabin servant, the man named Wiles, arrived with a large leather journal which Macquarie rested on the edge of the railing. In a quick hand he entered Jonathan's details. "Full name and age?" "Jonathan Riley...I'm almost 17." Macquarie snorted and wrote his age as sixteen, alongside it Ships Boy II. Starboard watch, and his stations for sail making and gunnery, completed the entry. �I trust you know where to go and have SOME idea of what to do?� �Yes Sir, I have been at sea for three years and I can...� �Yes yes yes, we will soon see what you can do and how well you can do it.� Macquarie looked Jonathan up and down and frowned. "Get out of that uniform and see Mr Purse, the purser, about an issue of slops. Then report to Mr Golding for orders. You are in his division. And remember, Riley. No special treatment regardless of WHOSE little favourite you are." Jonathan bristled at Macquarie's sneering insinuation. But he held his tongue and replied, "Aye Aye, sir," as he touched his forehead in salute. Favourite? Favourite? Surely Macquarie couldn't think he was one of Bell's boys? What had Peter told the First Lieutenant on the quarterdeck? That they were old shipmates? Friends from their days together as Mids? Jonathan sighed and looked around him. There was no time to worry about that now. Best find the purser and get out of these clothes. Part 2 �Turned you before the mast did he?� Purse the Purser asked as he looked Jonathan up and down as one would when buying a horse. He winked and continued, �That�ll teach yer to refuse him.� �It was nothing like that� Jonathan protested. On most ships, such accusations would be shocking, but it was obvious Captain Bell�s tastes were well known. As to whether the purser�s assumptions were true, that Bell was inclined towards the midshipmen as well as his second Lieutenant, remained to be seen. �There were simply no places in the cockpit and I was desperate for work." The purser nodded, although his eyes held a twinkle of disbelief. �Sure, sure, and if you really are that desperate then the Captain will have a place for you, don�t yer worry. He likes �em young and pretty.� Jonathan stepped back and straightened up. �What you are proposing Mr Purse is in contravention to Article 29 of the Articles of War...� �Bugger Article 29. The Captain certainly does! You�ll see for yourself once we�ve been at sea for a month.� �What�s that you are saying Purse? What will Mr Riley see for himself?� Peter Crittenden�s small neat figure appeared out of nowhere. �Nothin� Sir. Just saying what a fine ship the Nightingale is, Sir.� Purse bobbed his head in an attempt at subservience. �I�m sure.� Peter�s voice was dry. �Come along Mr Riley, I�ll show you where to stow your dunnage until it's needed again.� It was not to the hold that Peter took him, that place where most seamen stored their meagre possessions in shared chests stowed in the bowels of the ship. Rather, to Jonathan�s amazement, it was the gunroom and Peter�s own small cabin that was their destination. �I�ve had your sea chest brought down. Get changed and I will put your uniform away until you need it again. Your things will be safer here.� Jonathan looked around uncertainly. �But won�t Mr Macquarie object to me being here? He made sure I knew I wasn�t to expect any favours.� �Fuck Macquarie,� Peter said in his most polished tones. Jonathan smiled for what seemed to be the first time since coming aboard. �I�ll leave that to you Peter,� he replied. �He�s really not my type.� Peter answered with a smile of his own. �That�s the spirit Jonathan. Now get changed while I wait outside.� He paused before closing the screen. �That is unless you need me to give you a hand getting undressed.� His green eyes looked coyly out from under his fluttering lashes. �Peter you are incorrigible!� �My! Such big words Jonathan, however do you get them out of your mouth?� Peter blinked his long lashes one more time before pulling the screen across. The ships slops felt strange and unfamiliar as Jonathan pulled them on. They were looser than his uniform, the fabric coarse and rough against his skin. They didn�t fit well either and Jonathan bent to roll up the legs of his trousers before leaving the long remembered comfort of Peter�s tiny cabin. �Not bad, not bad,� Peter declared as he circled Jonathan surveying the result. �But I do prefer you in heels Jonathan. They really finish off an outfit, don�t you think?� �Oh Peter,� was all Jonathan could reply. �Now a word of advice.� Peter was suddenly very serious. �Under no circumstances should you let anyone, I repeat anyone, tar you pigtail! You would NEVER get that stuff out.� Peter planted his two small hands on his slim hips. �It would simply ruin your hair!� The ridiculousness of Peter�s advice and attempts at humour lifted Jonathan�s flagging spirits. He laughed, Peter joining in and they shared one final moment of mirth together. But as their laughter died away, the reality of the situation intruded once again. �I�d best go...Sir,� Jonathan said adopting the role he would follow from now on. �Ben Flower is waiting on the main deck. I have asked him to take you under his wing. Take care, Jonathan. I mean that sincerely.� Peter�s green eyes glistened. �I will, and thank you.� With that, Jonathan Riley left the gunroom and began his new life below decks. Part 3 �Both of them, can you believe it? Lord knows what old Ring-a-Ding-Ding has in mind for them; not that I care, of course. At least it will keep him off our arses. And there�s more...I�ve been waiting for you to come back aboard so I could tell you all about it.� William Golding sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the blue sleeve of his midshipman�s jacket. He was a grubby little individual, fourteen years old with few redeeming features. His nature belied his name, or at least that was the opinion of Nathaniel Hislop who was a seasoned sixteen and considered himself one step above his snivelling younger berthmate. �You say Riley has been made a ships boy?� Hislop asked. He suspected that this was just another of Golding�s far fetched stories designed to land him in trouble. But if it was true, then it was a bounty. Jonathan Riley would have been the senior midshipman had he been taken on. �Riley, Jonathan Riley? The one who saved the Nightingale from being blown apart by mutineers?� �Yes, yes, HIM! Only he�s not a hero now. You should have seen him flinch when I took the starter to him earlier,� Golding crowed. They entered the gloom of the cockpit where Nathaniel half expected to see the supposedly former Mr Riley reposing at the mess table. Instead another sight greeted him. �And here�s the other one, Grayson, just like I told you.� Golding was right in that much. Nathaniel recognised Ned Grayson with little difficulty. Although he was now dressed in a splendid new uniform, Grayson was still the pale thin boy who had haunted their berth for four weeks after his rescue. Grayson paused in the process of rummaging through his sea chest and turned his hollow eyes towards the two midshipmen. �I thought you�d be in Bedlam by now?� Golding offered by way of greeting. Grayson didn�t answer. �Golding,� Nathaniel nudged the younger mid with his elbow, but Golding ignored the warning. �Well it�s a wonder he�s not mad after what they did to him. We only heard half the story.� He sidled over to Grayson and sneered. �Didn�t we?�  Seating himself on the mess table, Golding continued. �But while I was home, my two uncles and grandfather were visiting and they are all Admirals, two yellow and one blue. THEY said the real story was hushed up because it was too horrible to be spoken about in polite company.� Golding turned to Hislop waiting for the older midshipman to beg for the answer to the mystery. But for once in his life, Nathaniel Hislop felt reluctant to join in the cockpit baiting of a newcomer. Perhaps it was the way Grayson had commenced to shake, his thin arms encircling his body in a pathetic attempt at comfort. Perhaps it was the way he started rocking, back and forth on his heals and making tiny little sounds like a distressed kitten. Or perhaps it was simply that he hated the vicious gleam in Golding�s eyes and the way he was smiling and gloating and taking such pleasure in taunting a boy who was obviously suffering already. �Golding...� Hislop began, but the younger mid laughed in triumph and delivered his final thrust. �They buggered him. The mutineers all buggered him. Kept him as their little whore and buggered him night and day!� Grayson wailed and slipped to the floor, eyes closed, shaking. Nathaniel crossed to where Golding sat laughing on the table and hit him a stinging blow across the ear with the flat of his palm. �You little bastard. Look at him! How could you do that?� �I�d rather be a bastard than a bugger!� Golding replied rubbing his ear. �And it was easy to do. Grayson is senior to me. I don�t want him here. I have had to put up with Ring-a-ding-ding Bell for years and it�s not fair that HE comes in here, easy as he pleases and pushes me to the bottom again. That�s the only reason Bell took him on anyway. I reckon he got a taste for it while those buggers had him and he�s offered his arse to the Captain. Besides I heard Bell and the Kitten had a falling out in London. My Uncle told my father that it was a real cat fight, shrieking and screaming and throwing things and...� �I think YOUR Uncle is a bugger too, seeing as how he knows so much about it!� Nathaniel shouted. Golding swung a grubby fist which Nathaniel easily ducked. He grabbed the younger boy�s arm and pulled it up behind his back. �Let me go!� wailed Golding as Hislop pushed him out of the berth. �Shut up you little fool. Do you want someone to come and find us fighting? Do you want them to see him like that?" Nathaniel indicated towards Grayson who was sobbing on the floor. Golding stopped struggling. Nathaniel continued, �If he IS someone�s favourite, then we are going to be in hot water if they know what you said.� Golding looked sullen and Nathaniel wanted to slap him again. �Best if we go up on deck.� Hislop cast a final glance over his shoulder at the crouching crying boy. �There is nothing we can do for him now.� Part 4 Ben Flower had changed little in the last six months. He was still small and wiry, timid and subservient. The topmost joints on several of his fingers were missing. "From the frostbite, Sir," Flower explained when he saw Jonathan staring. "The surgeon cut 'em off when they went bad. Never did heal up properly." The explanation was followed by a timid smile. "It would have been far worse Sir, but for you. You saved me life Mr Riley and I'll never forget it...AND yer saved me neck from hangin' and yer saved me from drowning...and I'll..." "Enough of this, Flower," Jonathan interrupted. "What I really need you to do is point out some of the other members of my division. I know no-one other than you and so I will need your help." Flower brightened. "OH yes Sir, anything you want Sir. They are good men, mostly and they'll give you no trouble. Come with me and I will introduce yer like. Yer'll be fine with me, Sir" Despite Ben Flower's best intentions, the boy proved to be more of a hazard than a help. His constant referring to 'Mr Riley' and 'Sir' as he introduced Jonathan around did little to endear Jonathan to the rest of the crew who either ignored him or dismissed him with a grunt. "You must call me Riley or Jonathan now Flower," Jonathan advised softly at the first opportunity. Flower looked horrified by the suggestion but nodded his head obediently. However he seemed almost unable to forget the ingrown convention and continued to err. On the whole, the men of the Nightingale were not unlike seamen everywhere. Dressed in ships slops, with long pigtails, weathered skin and an assortment of scars, their faces soon began to blur together and Jonathan wondered if he would ever remember who was who. Did the Officers in their blue uniforms and neatly dressed queues appear like that to the crew also? And would he be able to exchange one uniform for another? Jonathan's new clothes felt strange and uncomfortable and he noticed sly glances as he fidgeted with them. "Best hem up them trousers first chance you get," one old seaman advised. "Not only will yer break yer neck if yer feet get tangled in them in the rigging, but you'll earn yourself a floggin' for being untidy." "Oh yes, I will," Jonathan assured the man, whose name was Flemming. "Thank you." Flemming turned away muttering under his breath, something about doubting Jonathan's ability with a needle but that he probably had a better hand with his own prick, which brought a chorus of laughter from the others gathered around. Flower said, "Don't worry, they don't mean it, like. It's just their way with the new lads, Sir."  Jonathan wondered if he would have to hit the boy to make him drop the appellation. The change of watch came as a welcome relief. Jonathan was glad to leave Flower and report to Golding with the rest of his division. He felt confident that he could prove his worth to the other ratings and earn their respect. He had not counted on the animosity of Mr Midshipman William Golding. Golding was like a small bantam rooster, all noise and show as he strutted about the deck, striking here and there with his starter. The crew kept their eyes down working diligently in an attempt to escape the young officer's wrath. Jonathan was not so lucky. Although he had supervised the raising and securing of new sails before, he had never had to do the serious labour. It was hard work. Jonathan knew the mechanics and had even on occasion lent a hand but that was a far cry from working side by side with men who had been doing this for years. His inexperience showed and he soon became a target for Golding's viciousness. The first strike took him by surprise and he gasped, pausing to look around in astonishment. Golding was waiting and struck him again. "Get back to work you lazy bastard. How dare you glare at me like that! Once more and I will have you on report for insolence!" Jonathan did not need a second warning. He followed the example of the men around him and tried to avoid anything that would attract Golding's attention, but the young midshipman was always at the ready, waiting to pounce on Jonathan for the smallest mistake. By evening Jonathan's shoulders and back were aching from Golding's starter and he suspected he would find bruises should he have the luxury of a mirror and time for a look. When the watch changed again he was bustled below decks to join the men of his mess for a meagre supper. No one spoke to him, but they gave him fair share of the bowl of burgoo and made room for him at their table. Jonathan was too weary to attempt to make conversation so he kept his eyes down and sipped away at the gruel, nursing his hurts. His shoulders were not the only parts aching. The accumulated blows from the day had taken their toll. His sudden change in fortune from Midshipman to Ships Boy, coupled with the appearance of Ned Grayson and the accompanying guilt, and finally Golding's petty viciousness had dashed all the hopes he had held before coming aboard the Nightingale. Jonathan wondered where the winds of fate would blow him next. Jonathan was back on deck again for the second dog-watch. There was little work to be done but Golding gave him the unenviable task of cleaning the heads. Twilight was falling as Jonathan knelt with scrubbing brush in hand, fighting down his outrage. In all his life he had never had to do such degrading work. Golding was flexing his muscles, that was all, Jonathan told himself as he scrubbed away. He was putting Jonathan in his place. He would settle down in time and until then Jonathan had no option but to bite his tongue. To retaliate would draw punishment far worse than anything Golding and his starter could inflict. Every man aboard knew that. Nor was Golding the first Mid to abuse his position of authority. Jonathan had seen that gleam of delight in the eye of many a young mid when he came to realise the power that he held over seasoned seamen. It gave one a heady sense of importance; intoxicating but also deceiving. Jonathan's mind wandered back to his time on the Indefatigable. He remembered how Ned Grayson had looked the first time he had used a starter and saw a man flinch. He also remembered how Ned had let others take punishment for him by lying. In time Ned would have learned the right way to command by watching his seniors. But fate had intervened ensuring Ned would never forget the cost of his cruelty and dishonesty. Now, as horrible as it seemed, Jonathan could almost understand the hatred that Miller and his cronies had felt for Ned. His shoulders protested as he bent over the open hole, scrubbing in the near darkness, glad that he could not see the filth he was washing away. He dipped the brush into his bucket of sea water again and thought about how he would like to shove Golding's head down the hole and hold him there for a while. He'd shove the scrubbing brush up his arse too, just for good measure! A figure stumbled into the heads, startling Jonathan from his guilty musings. He jumped to his feet at the sight of the blue uniform, snapping to attention. Had Golding been watching him? But the figure that bent over the side vomiting was none other than Ned Grayson. He carried no lantern and clutched the railing with knuckles that shone white in the dim light. Seasick, Jonathan wondered? Unlikely since Ned had never been prone to that malady before. Drunk? Possibly but the inconsolable sobbing that now beset the slim figure suggested something much more serious. "Mr Grayson? ...Ned?" Jonathan approached the slumped figure, his voice low and unsure. Ned turned, startled by Jonathan's unexpected presence and sank to his knees. "Go away," he sobbed and wrapped his arms around his chest. "What's wrong Ned," Jonathan asked, disregarding the words. In the back of his mind, Jonathan feared he already knew. He'd witnessed Ned like this too many times before. "Everything," Ned blurted out. "You have no idea what it is like for me. Everywhere I go I see their stares and whispers. Is there no place where I may be allowed escape from it? I fled home because of it. My mother could not look at me without weeping and my father...my father...he could barely deign to be in the same room as me. He would not even look me in the eyes! �I thought it would be different once I was back at sea, but now I am surrounded by memories and reminders of...of ...of what happened as well! I can�t face another day of it. I may as well be dead!� "Ned," Jonathan began, but the young Midshipman surged to his feet and pushed past leaving Jonathan alone in the heads again. With a heavy heart Jonathan resumed his duties. He worked methodically, his earlier revulsion erased by more worrying concerns. He'd given little thought to Ned for the last six months, imagining that time at home would heal Ned's wounds and the past would be forgotten. But here was Ned Grayson like a ship lost in a storm, sails torn lose and no one at the helm. He was headed for disaster. What he needed was a safe harbour; somewhere to rest and repair himself and make ready for the next leg of his voyage through life. Jonathan closed his eyes and sighed. This was his fault as much as it was Jack's. Jack Kerrison might have been part of the deed but he had been acting on Jonathan's orders when the offence against Ned was committed. And now Jonathan was the only one left to atone for it, to pay the price and watch Ned Grayson slowly self destruct. Or was that to be his penance; to save Ned and somehow give him back the life that had been so cruelly stolen from him? Jonathan rested his head against the railings and wondered how much worse his life could become. "Idling again are you Riley?" William Golding's tenor tones drifted down from the forecastle. Jonathan looked up and could just make out the small figure of the midshipman in the shadow of the ship's forward lantern. He wondered how long Golding had been standing there and what he had overheard. "You are on report, Riley. Now finish that or you can stay up all night until you do." "Aye Aye Sir," Jonathan replied and bent to work once more. Part 5 It was half an hour into the first watch before Jonathan felt confident to quit the heads and seek his hammock below. Golding had retired at the end of the second dog watch but Jonathan had remained scrubbing and cleaning, a task which had also included the pool of vomit left by Ned Grayson. Now as he tiptoed his way through the maze of hammocks he became aware of noises and movements in the darkness. "Here, you. You the new lad?" "Yes," Jonathan answered the voice from the shadows. "Come here then, we want a word with you." "Who are you?" Jonathan asked, but the figure had moved away to a part of the deck that was in deepest shadow. Jonathan hesitated. It was dangerous to go skulking around the ship at night. Jack Kerrison had opened Jonathan's eyes to what took place at night elsewhere in the ship whilst midshipmen were tucked safely in their hammocks in the cockpit. There were darkened places onboard; the hold, the carpenters walk and a few shadowy corners on the forecastle, where men could avoid detection. They provided privacy for friends who wished to be alone with each other away from the prying eyes of their shipmates. But they were also the haunts of another breed, those who like to prey on the young and weak. Kerrison had said such places were best avoided, unless you were prepared to take your chances. Just who was this unknown seaman summoning him to follow, anyway? Jonathan didn't recognise the man, not one of his division. It was curiosity that finally won out and Jonathan followed, his heart racing, wondering where he was being led. Forward they went, but not far, merely to the end of the deck where the rows of hammocks stopped and the bulkheads drew together. It was a place used for storage... and other things. There were other men in the darkness here, just feet away from where their crew mates slept. These men were very much awake. "You want a friend?" the faceless voice asked. "You'll need someone to look out for you, and you could do worse than me, you know. I'm not like some of them. They'll take without asking." So that was it. Jonathan had been half expecting the offer but it was better to know the ones to watch out for and let them know you were not interested. "I'm sorry, no. I'm not interested," Jonathan answered, already turning to leave. A hand caught his arm. "Not so fast. You're new here and you don't know the ways. This ship ain't like others. You'll need someone, you will. Better me than Black Amos. He's got a prick a foot long, he has." "I told you NO." Jonathan replied, pulling away. "Now let me go or I shall report you." Several muffled guffaws greeted the remark. "Do you no good, lad. Like I said, this ship's not like others. The Cap'n won't listen. He's the biggest bugger aboard." Whispered agreement came from the shadows. "Well he will listen to ME!" Jonathan declared his voice rising. "Is that you Mr Riley?" It was Ben Flower's voice, faint and fearful. "Flower?" Jonathan asked in alarm. Surely the boy wasn't mixed up in this situation again? "Shit," someone muttered. "Let him go Harry. It must be true. He's the one who was the Mid. Ding-Dong's boy." "You little shit, you didn't say it was him." The words were followed by a gasp of pain. "I did, I told you Frank," Ben Flower pleaded. "Flower?" Jonathan asked again. "Where are you? Come here."  The hand holding him abruptly let go and Jonathan staggered in the darkness. "Mr Riley?" Flower again, close by his side. "You'd best go. They'll give yer no trouble, now that they know who you are." "Come with me." Jonathan grabbed at the shadowy figure of Flower. "You don't want to get mixed up with them." "Here, wait on, he's mine. Aren't yer Ben." Someone else had come to stand beside them, a solid looming figure blocking their path. Jonathan sensed the others moving closer. He hesitated. What Ben Flower chose to do in the darkness was none of his business. Or was it? At the most, Flower was sixteen, probably younger. Several times Jack Kerrison had said that the boy was too dim to say no or stand up for himself. He'd been a victim aboard the Indy and might be so again. Flower himself had said Kerrison looked after him. Without Jack's patronage, had Flower no choice but to find another minder? "Flower, Ben," Jonathan began, "Is this what you really want? You don't have to do this, you know. Jack Kerrison told you that." "This isn't the Indy Sir," Flower whispered. "No one's game to speak up here. It's best to find someone to look after yer. You'll be all right because the lads know yer'll be back on the quarterdeck soon, but it's different for the rest of us. The Cap'n won't do nothin' so we have to make out as best we can." Around him the men waited, faceless in the dark, biding their time. This was Bell's legacy to his ship, the dark side of his liberalism. For the first time, Jonathan understood why a captain could not put himself above the law. By condoning sodomy in his own cabin, Bell had left his crew with the skewed perception that he would condone it elsewhere and turn a blind eye to its unwilling victims. Even the rough justice that usually held sway below decks, where the ratings kept each other in check, had given way before the idea that Captain Bell would side with the sinners should any matter come before him. They were wrong about Captain Bell, Jonathan was almost certain. Neither the Captain, nor Peter Crittenden, probably had any idea of what was going on below decks. Jonathan made a vow to enlighten them. But now was not the time to announce his attention to go running to the Captain. If he crossed these men now, he might very well end up over the side and not be missed until morning. There WAS one thing he could do, however. "Ben Flower is MINE." Even to Jonathan the words sounded ludicrous. As his heart hammered he had the uncontrollable urge to laugh. "No one is to touch him. Do you understand? He's mine." There was shuffling around him, but no one spoke. "Now stand aside and let us pass." Jonathan could feel Ben Flower shivering in his grip. Slowly the wall of shadows parted and Jonathan headed for the more populated section of the deck dragging Flower along behind him. "You sure stood up to them, Mr Riley. I always said you's was a brave one." "Captain Bell would NOT allow this to go on, Flower. He would not."  Jonathan paused amongst the sway of hammocks trying to get his bearings. "It's rife on this ship Sir, far worse than the Indy. They say the Cap'n does it too and he doesn't care." "Well they are WRONG Flower." Jonathan snapped. "Do you understand? WRONG!" He found it unbelievable that all around him men could snore whilst scant feet away, the ships boys were terrorised. "Christ, where's my hammock? I'm number 96" "This way Sir," Flower pointed, his voice shaking. They found the space, the hammock still lying on the deck. Flower picked it up and quietly set to work. Jonathan watched. In the cockpit he had always had a servant do this for him. "Here, let me," he interrupted and finished off tying the knots. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. Flower was not his servant. "So do yer want me now, Sir?" Flower asked, his voice soft. "What?" Jonathan paused suddenly aware that some of the snoring around had ceased. They had woken some of the sleepers. "Do yer want me, like yer said?" It was almost too much. Jonathan groaned and rubbed his face. "Flower, I said that so as those men would leave you alone. I don't want you." "But yer said I was yours." "I'm just looking out for you like Jack used to, do you understand?" Jonathan swung into his hammock, setting those around him swinging. "Aye, but Jack used to like to..." "Will you two little bastards shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep." The request was accompanied by a choice string of profanity. "Go find your hammock and stay away from those men." Jonathan said. "I want you to give me their names tomorrow. Do you understand?" "Aye sir," Flower mumbled. He dawdled, feet shuffling as if wanting to say more. Jonathan sighed. "What is it now Flower?" The boy came over and leaned close. "I'm afraid. If I go to me hammock they might come for me. I think yer got them angry and Frank was counting on...er...he was wanting me to... Can I stay here with you?" Jonathan closed his eyes, wondering if the nightmare could become any worse. He was about to dismiss Flower's fears by saying the men would not dare it now, when someone from the hammock above whispered. "Let him in, lad." Jonathan recognised the voice. It was Flemming, one of the few seaman who had spoken to him earlier that day. "Tell Benny he can stay if he does your sewing tomorrow." Flemming laughed, but it was a kindly sound. "All right, Flower, but keep your hands to yourself. Do you understand?" "Aye, Mr Riley." Flower swung into the hammock and settled against his back. "And for God's sake, call me Jonathan!" he muttered. "I will if yer call me Ben, Sir," was Flower's muffled reply. Part 6 Peter Crittenden stood on the Quarterdeck quietly watching the crew. They seemed happy and some even sang as they worked. No doubt they considered themselves lucky not to be cast ashore like so many of their fellow tars now that the war with France was over.  Lucky, yes they were all lucky to be aboard the Nightingale, but some were luckier than others. Peter glanced upwards, his gaze drawn towards a familiar red haired figure climbing the ratlines with the rest of his division. Jonathan Riley. Familiar, yet strangely different now that he was dressed in ship's slops like the rest of the ratings. Ship�s Boy Jonathan Riley; Peter felt shamed by the words. Shamed because he had told Jonathan there was a place for him as midshipman. Shamed because Robert Bell had refused to honour Peter's word. Shamed, because Jonathan had meekly accepted the inferior position of a common rating; a decision that only confirmed the desperation of Jonathan's situation and his lack of options. For once Peter had been unable to help. "Mr C Sir, the Captain has requested you to report to him in his cabin, Sir." Peter tore his eyes away from the sunlight glinting off Jonathan's hair. "Thank you, Smith," he murmured as he walked towards the companionway. Perhaps Bell was finally going to explain his actions and apologise? And so he should, Peter mused. Bell could have taken Jonathan on if he had a mind to; plenty of Captains were happy to squeeze in an extra middy or three. Was it pay back for what had happened in London that had prompted Bell's refusal? Things between them had been strained since then, despite the fact they still shared the same bed. But how long that would last was anyone�s guess, for the arrival of the new first Lieutenant, Mr Macquarie, made things difficult. Discretion, Bell advised, yet he still welcomed Peter's company every night. Macquarie would have to be blind not to work out what they were doing. Peter had already noticed the looks and the raised eyebrows whenever he emerged from the captain�s cabin. He would have to speak to Bell about it before Macquarie took matters into his own hands. Corporal Ferguson, the ever faithful, ever fuckable marine sentry announced his arrival. Pater had shared a brief tryst with Ferguson, a pleasant payback for the marine turning a blind eye and allowing Jonathan one last visit with Kerrison.  Peter smiled at the red coated marine and tried not to imagine the glint of something more in the corner of the man's eyes. Despite the unselfishness of his reasons, his dalliance with Ferguson had been a mistake, one which Bell had thankfully overlooked. Peter considered the affair over, however the look in Ferguson�s eyes suggested that the big marine might not be of the same mind. Peter sighed; one more problem to worry about! He waited patiently for Bell�s summons. �Come!� With a smile and a swish of his hips, Peter entered Bell�s cabin. "Sir you wanted me?" Peter took up his favourite position on the corner of Bell�s big desk and watched the familiar flash appear the Captain�s eyes. Bell was so easy to play, not unlike a finely strung violin. You just had to have the right touch. "Yes Mr C. I have just finished reading our orders. We are to sail for Cape Town on the morrow and assist with the evacuation of the garrison there in preparation for handing the town over to the Dutch. However, as many believe that the Peace is tenuous at best we may be called upon to defend the town if war is declared once more.� Bell handed Peter the parchment. �Teneriffe, St Helena; that will make for a nice change.� Peter�s eyes quickly read the orders. �On to Cape Town, then escort the garrison to their new posting. Hmmm I wonder if it will be India? I have always wanted to see India. It sounds so...exotic!� Peter handed the orders back to Bell, his small hand pausing a moment too long atop the Captain�s big fingers. He smiled seductively. Bell withdrew his hand, breaking the mood. �How is Riley coming along?� Bell asked. The question was laden with suggestion. "I don't know. I haven�t spoken with him.� Since Jonathan had joined his division yesterday Peter had avoided him, hoping to allow him time to settle in. The last thing Jonathan needed was a show of favouritism. �Hmmmp. I thought you�d be there holding his hand and drying his tears. Has he found someone else to turn to for comfort already?� �I doubt it, Jonathan�s not like that." Peter dismissed Bells words with a flip of his wrist. "I tried to tell you so in London. He�s not loose with his affections...he�s more discerning. He was broken hearted when Kerrison hung and that business with Eversleigh and Cavanagh was a result of his grieving.� "Bwahhh! Do you take me for a fool? Word gets around you know. Your Mr Riley may be young but he's had a colourful past. Kerrison wasn't the first to breach his arse. I�ve heard the stories about him and a certain Lieutenant Kennedy and what they got up to on board a prize ship." Bell paused, his eyes narrowing. �Kennedy was a shipmate of yours aboard the Indefatigable, wasn�t he?� That was all Bell knew for Peter never discussed his past lovers. �It must have been a cosy little cockpit on board that ship!� Peter shrank back as Bell surged up from his chair and rounded the table. "Have you had Riley yet? Has he had you?" Bell snarled. "NO!" "Do you think I don't know the real reason you wanted me to take him on?" Bell shouted, his face red with anger as he hovered over Peter like a squall. "That business in London at Percy�s and you taking him home with you. You're like a bitch on heat when you are around him! Well you won�t be having him. If my friends aren�t good enough for you then a common rating won't be either. Do you understand?" "Yes," Peter whispered. So that was the real reason behind Bell�s refusal; jealousy. Peter licked his lips. He could cope with jealousy, in fact he could use it to his advantage. And Bell's anger would pass. Peter had seen it before. It rarely lasted long and there were ways he could appease the captain. Bell would forgive him, he always did. �Yes I understand, Robert,� Peter continued, his voice low, not from a desire to avoid being overheard, but for the effect it had on Bell. He laughed softly and looked up at Bell who was towering over him.  �But did you really imagine I could possibly be interested in a fumbling BOY such as Jonathan? You know I need a man who�s not afraid to take what he wants, when he wants it.�  Bell�s big hands on his shoulders pushed Peter backwards until he was lying across the desk. The Captain leaned over, his face close to Peter�s and whispered. �But only when it suits YOU Kitten, only when it suits your purpose. I see that now. Your tricks won�t work on me any longer!" Bell's eyes glowered as he loomed over Peter. "You think you can control me, get me to do whatever you want. Well you are wrong. I am the one in command here.� One large hand reached out to cup Peter's face, as the weight of Bell�s body pressed him down onto the desk. �You are mine, body and soul, Kitten and don�t you forget it. If you so much as look at Riley, or Ferguson or any other bugger on board this ship then that tattoo between your legs won�t be the only mark of possession I leave on you. Do you understand?� �Yes.� Peter replied, his voice shaking. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. The Captain had an aggressive side to him which was usually kept under strict control. But it was that hint of barely suppressed danger, that forceful domination that Peter glimpsed during their lovemaking that attracted him so much. Even now, despite his unease, Peter couldn�t hide his growing arousal. �Slut,� Bell smirked as he ran his hand along the growing length of Peter�s erection. Peter moaned. Bell bent down to deliver a bruising kiss. It left Peter gasping. Bell straightened up suddenly. "You'd better go, Macquarie's on the Quarterdeck right above us." He turned away leaving Peter to regain his composure. Peter adjusted his clothing and headed for the door, his face flushed from more than simple arousal. He needed fresh air and open spaces. One part of him was thrilled by the power that Bell held over him, but there was another side too. A side that felt ashamed and cheapened by his responses to Bell�s aggression. It had crept up on him slowly, this bout of self disgust. He�d tried to ignore it, telling himself that such fits of conscience had no place in a man like himself; that it was best to grab pleasure as and when the opportunities presented themselves. For nothing lasted forever in relationships between men. But lately he had been yearning for something more. As Peter stepped into the sunlight he unconsciously scanned the deck for a glimpse of pale red hair. And there he was, sitting near the bulwark under the stack of hammocks, resting with his new crewmates. Jonathan Riley. A warm glow spread through Peter like the fiery rush of brandy through ones blood. Peter knew that it was Jonathan who had made him see his life for what it was; shallow and decadent and meaningless. For in trying to save Jonathan from his own moral decline, Peter had realised that he too was victim to the same misguided ideas. Lust was no substitute for love. Squaring his shoulders, Peter shook back his hair and threw Robert Bell�s warning to the wind. What was it that Jack Kerrison had said just before they hanged him? �Some things are worth the risk� and Jonathan Riley certainly was! Part 7 �Riley, a word with you.� Peter Crittenden stopped in front of the group of crewmen resting in the shade of their hammocks and tried to sound nonchalant. A thin face and tired blue eyes looked up. A small smile grew on the red lips. "Aye Sir." The look was one of genuine delight. Peter looked away feigning indifference. �Follow me,� he said and led Jonathan to the forecastle where they found a quiet spot near the bow. "How is it going, Riley?" Peter asked, keeping up his fa�ade. "I'm surviving...Sir.� Jonathan replied, slipping into to the role of lowly crewman. "Has Golding been a giving you a hard time?" Peter asked softly. "He can be a spiteful little bastard at times." "Golding's not the main problem." Jonathan whispered. He looked around, making sure they could not be overheard. "There's a group below decks who prey on the ships boys."  Peter clicked his tongue. "Every ship has its sodomites Jonathan," he grinned and winked. Jonathan did not look amused. "It's more than that. They prey on the ships boys and anyone younger or weaker. No one is game to stand up to them or speak out because they fear the Captain won't listen and unless you have someone to look after you..." Suddenly the full meaning of Jonathan's words crystallised. "Jonathan...Has someone taken advantage..." Peter could hardly get the words out as images flashed through his mind. "No, no, I'm fine." Jonathan assured. "I was propositioned but I stood up to them. They backed down." Jonathan looked over his shoulder, checking for listeners, before continuing. "They know who I am, who I was. They'll leave me alone now. The problem is there are others, like Ben Flower, who are not so lucky. Something has to be done. You can't allow this sort of thing to go on." "Do you have the names of the offenders?" Peter asked. Jonathan nodded. "All right, I'll speak to Robert and we will work something out." God, Robert was going to be in a fine humour with me after this, Peter thought. "I'll make sure they don't give you any trouble." Jonathan smiled. �Thank you." Peter sighed and looked up into the foretop. �Now, about Golding. He's a bully. He likes to lord it over everyone beneath him. If he is too hard on you I�ll see you are moved to another division.� �I don�t want any special favours, Peter.� Jonathan whispered. "I'll be all right." Peter looked back and met Jonathan�s eyes. �It�s no trouble, we do it regularly if he becomes too obsessive.� Jonathan shook his head and frowned and Peter marvelled again at the way his brows were so much darker than the rest of his hair. They framed Jonathan�s blue eyes perfectly. He sighed and turned his attention back to what Jonathan was saying. "Please, it will look like special treatment to the rest of the crew. It would just make things harder for me." "Well all right, if you are sure you can manage, Jonathan." "I can, Peter." Jonathan smiled then looked around at the ratings who were sitting idly watching them. "I'd best go now before we raise too many eyebrows." Peter nodded, acknowledging the wisdom. He suspected they had already attracted the attention of most every man on the deck. �You�re right. And I promise I won�t make a habit of this. I just wanted to make sure that YOU were all right.� �Thank you ... Sir.� The words were formal again for the benefit of anyone who may overhear them. Peter alone was privy to the gleam of friendship in Jonathan�s blue eyes. He watched Jonathan walk away, aware once again of something stirring deep inside. It was impossible to ignore the feeling any longer. He loved Jonathan Riley. As he climbed down to the main deck, Peter remembered the nights Jonathan had shared his berth, crying in his arms, warm and hurt and alive. It would have been so easy to take him then. Easy and sweet and satisfying and wrong. Peter had resisted the temptation, content to offer Jonathan what he needed most, his friendship. Now that friendship was no longer enough. Peter wanted more. Yet the fates continued to keep them apart. Would there ever be a time when he and Jonathan could meet as equals, hale and whole without the ghosts of the past or the demons of the present undermining his dreams? Peter looked up to the sky and shook his head. "You don't play fair," he whispered to the heavens. Part 8 It was good to be at sea again. Good to feel the wind in your hair and the spray on your face. In the short time since they set sail, Jonathan had found his sea legs and his place amongst the crew. Few of them spoke to him, most ignored him. He had proved to them he was as capable as most of the other young lads in the crew, yet there was still an aura of distrust in their eyes.  Jonathan would have been very much alone if not for one person. Since that first night, Ben Flower had hardly left his side except when they were on duty. Now as they lazed on deck, Flower was beside him whittling away at something with his small knife. Although almost two years younger, Flower had proved to be a willing and able sailor, far more capable than Jonathan himself. Despite the loss of two toes and the top joints of several fingers to frostbite, there was no task that Flower could not turn his hand to. Jonathan had revised his opinion of Flower for when it came to skill and seamanship Flower was as able as a seasoned veteran. His duties reflected that status even if his rating of Ship's Boy did not. When they hung their hammocks at night Flower was still by Jonathan's side. No one seemed to mind that they shared the same hammock and Flower obviously took comfort in it. Yet it was at night that Jonathan felt most alone. While he lay amid the crowd of men, snoring and swinging in time with the tides, even Flower�s warm presence against his back could not chase the loneliness from his heart. Thoughts of Kerrison, thoughts of Archie, even thoughts of Honoria teased at his troubled mind. Sometimes he tried to imagine Peter asleep in his little cabin and remembered the times he had slept there too, warm and secure in Peter�s arms. But perhaps Peter now slept in the Captain�s bed, a thought that Jonathan found strangely disturbing. He didn�t like Bell despite the fact the Captain had been more than generous to him on several occasions and the thought of Peter tangled together with the big man sent a cold stab through his body. Jonathan leaned against the bulwark and watched the sun reflect off the calm sea as the Nightingale slowly sailed along. They were under full sail in hope of catching what little wind was about, but there was an air of indolence about the crew and the Officers as if everyone was content to let the Sabbath pass by quietly. It was their first Sunday at sea and Jonathan had watched both Peter and Ned as Captain Bell read the Articles of War and gave his sermon. In other times Jonathan would have been there with them. A bitterness rose in him, sharp and painful, as he cursed the circumstances that had led him to this situation. He had watched as the crew was dismissed and Captain Bell gathered his Officers and Midshipmen together to retired to his cabin for dinner. Watched Peter laughing and Hislop and Golding nudging each other out of the way to be the first down the companionway and remembered other times and other places when he had been a part of that privileged few. Jonathan turned away. Bell had ordered a double ration of grog for the crew and Jonathan had drank his down quickly. He found it helped to ease the dull ache in his heart and now, a scarce half hour later, he felt surprisingly happy watching the ocean sparkle and dance. Beside him, Ben Flower put down his knife and held up a little wooden mermaid that he had crafted. Catching Jonathan�s smile he answered it with one of his own. Then from the companionway leading to the gun deck came shouts and the sound of scuffling. Jonathan turned, his heart in his throat as memories of chaos on another deck came flooding back. But it was a loan figure that burst forth from the tangle and threw itself towards the bulwark. Jonathan had time to glimpse a blue jacket and fair hair flying before the figure tipped and fell overboard. �Ned!� Jonathan shouted and leapt onto the bulwark only to catch sight of a last flash of blonde hair disappearing into the depths as the Nightingale sailed on oblivious to her lost crewmember. �Man overboard,� someone shouted and threw a barrel into the brine. Without thought Jonathan dived, a clumsy attempt that resulted in him hitting the surface hard. He struggled for a moment, surprised by the impact and the shock of the cold water. Somewhere in his mind Kerrison�s teasing voice whispered to him, �Like a dog, Jonathan, move your arms and legs like a dog does� and the long forgotten lessons returned. He surfaced, coughing and spluttering then struck out for the barrel that floated nearby. He knew he would need it. Further away, a struggling figure in blue thrashed. Bringing to mind all of Kerrison's lessons, Jonathan swam towards the flailing Grayson. The young midshipman was struggling to stay afloat when Jonathan reached him. He grabbed his hair and hauled his head above the waves. �Let me go!� Ned spluttered and coughed and commenced to fight as if possessed by demons. Jonathan was but a fair swimmer and he was no match for the unwilling Grayson. He was forced to let Ned go in order to save himself from submersion. He waited, holding onto the barrel, until Grayson went under again then pulled him up once more. �Stop fighting me, Ned. I am trying to save you.� �I don�t want to be saved. Just let me die!� Grayson wailed and fought Jonathan�s grasp. Strange words, since Grayson seemed to be fighting to stay afloat before Jonathan's arrival. �Don�t be a fool Ned. You don�t mean that.� Surely Ned wasn't serious in his attempt to drown? They both went under as Grayson thrashed his arms and legs. Jonathan let him go. �Stop it Ned, this is foolish." Jonathan declared, grabbing him again. "We will both drown if you keep struggling.� �Then let me go! I WANT to die. Anything would be better than having to live like this night and day." Grayson was weakening now and Jonathan pulled him over to the barrel and held him there while his mind struggled for something with which to anchor Ned to life. But what was there? And was it really worth the effort? Perhaps Ned was right and death was an easy option when faced with nothing else. Minerva, his own mother, had known that and sought to escape the pain and heartache of living. In a way, perhaps Ned's plight was not so different to Jonathan�s? They had both lost everything in this world. Suddenly all of Jonathan�s hurt and anger and grief came flooding to the surface. Why should he worry and try to save Ned? He�d failed before and Jack was dead. He would go on failing; his whole LIFE would become one great failing. And yet he refused to give up. If only he could make Ned understand that life meant hope; hope to put the pain of loss behind you and find peace again. Ned looked up to him, that much was obvious. He'd helped to rescue Jonathan once before. Could Jonathan somehow turn that to his advantage? �Die then,� Jonathan shouted, shaking Ned to make him listen. �I think you are right. What is there to live for anyway? I don�t know...I might as well join you. I have nothing left to live for either. We may as well go together!� �What?� Ned blinked, water streaming down his face and into his eyes as the waves buffeted them up and down. �You heard me. I don�t have anything left that's worth living for. Do you think I like being penniless and without a position? Do you think the crew have welcomed me with open arms? They don�t trust me, and Golding and Hislop despise me. Everyone I have ever loved is either dead or has left me. I�m an orphan with no income and little hope for the future, so why should I even bother to try and find something to live for?� �But you are a hero." Ned wailed. "You saved me, you saved all of us.� �I didn�t save you Ned!" Jonathan shouted back. "It�s my fault you are here now. I was the one responsible. I gave Kerrison the order to do whatever he had to in order to set us free. It's my fault that he raped you!� In the stillness that followed that awful word seemed to resonate around them. Rape. Neither of them had ever spoken it before, had ever put a name to the terrible ordeal that Ned had suffered. Yet now it lay naked and exposed like a bone. Bleached and dried by the sun and the sea; brittle and hollow and waiting to snap. Jonathan let go his grip and drifted away from the barrel. �NO!� wailed Ned and he reached out towards Jonathan, not daring to let go his hold on the barrel. �No, don�t do it Jonathan, not you!� Jonathan relaxed, let the water take him, but stayed afloat waiting for Ned to make the next move. �It wasn�t your fault, Jonathan. I don't blame you. Come back here, please." Ned kicked his legs and propelled himself and the barrel towards where Jonathan floated. "You tried to stop them...I remember that. They hit you when you tried to stop them taking me. And afterwards you saved me again and you held me and... Please...I don�t want you to die too. You are the only one who cares about me. Take my hand." With deliberate intent Jonathan allowed himself to submerge. He held his breath, knowing Ned could not swim and that any attempt the younger man made to save him would be meagre at best. And despite his words Jonathan had no intention of dying. Suddenly hands clutched at him, arms wrapped around him and legs began to thrash the water. Jonathan opened his eyes and in the blue green maw he saw Ned fighting and struggling to bring him to the surface. Jonathan kicked his legs and they surfaced, coughing and spluttering together. Grayson grabbed him in desperation and held on. �Please don�t let me go, Jonathan. I don�t want you to die and I don�t want to die either. Not now.� �Then stop struggling," Jonathan gasped as he searched for the barrel, their only hope of staying afloat. "Just relax, your body will float if you just relax. Trust me.� It was a lot to ask, but Grayson did as he was directed. Once safely holding the barrel again, Ned asked, �Will they come back for us?� �Yes, yes they will.� Of that much Jonathan was certain. Peter Crittenden would not abandon him. Peter would come even if he had to launch and row the jolly boat himself. He scanned the waves and spotted the Nightingale already turning. �It will take a little time to turn her with all the sails set, that's all. They may have already launched one of the boats.� "This is all my fault, I'm so sorry Jonathan." Ned sniffled and was soon crying quietly to himself. His wet clothes and shoes were weighting him down and he was finding it hard to stay afloat despite his grip on the barrel. �Take off your jacket and your shoes," Jonathan suggested when he saw Ned struggling. "But I am cold." Ned's lips were quite blue. From the depths of Jonathan's memory came tales he had heard from the older hands. 'If a man can stay afloat, then his only danger is the cold seeping into his bones or the jaws of some great fish.' He became aware of his own chilled state. The course cotton slops provided little protections from the elements. "They will be here soon, Ned. It won't be for long. Now take off what you can and keep a grip in the barrel." Ned shrugged off his coat and vest and watched them drift away. As they floated side by side, one hand each keeping them anchored to their sanctuary, Ned asked, �Who taught you to swim?� �Jack. Jack Kerrison taught me.� Jonathan replied, his teeth chattering. They both fell silent as the irony sank in. In a way Kerrison had saved them both today. But could that in any way make up for what the Master�s Mate had done to Ned? �He...Kerrison...� Ned began, his voice barely audible over the lap of the waves. �He took care of me afterwards. The others just left but he stayed and saw to me and had me taken back to the store room. The last thing he said to me was �Tell Jonathan�, but I didn�t know what he meant. I thought he meant about Lionel, but I am not sure, he may have said more, I...I can�t remember.�  Ned�s voice cracked and he sobbed. �They...they...they hurt me so much.� Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to master the shivering that suddenly seized him. He wondered as to the cause, the chill in his body or in his heart. Part 9 "Pull them in and be quick about it. Here, get that blanket around Mr Grayson. Quickly now!" Nathaniel Hislop had witnessed it all. He'd been seated next to Ned Grayson at the Captain's table anticipating a dinner long dreamed of, when his fellow midshipman had sprung up and bolted for the door without so much as a 'by-your-leave, Sir'. Nathaniel had followed not because he expected Captain Bell to order him to do so, but because he was just plain curious. He'd struggled with Grayson on the companionway, trying to subdue the agitated midshipman. Grayson had fought him like a man possessed and bolted away again. He'd been scant feet behind when Grayson had reached the bulwark; had tried to catch the youth as Ned half climbed, half fell over the wooden rail. He'd watched him struggle in the water; watched as another dived in and only then realised the rescuer was Jonathan Riley. When the order came for the cutter to be lowered, Nathaniel was ready to volunteer. He'd doubted they would find the two young men alive since few seamen could swim and had been surprised to see them clinging, cold and shivering, to a barrel. Now, as he steadied the tiller and gave the order for the men to take up the oars again, he wanted answers. Ned Grayson crouched in the bottom of the boat, shivering and blubbering, making no sense whatever. But Riley knew, knew something, for he sat beside Grayson, one arm protectively tucked around him in a manner that no ordinary rating would dare. "Riley," Nathaniel began his reprimand, but hesitated as Riley looked up. For one brief moment their eyes met. Riley's eyes, so frank, so readable, dared him to say something. He pulled Grayson closer to him, protectively shielding Grayson from prying eyes. He covered Grayson's shaking hands with one of his own. Nathaniel shrugged off his jacket and held it out. "Here, this might help to keep you both warm." "Thank you Sir." Riley's voice shook. They had been shipmates, those two, and had shared whatever fate had unhinged Grayson. But Riley had survived it with no visible scars and had appointed himself Grayson's carer after the ordeal. It was a role he still shouldered, Nathaniel thought to himself. Riley was the one with the answers. He knew the truth. Once on board, Captain Bell ordered Riley and Grayson to the sickbay. "Go with them Mr Hislop," Bell continued. "Then report to me in my cabin. I want the surgeons report and I want to know what happened!" "Aye aye, Sir," Nathaniel replied before following the wet trail left by the two young men. He could hear Grayson protesting as he came down the companion way. "Mr Grayson yer must take off those wet clothes and let me rub yer down," Pike, the surgeon's mate was saying. He held Grayson in something akin to a wrestling hold. "You'll catch yer bloody death like that." Grayson was screaming. The surgeon, Mr Dawson declared, "Here, dose him with this, it will keep him quiet. The boy's hysterical." Dawson offered a bottle to Pike with a spoon. "No!" The interruption came from the other side of the small cabin. Jonathan Riley, naked but for a blanket wrapped around his shoulders pushed forward. "Leave him be. I'll take care of him." "You," Dawson said pointing his finger, "will get back over there, drink that rum and keep quiet. This is MY sick bay, and I will treat my patients as I see fit." He turned to Pike. "Dose him with the laudanum, Pike. I have had enough of his screaming." It was no contest. Pike was bigger and stronger and he easily poured a good dose of the sweet smelling liquid down Grayson's throat. The midshipman's struggles grew weaker. As Pike and Dawson attended to the now calm Grayson, Nathaniel Hislop made his way over to where Jonathan Riley leaned against the bulkhead, sipping rum. He was shivering. "He tried to kill himself, didn't he." Riley stared but said nothing. "He tried to kill himself because of what they did. It's true, isn't it...the rumours and such." Very slowly, Riley nodded. "Yes, it's true. But Ned didn't try to kill himself. It was...an accident." "I was in the cabin with him when he snapped. He just got up and ran like all the demons in hell were on his tail." Slowly it all began to make sense. "That's where it happened...wasn't it. In the Captain's cabin...that's why he could not bear to sit there?" "Yes," Riley confessed softly. "Were you there too... did they... " "No, it was just Ned, they took him away. I couldn't stop them." Riley tried to stifle what sounded like a sob. "Will he be all right?" Nathaniel asked, nodding towards the now naked Grayson who was lying in a hanging cot swathed in blankets. "Do you care?" Riley threw back, suddenly defensive. Nathaniel shrugged. "Well I care!" Riley snapped. "He's my friend. I was the one in command...and it's my fault and I intend to...to..." Riley shuddered, tears slipping down his face as he fought for control. "I am going to make sure he is all right...see that he gets better. That's what I am going to do." "You are hardly in a position to do that at the moment." Nathaniel didn't intend for the words to sound so negative. He was merely stating the obvious. Riley turned then and Nathaniel was caught by those striking blue eyes. "No I am not, but you could help me. YOU could keep an eye on him when I am not around, see that he doesn't brood, keep him busy so that he doesn't have time to think." And keep Golding off his back, Nathaniel added mentally. He stared at Riley. "I'll think about it. I am supposed to report to Captain Bell and tell him what happened." They stood in silence a moment, Jonathan sipping the rum, Nathaniel watching Grayson who moaned in his sleep, fighting again whatever demons pursued him. "The Captain will put Ned ashore if he thinks he is...mad." Riley finally whispered. "And isn't that what he is?" "No, he's not. He just needs someone to...help him...he needs time to..." "He tried to kill himself." The words sounded loud in the small cabin. This time Riley didn't reply. "Perhaps you should have done him a favour," Nathaniel concluded, "And let him drown." Part 10 "And the surgeon says they will both be fine. He's dosed them with rum and has given Mr Grayson some laudanum to calm his nerves." Nathaniel Hislop stood to attention, one leg shaking nervously. Robert Bell let him fidget for a moment before continuing. "And what caused Mr Grayson to depart my cabin in such haste, forgetting his manners and his hat and then to throw himself overboard resulting in the loss of valuable time and manpower while we had to turn around and locate him?" Hislop swallowed, his face paling. "I think he...choked on something Sir. Something in the soup perhaps?" Hislop bit his lip then plunged into the story. "He'd taken a spoonful just before he gasped and jumped up. I followed him, thinking to slap him on the back. He ran to the bulwark...I think he was going to be sick, then the ship heaved, flung him against the rail and... he toppled over." "And that's it...that's what happened?" Bell stood and leaned over his desk towards the cowering Midshipman. He knew full well the effect his size had on anyone smaller and used it to his advantage. "Yee-ssess Sir." Hislop stuttered. Well, this was a turn-a-round, indeed. Bell studied the young midshipman intently. Pimply of face, lank of hair; he was a rather unremarkable looking young man. Despite the new blue coat was which was surprisingly well-fitting and a shirt of a good quality but serviceable cloth, Hislop's family were by now means wealthy. Bell had taken him on as settlement for a debt he owed Hislop's father, Bell's tailor. And so whilst his clothes might be more than someone of his station could usually afford, Hislop's manner and bearing still displayed his lowly origins. Hislop knew it and Golding knew it; Golding who could claim ancestry back to the Conqueror, a fact that he never let anyone forget. There had been discord in the cockpit since Hislop and Golding had first come aboard over two years ago and Bell had despaired that it would ever change. But here was Mr Midshipman Hislop, for the first time in his sixteen years, showing allegiance to a fellow Mid. Usually he and Golding couldn't wait to blame each other for whatever infraction was being investigated. And covering for a newcomer too, someone who came from the same social strata as Golding and who had hardly made a name for himself in the week he had been aboard. What an interesting state of affairs. Bell sniffed, "Very well Mr Hislop, you are dismissed. Report to Mr Macquarie on the quarterdeck and inform him Grayson and Riley are with the surgeon and will be missing from their Watch." Hislop scrambled for the door. Bell sat down in his chair and turned to the other figure who waited silently by his desk. He smiled, "So Kitten, do you think he's telling the truth?" Peter Crittenden slid himself onto the desk and leaned on one elbow. "What do you think Robert?" His green eyes flashed, dark lashes fluttering. Bell reached out and ran his thumb along the tempting lips that smiled at him. "You know damn well what I think!" his voice was low, serious. "Ned Grayson should be locked up. He's a danger to himself and the whole ship. He's like a cannon with a short fuse, waiting to explode." A small red tongue came out and licked at Bell's thumb. "Put him ashore then. He's not our problem." Bell cupped Peter's face, tangling his big fingers in the thick back hair. "I can't. Grayson's father paid me well to take him aboard. He's promised more if I keep him with me. The bastard knew the boy would be trouble." "Well, you'll have to keep him then." Crittenden sighed, rubbing his face against Bell's hand. "I could have someone watch him for you." Bell stiffened. "I think someone has already seen to that." Something flicked quickly through Peter's green eyes but Bell knew how to read them now and did not fail to recognise what it meant. "Yes Puss, your Mr Riley has somehow managed to get Hislop on his side. I dare say they have concocted a lovely little intrigue to keep Grayson safe." "It's not surprising really..." Peter stretched and slid around to face Bell. "Hislop is young. He's led a sheltered life. Tales of rape are something with which the older Mids frighten the youngsters but they never expect to meet it or see the results of it in their own berth." Peter ran his tongue along his lips making them glisten. "Hislop probably feels sorry for Grayson, as alien as that emotion may be to him." "You're probably right," Bell whispered, before leaning in and kissing Peter's lips. They parted easily under his own. Bell pulled Crittenden closer until he tumbled into his lap. "But damn the boy for interrupting my dinner," Bell murmured as he slid his tongue along one shell-like ear. "Surely he didn't think I was going to bugger him at the table?" Peter wrapped his arms around Bells neck and squirmed in his lap. "It happened in the Captain's Cabin. It's amazing that he even managed to sit down in here before fleeing." "I suppose so," Bell murmured, pulling Crittenden closer against him. "I want you, Kitten" he whispered pushing his erection at Crittenden's stomach. "Robert, there is another matter I need to discuss with you, first." The voice was hesitant, quite unlike Crittenden's usual tone. Peter seldom said no. Robert straightened up and looked at his lieutenant sitting astride his thighs. "Let me guess, you want to go and see how Riley is?" Peter shook his head. "No, I...spoke to Jonathan a couple of days ago." He held up one slim hand to halt Bell's protests. "I know you warned me not to, but I had to make sure that Golding wasn't up to his usual tricks. You know what a little shit he can be." "Yes yes..." "Except it wasn't Golding who was troubling Jonathan." Peter stopped, licked his lips nervously. Bell felt the flutter of warm breath on his face. "It seems there is a group below decks using the boys, forcing them to submit. None of the crew will stand up to them because..." He hesitated again, looking away. "Because they think you would condone their actions seeing as how you and I..." "How long has this been gong on?" Bell exploded. "I have no idea." Bell stood up suddenly, tumbling Crittenden out of his lap. "I should have known this was too good to be true." He paced to the stern window then swung back sharply and pointed at Crittenden. "I never had these problems before YOU came aboard. I never got involved whilst at sea and I always managed to be discreet in my dealings when ashore." Peter turned away and walked to the door. "Well if it makes you feel better to blame ME Robert, then go ahead. But something has to be done about it." Bell crossed the cabin quickly, caught Peter and spun him around. "A man can only take so much! YOU made me lose my head, prancing and wiggling your arse in my face." Green eyes, fiery and flashing looked up in defiance. "Really? I have that much power over you, that you can't say no?" "Damn you," Bell cursed before he kissed Crittenden; a kiss so fierce that afterwards Bell could taste blood in his mouth. Peter licked his bruised lips before saying, "I seem to recall that you said something about needing respite from the burdens of command, that you valued having someone with whom to discuss and share your problems. You said it made it easier for you to be a good Captain, if you had someone like that to turn to from time to time." Bell looked away. Peter was right. He had proved his worth in more ways then one. If only Crittenden didn't have such an effect on him. At times Bell could barely contain his lust for his junior lieutenant. At times he wanted to throw all caution to the wind and take him, then and there, regardless of the risk. He'd done it too, embarked on a relationship with one of his officers, something he had sworn never to do. And now his lack of self control had come to this. The crew, HIS crew, misjudged his tolerance and suspected him of having no regard for their well being. It had to stop. Peter was standing, waiting; as desirable now as he had been that first night when he had captured Bell's soul. "Puss," Bell whispered, "I'm sorry." He brushed Crittenden's cheek sadly. "This has to end, there's no other way. I can't let the crew suffer and we'll both hang if we keep going." Peter Crittenden nodded, eyes unreadable. "I understand." Suddenly he smiled wickedly, his red lips quivering. "But let us have just one more night so that we may say goodbye properly. Please." Dark lashes blinking, small tongue teasing lips. Bell relented. "All right, tonight then. Now go." Peter turned, walked to the door. His hand was on the knob when Bell spoke again. "Oh and you might want to go and check on your young Mr Riley." Peter turned back, surprised. "Just to make sure he is all right." Bell added with a cold smile. Part 11 Jonathan was curled up in one of the infirmary cots wearing nothing but a bundle of blankets when Peter Crittenden ventured down into the gloom. In another cot Ned Grayson lay like a dead man, pale and silent in his laudanum induced slumber. "Playing the hero again Jonathan?" Peter asked gently as he came to stand by Jonathan's side. Jonathan's eyes were red and his cheeks were wet. His breath smelt strongly of rum. He sniffed before answering. "No. I'm no hero." The words were slurred and Jonathan's eyes blinked. He was either drunk or Dawson had given him a dose of laudanum too. Peter reached out and wiped away a stray tear. "Are you all right? Did Dawson give you something?" Jonathan nodded. "Just rum, I think. Straight and on an empty stomach. It's gone to my head. He told me to sleep it off." "Sound advice. You're not fit for duty at the moment." Peter smoothed the blankets around Jonathan's sides, tucking and folding. "What's going to happen to Ned?" Jonathan's voice was full of anguish. "Ned's all right now. You don't have to worry." Peter whispered. "But the Captain... what did Hislop say?" So Jonathan knew the truth about Ned's actions too. It was hardly surprising, Peter mused, but he wondered if Jonathan had prior warning of Ned's state of mind or if the young midshipman's actions had surprised him too. "Robert won't turn Ned out." Peter began as relief flooded Jonathan's eyes. "I understand that a fair amount of money changed hands in gaining Grayson the position. It seems his father was willing to go to any ends to get the boy out of his house and away from London. Robert is making a tidy sum from the deal.� "It's my fault...I knew he...was unsettled." Jonathan sniffed and continued with his self accusation. "One night, while I was cleaning the heads, he came in, in a dreadful state. He said some things...I should have told someone, then. And he's so thin and pale...I should have realised, I should have done something." Peter stroked the damp red curls pushing them back from Jonathan's brow. �Grayson�s not the only one looking thin and pale, Jonathan." Peter replied. "Have you looked at yourself these past few months?� Jonathan twisted away from the delicate fingers. "I'm all right, Peter." He retorted. "It's NED that I am worried about." Jonathan was becoming agitated. With a sigh Peter said "You can't take responsibility for every lost soul, you know." "Someone has too. If no one helps him, then Ned WILL find a way to kill himself and it will be all my fault." Again...Peter could almost hear the unspoken word. Jonathan already felt responsible for Jack Kerrison's death, already carried the weight of his inability to save the man he loved. And given what had happened in London and Jonathan's depressed state of mind and self destructive behaviour, it wasn't really surprising that he was taking on another burden of guilt. What was surprising, Peter mused, was that Jonathan himself hadn't succumbed to the same suicidal streak that had taken hold in Ned Grayson. And he won't, Peter vowed silently, not if I can prevent it. "Ned Grayson will be kept under a close watch. Both Robert and I know what's troubling him and I am sure Mr Macquarie will be discreetly informed." Peter smiled and flipped his hand nonchalantly, trying to lift Jonathan's spirits. "And from the look of things, Ned has found himself a new champion in the unexpected form of Mr Midshipman Nathaniel Hislop. Although for the life of me I can't begin to guess what could have caused the boy to suddenly grow a conscience. Miracles never cease!" A small smile grew on Jonathan's lips and spread until it was reflected in his blue eyes. "Trust me Jonathan, no one wants to see Ned Grayson exit this world. Now get some rest while you can. You'll be back on duty before you know it." Part 12. "What a shame the little bugger didn't do it properly! I mean, how hard IS it to drown yourself?" William Golding stuffed another piece of fruit cake into his mouth, dipped his spoon into the jar of apricot jam, scooped out a small mound of the stuff and attempted to swallow that also. The resulting mess left around his lips was wiped haphazardly on the sleeve of his uniform. "The Captain 'ill lock 'im up anyways." Golding slurred as his tongue attempted to wash the final remains of cake and jam from his chin. "And put him ashore, bound for Bedlam. That's where he belongs!" Slowly and quietly Nathaniel Hislop spoke up. "The Captain is doing no such thing. Grayson will be returning to his watch when the surgeon releases him." Golding snorted. "Should have known old Ring-a-Ding would stand by him. Huh, well it won't take much to drive the little bugger over the edge and get him to do it again...weak little molly. You wait...the moment he comes back I'll ask him how big their cocks were and..." He never got to finish his words. The long fingers of Hislop's two hands closed around his throat and held on until Golding's face turned blue. When he was released the younger mid coughed and spluttered, showering the table with soggy fruitcake, jam and spittle. "You bastard!" he gasped. "You just wait...I'll tell the...Captain...what you just did." Nathaniel Hislop's voice was low and deadly. "You'll do no such thing, nor will you torment Ned Grayson, ever again. Do you understand me?"  "Huh, and what makes you so certain that I won't? As if YOU have any authority over ME! Why you are nothing but a jumped up son of a pitiful tailor and I am..." "Because if you do," Nathaniel interrupted in a harsh whispered, leaning across the table and staring Golding in the eye. "If you do, I will tell the Captain how you buggered the Ship's goat that time." Golding's mouth fell open and he blinked rapidly. "But you did it too," Golding replied when he had recovered enough to speak. "It wasn't just me!" Hislop smiled. "Yes, but which one of us has the most to lose? My family would laugh and congratulate me on a fine prank." It wasn't strictly true of course. Hislop suspected his family would be shocked into silence, but he wanted to make a point. "But your family? What would THEY think?" He waited, allowing the horror to grow in Golding's imagination. "How would it be if Lord Murchison's youngest son got the reputation of being a goat fancier?" Golding sat back, face red, fists clenched. "You wait, you just wait. You won't get a way with this!" Hislop smiled. "I already have Golding. I already have." Part 13 Finally there was a change. It was small but it was significant. The crew had begun to accept him. Of course it had something to do with his rescue of Ned Grayson. Ben Flower had made a big deal of it, calling him a hero and jumping around like a trained monkey. But it was the veteran Flemming who voiced the rest of the crew's thoughts. That night, as they hung their hammocks in the gloom he'd clapped Jonathan on the back and spoken quietly of the power of true mateship. There had been a twinkle of agreement and admiration in the eyes of the others gathered around. Now as Jonathan knelt with the rest of his division, holystoning the main deck as the sun rose, he felt it all around him. No longer did his shipmates ignore his presence or look away if he should speak. Instead they included him as they chattered and rubbed, moving the big blocks of sandstone in unison across the deck. They met his eye and listened to his words. Well most of them did; a few still looked at him with mistrust. "Not long and we'll see Teneriffe," one young man, Crawford, was saying, his voice pitched low so as not to attract the attention of Midshipman Golding. "Can't wait to try them swarthy whores, I hear they're all fire and spit!" There was a muffled chorus of laughter along the line. "Well don't hold your breath, lad," Flemming advised. "You're new to the Nightingale so you don't know the Captain's ways...He don't allow no women aboard in port, nor wives aboard at home. It's his way." Crawford smothered a colourful profanity and scowled. "Is he a bloody Methodist or something?" Guarded looks passed from man to man. No one spoke. "No, not a Methodist. It's just his ways...always has been as long as he has been aboard," Flemming said diplomatically. Crawford wasn't satisfied. "Huh, I bet he goes ashore when he feels like a bit of it, though. What's he expect us to do?" Again there was an uncomfortable silence and even Flemming looked down, suddenly very intent on the deck. But one man, Starling, cautiously looked around and then bent towards Crawford. Jonathan held his breath, straining to hear what was said. "The Captain doesn't need to go ashore. He's got what he wants right here." Starling nodded towards the quarterdeck where Peter Crittenden stood, resplendent in his uniform, hair immaculate, one foot tapping delicately to some imagined tune. Crawford's mouth fell open. He'd come aboard the same time as Jonathan, but his age and previous experience had seen him rated able. "Shit," he murmured. "You sure?" Starling grinned, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth. "Oh yeah lad...that�s why there's so much buggery below decks. The Captain's a raving molly and Lieutenant Kitty is his catamite." Slowly Starling turned towards Jonathan, a look of challenged in his beady eyes. "Isn't that right Riley?" Jonathan swallowed, turning pale. "Leave the lad alone, Starling," Flemming intervened. "You've made yer point." Starling laughed and went back to his sanding. Crawford, young and foolish pursued the topic. "But how do you know?" he asked, stealing another look towards the quarterdeck. "The Lieutenant looks like a fop and all, but that doesn't mean he's..." "I heard 'em." Starling interrupted. "We've all heard 'em at one time or another." Starling said with a glance towards Jonathan. "When the Kitten first came aboard old Ding Dong could hardly keep his eyes off 'im. They flirted with each other right there on the quarterdeck!" "He's right," the man next in line, Perkins, added unable to resist the urge to gossip. "The Captain practically drooled every time Kitten came near him." He smiled and winked. "It made for great entertainment I can tell you! Some of the lads even placed bets on whether or not they would get around to it." "And they did," Starling interjected, drawing Crawford's eyes back to himself. "I was on watch the night it happened. You could hear them, even on the main deck, wailing and shrieking like two cats fighting." Perkins nodded in agreement. "And I was at the helm," he paused and tossed his head in the direction of Golding, pulling a face. "Mr Golding had the watch, and he kept glancing down at the deck and shaking. He must have known what was going on beneath his very feet because he looked like he was going to spew his guts up. Or faint." Guffaws were hastily covered by hands, but several of the ratings nudged each other and whispered private jokes. Jonathan ignored it all, his face flaming as visions of Peter and Bell exploded in his mind. I should say something, he thought to himself, I should defend Peter. But how could he? It would be a lie to declare there was nothing between Peter and the Captain. "You've served with little Kitty Cat before, I hear," Starling began again, directing the question to Jonathan. "Has he always been like that...a screamer? It's a wonder he hasn't ended up dancing on the yard!" Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, a sharp reply ready, but Flemming spoke first. "Eyes down lads," he hissed in warning. "Enough of that talk there. Put some effort into it you lazy sods." Golding strutted over and hit Starling across the shoulder with his starter. The big man kept his eyes down and his mouth closed. Golding walked along, looking here and there, watching their motion with the big stones, until he came to Jonathan. "You've missed a spot, Riley," he declared. Jonathan looked around, trying to locate the offending mark and the starter cracked across his shoulder. "Sorry Sir," he replied quickly. "There you fool, there." Golding tapped his foot on the deck and Jonathan brought the holystone forward swiftly, but Golding knocked it hard with is shoe and sent it sliding from Jonathan's hands. "Watch my foot you insolent little..." Jonathan looked up, not realising the danger until too late. Golding's starter descended with a fury cutting Jonathan sharply across the cheek. The resulting pain stole Jonathan's senses and he paused, dazed, feeling warm blood seep down his face, watching it splash on the deck. For a moment he was back on the Indefatigable, fighting pain and nausea, watching his blood pool on the deck. He looked up, disorientated and saw Golding's starter coming towards him again. It was pure reflex to reach up and grapple the weapon from Golding's hand in an attempt to prevent further injury. But he heard the gasps of horror from his crew mates; saw Golding step back, his face a mask of fear and then fury and heard him bellow for the bosun and the master at arms. A mistake, Jonathan realised, a terrible mistake. Two marines pulled him to his feet and Golding began shouting at them to take him below and throw him in irons. And all the time Jonathan's cheek throbbed and bled and his face swelled so that he could not see out of his eye. Part 14 "He laid Jonathan's cheek opened with his starter! Dawson is down there now stitching it. Do you have any idea what that will do to Jonathan's looks?" Peter Crittenden knew he sounded irrational but for the moment he didn't care. "And now the little bastard has the nerve...the NERVE to report him for striking a Superior Officer and is demanding Jonathan be HANGED!" Robert Bell crossed the deck and took hold of his junior Lieutenant's hands that were flying about like two frightened doves. "Will...you...calm...down!" he hissed under his breath. "I have sent for Macquarie and Dawson to sort out this matter out. They will be here at any moment. You're not going to do Riley any favours if you behave like some hysterical woman!" As if on cue there was a discreet knock on the cabin door and Ferguson announced the arrival of the First Officer and Surgeon. Bell released Peter and stepped back before bidding them enter. Peter took a deep breath and struggled to put on a front of detachment while Bell directed everyone to be seated. He took a chair this time, doubting Robert would want him perched on his desk under the circumstances. He sniffed and adjusted the lace cuffs that peaked out below his blue sleeves. Inside he was fuming. How dare that brat Golding strike Jonathan. "Well Reggie? What damage has been done?" Bell asked the surgeon. Dawson settled his folded hand across what was left of his waistline and spoke. "Oh nothing too bad that a bit of catgut won't fix. Pike's doing it now. Riley will have an impressive scar, but he'll be able to pass it off as a battle injury, I dare say. The ladies will love it." Dawson glanced at Peter and cleared his throat. "Or whatever..." "And Mr Golding? Has he suffered any injury in the exchange?" Bell asked. Dawson shook his head and Macquarie intervened. "Only to his pride. Riley took away his starter. I was on the quarterdeck and saw it happen." The First Officer paused, making sure he had everyone's attention. "There's no grounds for a charge of striking, but I suspect Golding could push for a charge of contempt to a superior officer. It would be far easier to deal with." "Certainly." Bell agreed. "Under the circumstances I doubt any of us wish to see Riley hang, and 'contempt' carries a lesser penalty. Do you all agree?" Bell waited for their replies. Taking a deep breath and making a deliberate effort to remain calm, Peter spoke up. "But we all know what Golding is like. He's been reprimanded before for being too...hard handed with the men. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. It's unfair to blame Jonathan..." "I agree with you in part, Mr Crittenden," Macquarie interrupted, giving Peter a sideways glance. "I spoke to Mr Golding just two days ago about the overzealous application of his starter, and I know he has been targeting Riley since he came aboard. But that doesn't alter the fact of Riley's transgression." "Yes, that's the thing, isn't it," said Bell, leaning over his desk, propped on his elbows, fingers interlaced. "Riley should have known better than to strike out." He raised his hand, halting the rebuff on Peter's lips. "I know, I know, Riley was only reacting to prevent further injury, but that is not the point." He sighed and sat back in his chair. "Gentlemen I think we have no other alternative than to charge Riley with contempt for a senior Officer under Article 19 and order half a dozen lashes as punishment." "Robert, it's unfair!" Peter blurted out, forgetting himself. Bell chose to overlook the breach of conduct and continue. "And a dozen lashes of the cane for Mr Golding. He's been warned about petty viciousness before. He won't forget next time." "If I may make a suggestion, Sir," Macquarie began. "Rather than the Cat and Nine for Riley, given his age we might use the Boy's Pussy." Dawson stifled a laugh. The Surgeon was one of Bell's coterie and would see the amusing side of the remark. "Yes, I think that is a good idea, Mr Macquarie, and it is more fitting for a boy of his rating. Don't want them to think they are getting above themselves by giving them a man's punishment, do we, eh?" Bell gave a little laugh, but as no one joined in he quickly continued. "Golding's punishment may take place in the gun room and Riley's on the main deck, although it may wait until he is somewhat recovered. I'll leave the arrangements in your hands, Mr Macquarie. Now there is one other matter..." Bell shot a look at Peter before continuing. "It has been brought to my attention that...there may be some cases of sodomy taking place aboard this ship." "Forward or abaft the mast, Sir?" Macquarie asked, his face a mask of innocence. "Amongst the rating Mr Macquarie," Bell replied coolly. "I have nothing specific you understand, just a...mention from someone who said some of the ships boys were at risk." "Riley? You heard this from Riley?" Macquarie asked. Bell glanced at Peter before nodding confirmation to the first Officer. "Yes, he brought it to Mr Crittenden's attention about a week ago and I have been considering what course of action to take." Dawson fidgeted in his chair. "Well I hope you don't expect me to check all their arses! Some of them take offence to that!" "No, no...I was thinking of a different solution entirely. I know I usually don't allow it, but I think under the circumstances we might indulge the men a little and invite some ...ah...women aboard, for the men's ... entertainment ... when we reach Teneriffe. That might help alleviate some of the..." Bell raised his big hands and gestured around uncomfortably. "Urges that have been building up whilst we have been at sea." Again Dawson squirmed in his chair. "Good God, Bunny, I suppose you will want me to check them all for the Pox before they come aboard! I DO have better things to do than look up whores skirts all day, you know!" Peter licked his lips and smirked. "If it isn't to your tastes, then I am sure your assistant, Mr Pike would be more than able to handle the job," he said sweetly. Dawson cast Peter a glance that said he was not amused. "Very well, I think that is all thank you, Gentlemen." Dawson and Macquarie rose to leave, Peter lingered. At the door Macquarie turned to ask, "Do you want to be present for Golding's punishment, Sir?" Bell shook his head. "No, you may have that honour." When Macquarie had left Peter sidled over and sat on the desk beside his Captain. Despite their best intentions, he and Bell had found it near impossible to keep their hands off one another. Peter smiled and settled himself beside Bell's knee before whispering, "I'm surprised, Robert, not wanting to watch that little shit Golding get his just desserts. Are you afraid you might enjoy it too much?" Bell sat back and folded his arms. "Nothing like that. It's rather that I know his uncle, Francis, a little too intimately and one of Franny's favourite past times is to dress up as a Mid while I play the Captain and cane him." Bell grinned. "I am afraid I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face!" Peter laughed and slid down into Bell's lap. "Robert, you are wicked," he whispered into the Captain's ear. Part 15 Perhaps he should have taken the laudanum. He'd known it the moment he felt the first jab of Pike's needle. Thankfully he had passed out very soon afterwards. But now, on waking, the side of his face felt like it was on fire and he longed for something to deaden the pain. Jonathan Riley raised one hand and gingerly felt along his cheek. There was no bandage, but his eye was swollen shut and it hurt to move his mouth. The wound felt massive under his fingertips; two, three inches long, running the length of his cheekbone. Any higher and it would have taken his eye. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath. "I hope that wasn't meant for me?" Peter's voice came softly from the other side of the small cabin. "No not you, Golding," Jonathan replied from one side of his mouth. Damn, his face hurt! Peter still had not come any closer but stood hovering near the door, looking ill at ease. There was no mistaking the cause. "Do I look that bad?" Jonathan asked. He hadn't seen this side of Peter before, but there it was, the revulsion, the disgust; it was all there in Peter's eyes as they stared at the mess Golding had made of his face and turned away.  Of course Peter would find disfigurement unattractive; Peter, who was always so careful with his own appearance. There were women who could not look on a battle scar without flinching; perhaps there were men like that too. Jonathan waited, anxious, while Peter fidgeted and fiddled and finally looked back, eyes blinking, clearly wanting to be elsewhere. He licked his lips, forcing his eyes to look, to see. "No, it's not that bad; not bad at all." The words were not reassuring. Who was Peter trying to convince; Jonathan or himself? But the dark haired Lieutenant crossed the decking to stand beside the cot, his eyes never leaving Jonathan's face. He swallowed before speaking. "Pike did a fine job with the mending. Why he could be a tailor, I dare say." The joke fell flat, but Peter kept his gaze steady as he strove to overcome his revulsion and accept the unacceptable. His green eyes hardened, took on a stronger look. There was anger in them now, along with pity. And something else, something that caused Peter to raise one hand and run a gentle finger along the puckered wound. "If I had seen what was happening, I would have stopped Golding before..." "I know, and if I'd have had half my wits about me I would never have retaliated." Jonathan replied. Wisdom came easy afterwards. "Ah yes..." Peter paused, "Have you been told what your punishment is?" "No, I've only just woken. Is it bad?" "You won't hang, but Robert's ordered a half dozen lashes with the boy's cat. I'm sorry." It was to be expected. Jonathan counted himself lucky. It could have been far worse. But still, it was unfair. "Damn Golding!" he cursed softly. Then spoke more loudly, "I hadn't done anything. I swear it Peter." "I know, and so does everyone else. If it is any consolation Golding is getting a dozen of the cane as well." Peter's finger moved to brush a stray curl from Jonathan's face, before straying to play with the rest of Jonathan's hair. The movement turned into a caress. "We are going to have to stop meeting like this," Peter whispered with a dreamy smile. "Can't you think of a better way for us to be alone that doesn't involve you being confined to the infirmary?" Jonathan laughed. Trust Peter to find a joke in all of this. But he paused. How much of the flippant words spoke of true sentiment? The look in Peter's green eyes, his gentle touch; it was almost as if... "Are you and the Captain still...intimate?" It came out far harsher than intended, sounding more like an accusation than was meant. But it had been grating on Jonathan's mind since he came aboard, and now after hearing the men gossiping on deck, Jonathan felt it was an apt moment to clarify where Peter's affections stood. The question clearly took Peter by surprise. His hand stilled and a small red tongue came out to run the length of one red lip. "Umm," he began uncomfortably. "I only ask" Jonathan interrupted quickly, "because I thought that after what happened in London and..." And what he did to me; banishing me to below decks like that! And now you stand here, making eyes at me and saying such things�Jonathan held his breath. "Robert's a different man at sea. Not like he is in London," Peter defended softly. Jonathan had no reason to feel this sudden jealousy; no right. But surely Peter had started this by his looks and his touches, implying that there could be more between them should Jonathan feel so inclined. I should have known that he was only flirting, that it meant nothing. It's just Peter's way of raising my spirits. And had not Peter already made it quite clear on a number of occasions that he was not attracted to me? So why now, especially now, with my life in a mess and my looks ruined; why would Peter even consider such a thing? Jonathan turned away, angry and hurting. "You know he and you are common gossip among the ratings. They laugh at you behind your backs and worse. You should hear the things they say." Peter looked away, an uncharacteristic blush staining his cheeks. "You must hold each other in very high esteem then, to take such risks." "Jonathan, Robert and I..." Peter stopped, began again. "I don't understand why you are suddenly angry with me? I spoke up for you! I did what I could, you must know that." "And I don't understand what you want with me!" Jonathan shot back. "Don't you see you are only making things harder? They all think I'm just another one of Bell's conquests, like you. Just leave me alone!" Jonathan didn't mean it, not really, not deep down in his heart. It was his hurt and his pain and his confusion speaking, causing him to lash out at the closest victim, at the one person whom he could hurt. And it worked. Peter turned away and left. Part 16 Nathaniel Hislop blinked his eyes and watched a blue streak of midshipman fly across the small space of the cockpit and land on William Golding. They tumbled over the table and landed on the deck with a resounding thud. One would think it an uneven match. Although the two combatants were close in age, there all similarity ended. Golding was a good two inches shorter and was what Nathaniel's mother would describe as a dumpling of a boy. She'd pinch his chubby red cheeks and offer him a cherry tartlet. Golding would probably kick her in the shins, just as he was trying to kick his opponent now. His weight should have given Golding an advantage, but it was fast becoming obvious that Ned Grayson was simply too quick and agile. Nathaniel suspected that the blonde midshipman had learnt some form of wrestling, for despite his slim build, Grayson had Golding in a grip of iron. And Grayson had one more advantage, he was committed to a cause. "I'll kill you!" Grayson whispered. The words were low and deadly serious and the strangle hold that Ned had around Golding's scrawny neck might just prove successful. Nathaniel watched for a moment more before deciding it was time to intervene. "Here, let up," he said grabbing Grayson by the long tail of fine hair and hauling him away with all his might. Grayson let go and Golding gasped for breath. "You'll have the Marines in or the Officers. Then we'll all get it." Nathaniel held Grayson, still struggling and snarling, in a tight grip, surprised by his strength and determination. Golding took the opportunity to scamper on his knees into a corner and hide behind his sea chest. "Mad!" he shouted pointing at Grayson. "You're bloody mad! Who's got into you THIS time? Bell? Dawson?" "Swine, Bastard," Ned spat, and lunged for Golding again. Nathaniel pulled him back. He was quietly impressed by Grayson's display. This was the most animated he had seen the newest midshipman since they had met. For once Grayson's face held colour and his eyes were truly alive. "Look, whatever Golding's done to you this time it is not worth a caning. And that�s what will happen if you get caught fighting." He shook Grayson a little. "You should know that." At this rate they would ALL be getting one! "I don't care what he's done to me," Grayson shouted. "It's Jonathan that I am worried about!" He pointed at Golding. "He's to be FLOGGED because of YOU. I'll kill you!" Ah, so that was what was behind this, Nathaniel thought to himself and pulled Grayson back one more time. "Golding's to be punished for that already." Nathaniel said with a smirk. Grayson looked around startled. "Haven't you heard? He's to be caned tomorrow morning in the gunroom. We have all been invited to attend and watch." He let Grayson go as the words sank in. Slowly Grayson straightened his uniform, adjusting the cravat and coat sleeves and tidied his fair hair. His eyes never left Golding who cowered in the corner. A cruel smiled appeared on his lips and he turned to Nathaniel. "I'll still kill you if I get the chance." Grayson whispered. "I swear to God I will!" And he left. "WHO does he think he is? Bloody son of a fucking trumped up store keeper!" Golding emerged from his hiding place puffed up like a bantam rooster. "Just let him wait! I'll be writing to my uncle, Admiral Seaforth, and when I tell him what has been going on aboard this ship, Uncle Francis will have the whole bloody lot of them bent over the guns or hanging from the yard!"  He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Just wait till I get my hands on Grayson...He'll pay for this! Why I bet he's Riley's pretty-boy! I remember the way Riley always had his arm around him and how they would whisper all night. That's it, that's why Grayson is so stirred up! Doesn't want to see Riley's arse get..." "Oh shut up!" Nathaniel said. "They helped each other through that mutiny; they are friends, nothing more. Can't you understand that?" Golding muttered something under his breath and went in search of his jar of jam. "You know you went too far with Riley." Nathaniel continued. "Just be thankful you are only getting a dozen. You had better watch yourself if you don't want an even sorer arse." Golding licked the jam off his finger and gestured towards the deck above. "They're the ones who had better watch themselves - Riley and Grayson! Just wait till I get my hands on them, then we'll see who's got the sorest arse!" Part 17 Teneriffe at last. They could all do with a bit of shore leave after the events of the last two weeks, Peter Crittenden mused as he looked longingly towards Santa Cruz. Captain Bell was already there, along with Macquarie attending to the political and social obligations that were part and parcel of a Captain's duty. Duggan the Master was off checking the ships clock and even Dawson had somehow managed to go ashore with them on the pretext or restocking the medical supplies. Peter sighed. That left him as the most senior Officer aboard with the unenviable task of overseeing the crew's fornication. The women had begun arriving before they had barely dropped the anchor and Pike, despite his apparent expertise in the matter, had been hard pressed to keep up with the steady raising and lowering of skirts and flashing of fannies. "Fuckin' waste of time anyways," Pike had muttered between drabs, "Pox don't always show up on the outside." "Just do your best Mr Pike," Peter had replied faintly. He was only too well aware of the looks some of the women were casting his way and was feeling a little ill. He dabbed a lace handkerchief along his brow. The infernal heat was not helping matters either. Somehow he was supposed to arrange for the water barrels to be filled, but that was a lost cause now. All hell had broken loose once the ratings caught site of the women. Bottles of rum and cups of grog had appeared from nowhere. Trousers had dropped and skirts raised far faster than that bloody anchor and the main deck now resembled a bacchanalia. Peter rubbed his forehead again. One would think these men hadn't seen women for years!  He had no idea how he was supposed to restore order, for surely Robert had not meant for this debauchery to take place in plain view of the rest of the fleet anchored nearby. Maybe after they had shot their loads he might be able to persuade the men to go below before they went at it a second time? Perhaps he should just call the marines? At least Ferguson still appeared to have his trousers on! "Sergeant Ferguson, clear the deck. Escort these...ladies below please."  The big Marine Sergeant quickly summoned his men and began rounding up the fornicators, but not before giving Peter a smile and a wink. Peter pretended not to notice. He'd have to speak with Ferguson one day, but not today and definitely not now while Bell was absent and Peter had the run of the ship. As the deck began to clear another problem presented itself; the deck was a mess and who was he going to get to clean off of all those stains? Grog and...what WAS that, wet and glistening in the sun? It might be best to pretend he hadn't noticed. Surely it would dry before the Captain returned anyway. Slowly some semblance of order was restored and Peter brushed his hair back into place, aware that he was perspiring profusely in his uniform. He'd be stinking like a dog by the time he was due to meet Robert ashore later. That thought brought with it a pang of pleasure; not only the thought of meeting Robert, but the trip itself. He'd need a crew to row him and he had someone in mind. Peter let his eyes scan the deck. Yes, there he was, in his usual place, seated in the shade of the hammocks with Ben Flower close by his side. Jonathan! They were both drinking grog from their battered tin cups, chattering away like any two rating. Peter felt a stab of jealousy. He'd not spoken to Jonathan since they had argued in the infirmary. He'd been too hurt at first and then Jonathan had been flogged and all Peter's petty feelings had been washed away as he watched Jonathan suffer the pain and indignity. The whole crew had been assembled, there on the main deck to watch Jonathan take his punishment bent over one of the guns. There had been snickers when his trousers were pulled down to reveal that damned K tattooed on his buttock. Even Robert Bell had leaned close and whispered, "Yours Kitten?" Peter had shaken his head and hissed back "Kerrison!" "Of course." Six lashes was minimal and the boys cat did not have the knotted cords of its older sibling. But it still hurt. Peter discovered that for himself later that night. Robert liked to play and Peter found himself re-enacting the whole sorry business across the gun in Bell's cabin. Between the flogging and the fucking that followed, Peter had been unable to sit down for three days. Afterwards he'd been reluctant to seek out Jonathan; worried that his concern would be unwelcomed, or that somehow Jonathan would guess at the perverted little game he had played with Bell. Jonathan would be disgusted by that and he would have every right. It was not something of which Peter was proud. But the punishment was a week passed and the scar along Jonathan's cheek was healing nicely. It was time to put harsh words behind them and make an attempt to salvage their friendship. Peter glanced at Jonathan again and tapped his foot impatiently. It wasn't his place to organise his boat crew, that�s what midshipmen were for but they were never around when needed. Hislop and Golding were below decks doing Lord knows what, despite the Captain's stern warning to conduct themselves in the manner of Young Gentlemen whilst in port. Peter was not about to go and find them. But halfway up the main mast, perched in the rigging white-faced and fearful, sat Ned Grayson. He'd do, for Jonathan was now in his division. It had been Macquarie's doing, the one small concession that was allowed Jonathan after the punishment. Peter was quietly thankful. Yes, Grayson was the one to arrange the boat crew, and would surely welcome a gentle suggestion to include Jonathan in that number. Peter looked aloft again and raised his voice. "Mr Grayson, you are wanted on the deck." Part 18 Jonathan Riley raised his cup and made a toast. "To Teneriffe! I made it!" Beside him Ben Flower giggled. "'S not so hard, getting' to Teneriffe." "It was for me!" Jonathan replied with good humour. He tossed back the cup of rum and felt it burn down his throat. It was very rough, but Perkins had sworn it was rum and Jonathan had promised to do the older man's washing and sewing for the next month in exchange. Of course spirits were forbidden aboard ship and Mr Pike was supposed to search the women's skirts for bottles as well, but somehow the contraband had slipped through with Peter Crittenden none the wiser. That's why the bottle was hidden out of sight between them and they leaned against each other. Jonathan was already a little drunk. Peter kept looking this way, watching them, his dainty foot tapping impatiently as he dealt with first one matter then another. His eyes would always steal back though, and watch him. It was a wonder that no one had noticed those looks, but then most of the crew were otherwise engaged although the initial frenzy had subsided somewhat and the main deck was clearing. "Have you ever had a woman, Jonathan?" Flower asked. Flower had been quite fascinated when the women first came aboard and had spent some time watching the various acts of fornication taking place around him. Jonathan had managed to pull him away with the promise of sharing the rum. But it seemed that Flower's thoughts were still elsewhere. "Of course I have!" In Gibraltar a year ago, on my birthday. Almost a year ago exactly, Jonathan realised. Dear God, so much had happened in the last year! Not only had he ceremoniously lost his virginity, but he'd loved and lost both Archie Kennedy and Jack Kerrison and for a time been the plaything of Alexander McBride, Earl of Eversleigh. Jonathan shook his head and searched for the bottle, pouring himself another drink. Perhaps it was best not to dwell on what was past. Jonathan almost had a different cause to remember his birthday this year. The flogging had been just two days beforehand. It wasn't like the canings he had suffered, in fact it seemed minor by comparison, over quickly and with no medical treatment required. But it was the humiliation that burned in his memory. He'd been flogged like a boy, across the arse, not on the back like man. It was a small thing, but it had made his position aboard ship very clear to everyone. But he was 17 now, a child no longer. It was time everyone remembered it. "Don't laugh at me, if I tell yer something, will yah?" Flower was talking again, murmuring something beside him. "What's that?" Jonathan was only half listening. He was watching Peter again; watching Peter watching him. "I've never done it...with a woman. What's it like?" "What?" Jonathan asked again, dragging his eyes back to Flower. "A woman, what's it like with a woman? Is it good? I'd...I'd...like to try it, I think." Shit. He'd been hoping to avoid this, at least for himself. But Flower was looking at him all wide eyed and eager. What right had he to spoil the boy's hopes. "It's good, yes." Well, it was, from what he remembered. "And...if you want..." Jonathan suddenly realised he had no idea how to negotiate such dealings, nor what currency was accepted aboard ship. Coins were scarce. "We could go find Flemming. He'd know how to ... get you one." The least he could do was hand Flower over to Flemming who would surely know how to proceed. And while Flower was occupied, perhaps he might be able to find a moment to speak to Peter. He owed Peter an apology after what he had said the last time they spoke. "Will you come with me then? Now?" Flower was on his feet eagerly pulling at Jonathan's arm. "Hmm, yes." Jonathan replied. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Peter call Ned Grayson down from the rigging. When the chaos had broken out, Ned had fled aloft like a frightened virgin. Now Jonathan watched him climb down reluctantly. Was it the sex or undisciplined madness that had caused Ned's panic? Probably a little of both. But there was nothing Jonathan could do at present to reassure the pale midshipman, at least not until he had seen Flower on his way to his de-flowering. "Come on then," Flower exclaimed impatiently as Jonathan rose to his feet. Jonathan grinned at the young man. At this rate Flower would come in his trousers just thinking about it. "All right, but don't look so eager. They might charge you more or something!" What WAS the going rate for fucking anyway? Jonathan laughed. No doubt he was about to find out. Part 19 "Lad's, at this stage no one is much concerned about who paid for what. So long as we give 'em a couple of bottles to take home, everyone is happy." "So does that mean we are too late?" Flower asked sadly. Flemming shook his head, grinning. "No lad, it means you picked the right time." He looked about at the couples around him until his eyes fixed on a woman sprawled across a table slung between the guns. She appeared to be unconscious. The man between her legs, Crocker, was just pulling up his trousers. "There you go, she's free," Flemming laughed, "In more ways than one." Ben Flower turned to Jonathan and asked, "Do you want to go first?" Jonathan smiled and shook his head. "No, go on, you've waited long enough." Flower grinned and took Crocker's place. He needed no instructions. Now if I can just slip away. Jonathan took a step backwards, smiling. His eyes were on Flower whose white arse had begun moving rhythmically while he steadied himself with his hands. Still watching, Jonathan stepped back again and came up hard against someone standing behind him. "Nice view," the voice whispered in Jonathan ear. Two strong arms slide around his waist, pinning his arms by his side. A hard crotch pushed against his arse. "But funny to see Flower finally doing the fucking instead of getting fucked." "Piss off Crabtree." Jonathan tried to pull away. Crabtree was one of the ships worse pederasts; one of the small group of men who preyed on the boys. He'd been Flower's main tormentor until Jonathan had put a stop to it. "I'm just having a little fun. Just watching, like you." And wanting more if the erection pressed against Jonathan's back was any indication. "Let him go Crabtree, go find yourself a woman," Flemming said slowly, taking a long drink from a bottle. He didn't seem overly concerned. "Not all of us want a woman," Crabtree replied. He ran his tongue along Jonathan's neck. "Isn't that right Riley?" "Speak for yourself, Crabtree. Now let me go." Jonathan began to struggle. Flemming glanced their way and slowly rose to his feet. Crocker was frowning and even Starling had wandered over to see what was happening. But no one moved to intervene. It was broad daylight above and Jonathan was surrounded by his shipmates. Surely Crabtree wouldn't try anything here and now? Flower finished with a shout and a shake and looked around grinning only to have his joy replaced by fear when he saw Crabtree watching. "Nicely done little Flower. You've learned a lot from what I've shown you. But I think you need a few more lessons. Want one now?" Flower blinked and looked from Jonathan to Crabtree. He shook his head. Jonathan had heard enough. He drove his foot down hard on Crabtree's while he simultaneously brought his arm up and flung his elbow backwards into Crabtree's midriff. The big man grunted and released his hold. Jonathan swung around and struck him in the face with his fist. A quick knee to Crabtree's crotch ended the confrontation. Someone laughed as Crabtree fell to the deck in agony. "That'll teach him to keep his prick to himself." Starling grinned, patting Jonathan on the back. "Thank you Jonathan," Flower was gushing, "you are so brave." All around him were smiles and words of congratulations. "Here, you've earned a go now." It was Crocker who took Jonathan's arm and pulled him towards the woman on the table. Jonathan's heart was pounding. Whether the cause was his fight with Crabtree or because he suddenly knew there was no way out, he wasn't sure. He looked around at their faces; Flower and Flemming and Crocker and Starling and half a dozen others. If he refused now, he'd be tarred with the same brush as Crabtree. The same way they had all assumed that Captain Bell and Peter were like Crabtree and his cohorts, because they didn't understand the difference. But he could do this, he'd done it before. He stepped up to the woman, her naked thighs already wet and glistening from the men who'd gone before him. And Flower. Jonathan made himself think of that, think of Flower's backside and the sounds he had made, in an effort to get hard.  With unsteady fingers he loosened his trousers and eased them down. He tried not to think about the faces watching him. He looked at the woman, still unconscious on the table. He couldn't see her face, covered as it was by a tangle of skirts and petticoats and long dark hair. He ran his hand up the inside of her leg where the skin was soft and tender. Closing his eyes Jonathan brought to mind other legs and other skin. His fingers worked their way higher up her thigh until he reached the sticky part and he pulled them away. Surreptitiously he wiped them on her skirts, wondering whose leavings it was, whilst trying hard to muster some enthusiasm for what he was about to do. In desperation he thought of Jack and Archie and Alex and even Honoria. It was this last image, of Honoria and how she would look lying on her back with her legs spread that he clung to as he pushed in. Wet and slimy and loose; so different. But he was young and virile and he'd been at sea for weeks now and in the end it was easy to forget where he was and who was watching and lose himself in the sensations. Easy to think of other times and other faces and other fantasies. And when he had finished he caught his breath for a moment then turned, pulling up his trousers, laughing along with Flower who was waiting for another go. He looked up, a wise remark on his lips and stopped dead. For there was Ned Grayson staring at him. Ned's mouth was opened as if he was about to speak, but his blue eyes were wide with shock and horror. And lust. In that one instant, as Ned's eyes met his, Jonathan saw it flare bright and hot, and knew he was not mistaken. But before Jonathan could react Ned turned and bolted for the companionway. Jonathan secured his trousers and chased after him. Part 20 "You can't do that in here!" Nathaniel Hislop stared at William Golding and the strange girl who stood before him, bent across a sea chest showing a lovely expanse of white leg and arse. He studied what they were doing for a moment before repeating his words. "I said you can't do that in here." Golding did not appear to hear as he thrust into the dark haired whore in front of him. He was still mostly dressed, except his breeches were down to his knees. He had not bothered to remove his hat. The girl who was bent over Golding's sea chest turned her head, flashed a smile at Nathaniel and said something in Spanish. Nathaniel sat down to watch. Mr Macquarie had lectured them all on the dangers of loose woman before they had dropped anchor. He had made it quite clear that women were not permitted in the cock pit. Of course Nathaniel had been prepared to disregard that direction, but he had not expected Golding to do the same. Golding was fourteen, and women had been far from Nathaniel's own mind at that tender age. But then so had goats. So perhaps it was natural that a young man who showed such interest in barnyard animals might be equally curious about trying it with a real woman. Nathaniel was hardly a virgin himself. He'd had a fine time last shore leave with Angelique, the pretty daughter of their neighbours the Dubois', the French family who made hats in the shop next door. As children they had played together and had always been good friends. After an absence at sea for almost two years, Nathaniel had been delighted to find that Angelique had discovered a new game to play. And she was an apt and eager tutor. Now Nathaniel smiled at the Spanish girl and wondered how long Golding would take. He had no money to pay her, or anything else to trade for that matter. But he did have a plan. "I'm going to tell the Captain and Mr Macquarie, Golding." "Oh shut up." Golding spluttered as he bent over the girl's back, huffing and puffing and quite red in the face. "I am you know, and you'll get another caning." "You bastard! Why do you always have to spoil my fun...I just wanted to...oh ahh...ohhhh" Nathaniel hid his smile with his hand. "Please don't tell," Golding gasped, as he disentangled himself. "I'd never done it before, you know that. And you kept telling me all about what you did last shore leave while MY bloody father wouldn't let me out of his sight while I was home.  And the house was full of bloody relatives...and Uncle Frances even offered to take me up to London and father said no. At that rate I was likely to die a virgin." Nathaniel waited, watching Golding squirm. "OH please Nathaniel. I've paid her half a crown and I have her for the rest of the day! I'll let you have a go, like I did with the goat, if only you won't tell." "Hmmm, I don't know." Nathaniel shook his head trying to appear reluctant. It would be no good if Golding woke up to his subterfuge. "Two goes then...I need to catch my breath anyway. That was bloody hard work!" "No wonder. You were going about it all wrong." Nathaniel offered the girl a hand up and led her over to their mess table. "All right then, I'll have a go, if only to show you how it's supposed to be done." Nathaniel kissed the girl on the lips, knowing no better. He had no experience with whores, only with his sweetheart. He supposed it was no different. He loosened the strings of her bodice and pulled it down to reveal a pair of small firm breasts. Golding giggled and reached out to touch one. Nathaniel batted his hand away. "Go watch the door," Nathaniel directed, "and then pay attention while I show you the right way." Nathaniel slipped her skirts down and when she was quite naked he lay her down on her back on the table. She was young and not yet jaded enough to be unappreciative the courtesy Nathaniel was showing. She smiled up at him eagerly while he shed his own clothes. And she was quite beautiful. For all his inexperience, Golding had chosen well. He did it with love, because that was the only way Nathaniel knew. He kissed her and caressed her, intent on her pleasure as well as his own. The girl rose to the occasion, kissing him back, enjoying herself to the fullest. And when they had finished, they lay together in each others arms while Golding fidgeted at the doorway. "All right...I think I got all that...Don't go to sleep there...It's my turn again." Nathaniel smiled and gave way to his impatient berthmate. The day had just begun and there was plenty of time to do it all over again. Part 21 Jonathan raced through the crowded gun deck, past the drunk and the debauched, leaping a prone couple in his mad dash to gain the rungs of the ladder leading upwards. His mind was in turmoil. What exactly had Ned Grayson witnessed? And what had been his perceptions of what he had seen? What had made Ned turn and run? And most importantly, what had been the cause of the smouldering look of lust that had briefly clouded Ned's eyes? Was it only Jonathan's imagination or had that look been directed, not at the woman, but at himself? Jonathan shook his head. Surely it could not be? Perhaps it was his own long suppressed attraction to Ned that raised such thoughts in his rum fuddled mind? Memories of days and nights spent in the close confines of the cockpit on board the Indy came rushing back; times before the mutiny, when they had all been younger and more innocent. He remembered the harmless games the younger boys had played with each other; remembered Ned and Charlie giggling and kissing in the dark. And remembered that one fateful night when the others had gotten Ned drunk and dressed him in a pair of women's drawers. Jonathan cursed as he saw again Ned lying wantonly on their mess table and the not so innocent invitation that had issued from those tempting lips. Was it just Ned's drunken ramblings or had he truly wanted Jonathan? And I had wanted him! That much was beyond denial. But it was a desire that Jonathan had not acted upon for many reasons. Jack Kerrison first and foremost, because they had an understanding and Jonathan would not break that trust. And after that? Well, Ned was so young; too young and too innocent in Jonathan eyes, to be led into things for which he might not be ready. Of course the mutineers had put an end to that innocence and perhaps that was the real reason that Jonathan could not accept that Ned's look was directed at him. I must be mistaken, Jonathan told himself as he climbed the ladder to the main deck. The last thing that Ned would think of would be a sexual attraction to me! And if he had...if his unwitting reaction to what he had seen had led Ned to such a realisation, then what would he do? Would he try to end his life again rather than accept that fact about himself? Jonathan emerged into the sunlight in time to see Ned bolting towards the side of the ship. In desperation Jonathan followed. "What in God's name is going ON Jonathan?" Peter Crittenden's shout brought Jonathan to a skidding halt. He was too late to catch Ned Grayson who had retreated up the rigging to do God knew what. Now here was Peter, spitting and hissing and not looking at all pleased. Jonathan checked that his trousers were decent before replying. "Ned came below." Would that be enough of an explanation for Peter? He really didn't have time for this now. Jonathan glanced up to see Ned still climbing. From that height any fall must surely be fatal. "I know that," Peter replied, his voice strained. "I sent him there. He was looking for you!" "Well he found me," Jonathan's his voice was shaking. All pretext of maintaining proper respect for a senior officer was forgotten. "And I don't think he liked what he saw." One dark eyebrow rose. "Oh?" Peter asked. "And what were you doing that was so horrific to cause Grayson to almost knock me down in his haste to get away?"  As he said the words, Peter's face changed from curiosity to sombre shock. "Jonathan, you weren't..?" "I was with a woman." Peter blinked. "A woman?" "Yes, a woman! It's not that unthinkable. I HAVE had women before, Peter." Dear God, was this man to be privy to every humiliating moment in his life? "I know, in fact I recall the exact time and place quite well. I remember it because that was the night I seduced the redoubtable Mr Kennedy." Peter's smile was thin. Their fight over Archie Kennedy was the last thing Jonathan needed reminding of at the moment. "Yes, well Ned seems a little...unsettled by what he saw...and I really think I should speak to him about it. Now." "Ned can wait. You can't solve his every problem for him, you know." Peter chided. Jonathan said nothing but glanced up again. Ned had reached the fighting top and had disappeared onto the platform. Peter scrutinized Jonathan with his steady gaze. "So Jonathan, this business with the woman; is this to be some sort of annual re-enactment in celebration of your birth?" That was a surprise. Not the acid reply but the fact Peter had remembered his birthday at all. "Yes, I did remember," Peter continued smugly. "And I didn't say anything, because you were hardly in a position to shout a round of drinks. Besides I wasn't sure you would welcome my attention." Jonathan looked down at the deck. "I have been meaning to apologise for that. In fact I was intending to come up and find you before, but then I sort of got stuck with that woman. I couldn't get away." Peter laughed but there was no mirth in the sound. "What? You couldn't say 'no'?" "No, I couldn't say 'no'," Jonathan retaliated. "Not with everyone watching and expecting me to do it." Surely Peter could understand that much of it? "If I had refused, they would have thought me no better than you and Captain Bell!" "I see." Peter gave a bitter little laugh and turned away. "And we couldn't have that, now could we Jonathan." This conversation with Peter was getting nowhere. They seemed to be at each others tails once again. It might be best to keep his apology for another time. "Look, what did you want me for? I really need to make sure Ned is all right. I am afraid for his state of mind." "Ahh yes, Ned!...Your concern for him is admirable, simply admirable." The words dripped venom. Peter's green eyes glistened like twin jewels. "I sent Ned to ask you to be part of my barge crew. I thought you might enjoy a turn ashore. I'll need someone to wait and signal the boat again when I am ready to return. You'll have some time to yourself, of course. It won't be until quite late. I thought you might like the chance to stretch your legs a little. I have business with Captain Bell." Peter paused and looked around nervously before looking back at Jonathan, his manner suddenly coy. "But afterwards, if you wished, you and I could..." "You and me?" Jonathan interrupted. Peter nodded, lashes fluttering, eyes suddenly modest and shy. He looked almost laughable. "Yes, would you like that, Jonathan? I thought we could spend some time together." Surely Peter couldn't be serious? Didn't he understand how Jonathan felt about his relationship with Bell? And did Peter actually have the nerve to think he'd be willing to wait in line? "Do you think I would want you after HE is done with you?" Jonathan blurted out, the last of his patience disappearing. "I'm not that desperate." Peter's eyes turned hard and cold. "No?" he asked, flicking his hair back over his shoulder with one small hand. "I doubt you were so particular a few moments ago with that woman. How many men had been through her before you?" "If I wanted a whore I don't need to go ashore and wait for you. I can find one here." Very slowly Peter raised his eyes and looked up the mast towards Ned Grayson. "Well then you had better go catch him, before he runs away again." With that Peter turned and walked away. Part 22 Still fuming from Peter's parting words, Jonathan shimmied up the ratlines towards Ned Grayson. How could Peter make such a horrible insinuation after all Ned had been through. It was spite, pure spite that had driven Peter's words; of that Jonathan was certain. Perhaps Peter's fury was well deserved. Jonathan had hardly been a gentleman himself with his own words. But he'd be damned if he would allow Peter to think that he'd wait in line behind Bell. Peter might like to share himself around, but Jonathan wasn't about to play that game again. His one taste of it with Cavanagh and his friends in London had left him feeling dirty and used. Besides, how could Peter hold such double standards? He was happy to lecture Jonathan long and hard about such promiscuity in London yet he embraced it himself. Jonathan shook his head. Sometimes he really didn't understand Peter Crittenden. "I'm sorry Jonathan. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil your fun. Please go away." Ned Grayson's thin voice echoed down from the fighting top. Jonathan kept climbing. "Just stay there Ned, I only want to talk to you. Don't do anything...foolish." A high strangled laugh sounded forlornly above. "Foolish? It's too late for that. Oh God, I am cursed, I am truly cursed." Jonathan hauled himself up onto the platform and looked at Ned Grayson. The young mid was huddled against the mast, knees to chest. He looked away when he saw Jonathan. "Look Ned, I am sorry that you saw...what you saw, but there is nothing wrong with your reaction." Reaction...but reaction to what? If Jonathan's assumption was wrong, and the look HAD been for the woman, then to even mention the alternative would be unforgivable. Perhaps it would be safest to assume the more usual cause. Jonathan continued, "It's only natural to think of women and find yourself..." "Natural...Oh God, please go away Jonathan, you don't understand. Just go away." Jonathan rubbed his eyes. "Ned, I am only human. I'm older than you, remember that. I've had women before." Well one at least. "I am sure you have the same sorts of thoughts and feelings and there is no shame in that. And it was nothing like what ...happened to you...Nothing like that at all." Suddenly Ned commenced to sob. "Oh Jonathan, if only you understood." Carefully Jonathan made his way across to Ned and sat down beside him. "Ned, I didn't do anything wrong down there, and neither did you. You're, what? Almost fifteen now?" Not that much younger than Flower. "Pip and Charlie had both had women by the time they were fifteen. Your interest and curiosity is only to be expected." Ned raised his sad blue eyes briefly then looked away again. "Yes Jonathan, if you say so. Now please, I just need to be alone for a while. Please?" It was time to try another tack. Gently Jonathan asked, "Ned, if there is another reason..." "NO! Go away! Please! I want to be alone!" The cry was heartfelt. Sighing Jonathan stood. His presence here was of little help, in fact it served only to make Ned more agitated. Yet he was loath to leave the young man alone, afraid of what he might do in his confusion. "Promise me one thing first. Promise me you won't try to...hurt yourself again. Promise!" Ned nodded slowly. "I promise, Jonathan. I can do that much for you. Now please go. I need to be on my own for a while." Confused and still troubled, Jonathan climbed back down. Peter Crittenden was waiting for him. "Riley, get to and clean those stains off the deck." Peter ordered, his eyes still flashing with anger. "I know how you can not abide anything that has been sullied!" Part 23 "I thought you might ask young Riley to join us tonight," Reggie Dawson snickered across the table. "I was hoping he'd be up for some play by now? I bet he is a forceful bugger when he's at it, all fiery and passionate." Peter Crittenden smiled coldly. "As usual you are completely wrong Reginald. I have no idea of how Jonathan performs in bed. But I can tell you this much, he has spent the morning fucking whores with the rest of the crew. I doubt he'd be seeking YOUR company tonight." Robert Bell snorted, but didn't say a word. Peter was quietly grateful. "Well, it would appear I am left on my own again, then," Dawson simpered. He rolled his eyes towards Bell. "I suppose there's no chance of the three of us..." It was Peter's turn to snort in disgust. "Not tonight Reggie," Bell replied amicably. His eyes travelled around the darkened room pausing here and there on several young negro boys who were looking in their direction. One smiled. "Anyway, there's plenty here to keep you amused." "Hmmp, I doubt any of them could do me as well as you, Bunny." Bell smiled at the compliment. "You'll never know until you try, Reggie." He nodded towards one of the young men. "That one has been eyeing us all afternoon. Try him, he seems eager enough." They were seated in a small inn; one that was well known to both Bell and Dawson. They'd been there before on previous visits and knew they could buy what they wanted. Privacy was assured. Peter Crittenden drank down the last of his wine and idly watched Dawson make his way over to negotiate an evening's pleasure. "Are you ready to retire Puss?" Bell asked. "I've a room upstairs just waiting for us." Peter nodded and followed Bell. He was numbed and hollow and had felt that way since his confrontation with Jonathan earlier. Jonathan's words had hurt more than Peter cared to admit. Contrary to Jonathan's belief, his invitation had been quite innocent. A late night walk along one of Teneriffe's beaches; a chance to talk and catch up on all the things they had not been able to say since leaving Portsmouth; a moment to share each others company and to put aside the harsh words and petty differences that had come between them. But Jonathan had thought otherwise. Hadn't thought, was a better description. In his haste to coddle Grayson, he had misunderstood the offer and had smote Peter down with a cruel riposte. The wound was still bleeding. Once upstairs, Bell no sooner closed the door than his arms were around Peter, loosening his clothes, guiding him to the big bed. It looked solid. They would need it. Bell was a big man; tall, strong and well muscled. He seldom held back when he made love. But tonight when he lay Peter down, naked beneath him, he paused in his rough kisses and crazed caresses and asked, "What's wrong Puss?" One big strong hand came up to catch Peter's chin and draw the distant eyes towards him. It was the gentleness in Bell's touch that undid Peter. "Jonathan said some things to me earlier. Things that...hurt. I'm sorry." Bell sighed and rolled over before gathering Peter to him. "Don't break your heart over him, Kitten. He isn't worth it." Peter lay his head on the solid barrel of Bell's chest and listened to the slow steady beating of his heart. "You know I never give my heart away, Bunny," he whispered. "I've told you that before." "That might be what you say, Puss, but I know differently. You are a very good liar." They lay like that, neither moving, simply content to share the closeness for a while. After a time Bell whispered. "Do you want to return to the ship? If you don't want to be here then you are free to go. You don't have to do this if you don't want to." Peter moved closer. Being alone was the last thing he wanted tonight "No, I want to do this. I want you." To prove his point, he kissed Bell, a scorching, probing kiss, designed to drive Bell's passion to the extreme. For perhaps in frenzied lovemaking, perhaps in the pain of pushing his body to its physical limits, Peter could forget the ache in his heart. But Bell had a different idea. Rather than the rough and mildly violent love-play that often characterised their couplings, Bell showed that seldom glimpsed gentleness that he kept so closely guarded. It left Peter open and defenceless. So he listened to the whispered words of endearment as Bell slowly made love to him. It had been so long since anyone had said such things to him or loved him like this and his soul cried out for someone who cared, someone to care about. It was that cry that was echoed in his shout of release. Not since Peter's days with Harry Stratford had he allowed himself to say the things that he now said to Robert Bell; soft things, precious things. As words of love and trust gushed gently from his lips, Peter thought about Harry. Poor Harry, who hadn't known what had hit him when he first found his arms full of Peter, one hot summer leave in Gibraltar. Despite the tale he had told Archie, Peter had been well experienced by then. It was Harry who was the novice, Harry, who had to be coaxed and tempted into something so taboo that he didn't even have a name for it. But he'd proved a quick learner and an enthusiastic partner. He had stolen Peter's heart in a way that no one had before. It was that love for Harry Stratford that had almost proved to be Peter's downfall. With Harry's sudden death, he had lost the will to go on. He knew what it was to have nothing to live for, knew what it was to seek an end to heartache. And he knew death wasn't the answer. Archie had shown him that much, if nothing more. In their brief time together, Peter had found there was always hope; hope that once again you would find love. So he clung to that hope even when Archie betrayed him with Jonathan, even when he swore never to give his heart so easily again. It was a hard oath to keep. His heart had a mind of its own and it constantly sought out love, here and there, failing most time, yearning for the impossible or simply making the wrong choices. Like now. Tears pricked Peter's eyes and flowed down his cheek. He should never have said those fateful words to Robert; I love you. Now Robert had the power to hurt him, just like Jonathan had hurt him earlier. Peter almost laughed when he realised the irony. Why worry about words, for he had never voiced his feelings to Jonathan and still Riley had managed to cripple him with words of his own. Words. Perhaps they were useless, meaningless; perhaps they truly didn't matter at all. More tears came, sliding down his face only to be brushed away by Bell's big fingers. And afterwards when Bell had finished drying his tears, saying nothing, not asking questions nor making demands, Peter asked, "May I stay with you here tonight, Bunny? Please" "Of course you may, Puss," Bell whispered and gathered him into the haven of his big arms. "You may stay as long as you like." Part 24 Aboard the Nightingale, the gun deck was dark but far from quite. Even now, late into the first watch, keen couples were still seeking each other out. In hammocks or on the deck, the steady rhythm of lust continued. Alone in his hammock Jonathan tried to sleep. Briefly he regretted not being chosen for Peter's Barge crew. A chance to view Santa Cruz first hand would have been pleasant. It might have even yielded an opportunity to speak some more with Ned Grayson. At least the young midshipman had seemed somewhat recovered by the time he was called upon to take Peter ashore. He'd given Jonathan a brief nod and smile before scurrying down the battens into the jolly boat. That was more than Peter Crittenden had done. The second lieutenant had kept his eyes firmly averted as Jonathan scrubbed the deck clean under the midday sun. Peter had disappeared below at the change of watch and finally returned, resplendent in his best uniform with his hair neatly dressed, to seek whatever diversions awaited him ashore. He had left without so much as a sideways glance at Jonathan. Not that I care after what he said about Ned. But perhaps it would be prudent to apologise, for Lord knows, neither of them had been thinking straight at the time and hasty words were long regretted. Jonathan wondered what Ned was doing. He'd returned at dusk with Lieutenant Macquarie and had disappeared down to the cockpit. Was Ned lying awake too, thinking over the days events? Was he remembering what he had witnessed; what Jonathan had been doing? Strangely, Jonathan's brief tryst with the whore had sunk into insignificance. It was Ned that occupied his thoughts as he lay in the hot sweaty darkness and listened to the grunts and groans of rutting around him. Ned, his pale eyes ablaze with passion, his mouth half opened as if to catch his breath, his hair spread around him as he lay on the mess table clad only in fine white cotton, half senseless and sensuous... A movement in the dark jolted Jonathan from his half sleep. "It's just me," whispered a voice that could belong to only one person; Ben Flower. "Can I get in with you? I am worried that Crabtree might come looking for me. He wasn't too pleased today." "All right, I suppose so." It was doubtful that anyone would be paying much attention to who was in who's hammock tonight. Flower swung himself in and settled easily beside Jonathan. "I thought you might have company," he murmured next to Jonathan ear. "No, once with a whore is enough for me. It's a bit..." "Empty?" Flower supplied. "Hmmm, yes, it's so impersonal." Flower nodded. "I know what yer saying." He suddenly sounded very wise. "I always thought it would be different somehow." "Well it can be, with the right person." "I was hoping one of 'em would kiss me at least." Flower continued. He sounded disappointed. "I was looking forward to that." Jonathan suppressed the urge to laugh. Poor Flower. Suddenly Jonathan was reminded of Jack Kerrison and how their first kiss had held more intimacy than the frenzied coupling that had preceded it. What was it Jack had said...that below decks they seldom had time for such things. "Have you not kissed anyone before?" Jonathan asked gently. "No," was the quiet reply. Jack had little experience with kissing, so it wasn't surprising that Flower should have none at all. "Is it nice?" "Very nice," Jonathan murmured. And it was. Jonathan missed that intimacy almost as much as sex itself. Flower fidgeted beside him. "I wouldn't mind trying it." His voice was nothing more than a breath in the darkness laden with an unspoken question; a plea that that wrung Jonathan to the core. He hesitated unsure of how to proceed. Flower's life had hardly been one to envy. Didn't he deserve at least this one small pleasure? It wouldn't be right to lead Flower on with hopes of a more permanent attachment, but surely there was no harm in a simple kiss? Jonathan reached out, seeking Flower's lips already so close to his own. And kissed them. Flower's inexperience showed. He held very still, his thin lips pursed in parody, not knowing how to respond. Jonathan licked at them, cracked and dried from salt and sun, and kissed them again. There was a tremor of response. Slowly he coaxed Flower's lips apart with his tongue, tasted the sharp after bite of rum and the sourness of furry teeth. He collided with Flower's own shy tongue feeling its way towards his. They lay like that, side beside side as lips and mouths and tongues tasted and explored. Jonathan felt Flower press against him, squirming with growing passion. Not wise, his head warned, but Jonathan was thinking with something else now. Something as hard and aroused as Flower's own cock that pushed insistently against his thigh. And still they kissed; Flower growing more confident and daring as he followed Jonathan's lead. It was the small hand sneaking into his trousers that finally brought Jonathan to a halt. "No, we can't." "Why not? No one will catch us. Lord, no one cares what's happening tonight." Flower murmured between kisses. "It's just a bit of touching anyways." "But I can't. Flower...Ben...It isn't right because when I am a Midshipman again..." "IF you are a Midshipman again," Flower interrupted. If. The word echoed in the darkness. It had never occurred to Jonathan before that this sorry state might be permanent. But there was truth in Flower's observation; Jonathan may be fated to a life before the mast, never again to have the privilege of the quarterdeck. He did not yet hold his mate's ticket, so that avenue was closed. If he couldn't secure a Mid's berth, then he had little chance of promotion any other way. And if he was damned to live below decks then was it so wrong to share that sorry existence with at least one friend? Jack Kerrison would not think it wrong; Kerrison would most likely be pleased that he and Ben Flower had taken up together. Kerrison would think it fitting. "I like you Jonathan, we're mates. So what's the harm in it?" It was the ache of loneliness that finally weighed Jonathan's decision. The memory of what he had shared with Jack Kerrison and how perhaps for one night he could recapture that with Flower. Flower, who had probably been Jack's lover of a sorts, and who was like Jack in so many little ways. So he reached for Flower and kissed him again, felt Flower's breath hot in his own mouth, felt the silent gasp reverberate under his lips as he gripped Flower's cock and finally lost all sense of time and space as they grappled and kissed and rubbed and sweated in their tiny hammock. It was Flower's sleepy voice that roused Jonathan from the edge of sleep and prompted him to set his clothes to rights. The semen stains would not raise comment given the occupation of most of the crew that day. "You know, this was far better than fuckin' those whores earlier, Jonathan. It truly was." Flower whispered sleepily. "Hmm, yes, I guess it was." "Is this what you did with Jack, then? This kissing and holding and all?" "Yes, that's what makes it special, Ben." Flower was silent while he considered the words. "No wonder Jack thought so much of you, then." "I thought a lot of him too." The memories were still painful, but it was good to share them with someone. "I loved doing this with him." "Hmm, I can see why. I wish Jack would have done it with me like that too, though. It's so much better than getting' fucked. It doesn't hurt!" Dear God. What were you about, Jack Kerrison? Did you not know any better? Or was this just Flower's wishful thinking, something he wanted to share with Jack Kerrison, the only man he had ever loved? On impulse Jonathan gathered Flower into his arms and kissed his forehead. He couldn't question Flower about his relationship with Kerrison, just as he had been unable to question Jack about his relationship with the boy. But he could give something to Flower to make up for some of the disappointments he had seen in his short life. "The last time I spoke with Jack, just before we reached Portsmouth, he mentioned you." "He did?" Flower asked, his voice suddenly shaking. "Yes, he was so pleased to hear that you were all right, for he thought you had drowned. He spoke highly of you, said you were a good lad" Flower laughed softly. "Ah Jack...he was always good to me." And now for the lie. It was such a little thing and perhaps it might even hold a cornel of truth, but hopefully it would make up for any hurt that Jack Kerrison HAD inflicted upon Flower, either knowingly or unknowingly. "And he said that he would miss you, for he considered you his particular friend and more. He did not explain, but I saw what he meant in his eyes. Jack had such wonderful eyes." Flower said nothing, simply settled himself against Jonathan. After a time, his slight frame shook and Jonathan knew he was crying. So he held the boy until his tears carried him off to sleep, leaving Jonathan alone in the dark with only Kerrison's ghost company. Part 25 He'd have to go up and get him down. Nathaniel Hislop stared up the main mast trying to pierce the darkness and locate Ned Grayson. It was the only place his berth mate could be, for Nathaniel had turned the ship upside down looking. And Grayson could often be found aloft, it was his favourite retreat. So he was either up there or he had caste himself overboard again and if that was the case, then there would be Hell to pay tomorrow when he was found to be missing. Slowly Nathaniel climbed, relieved when he mounted the fighting top and found Grayson dozing against the mast. "You can't stay up here all night Ned. You have to come down. The girl's gone now. Golding has sent her off. I think she's in the Mates cabin next door." Grayson did not answer. Golding had been at it again when Ned had arrived back from his duty in the jolly boat. Grayson had taken one look at what was happening and fled without so much as a word. Nathaniel had chuckled to himself, for the sight of Golding's naked arse was enough to scare anyone. It was only later when Grayson had not returned, that he began to worry. Nathaniel tried again. "You could have had a turn too if you had stayed, you know. Golding had payed her. It wouldn't have cost you a penny." Grayson shook his head, but did not move. Nathaniel crossed to the mast and sat down. To tell the truth he was rather weary and had not been disappointed to say goodbye to girl. They had been at it for most of the day and Nathaniel's member was stinging from overuse. He'd been hoping to fall into his hammock and sleep the sleep of the truly sated, but the memory of Grayson's haunted eyes nagged at his conscience and he knew he'd not rest until he had rounded up their wayward berth mate. "You know, you shouldn't be ashamed if you've not done it before. Golding only managed it for the first time today. And there are plenty of other girls below if you want to try. If you don't know how to, I could tell you. It's not difficult. Much easier than navigation!" Still Grayson didn't answer. Nathaniel scratched his cheek. He whispered, "It might even help you forget." Slowly Grayson's pale eyes turned, and blinked. A small tongue nervously licked one bitten lip. "Forget?" a weak voice asked. "Yes. What I mean is, it can help you to forget...anything that..." Nathaniel faltered. Those pale ghostlike eyes were watching him so closely, that he suspected Grayson was reading his mind. "...it makes you loose all of your concerns, makes you feel good. I just thought..." "That is very kind of you Mr Hislop, to be so concerned for my well being." The words held a faint edge of sarcasm. Nathaniel bit his fingernail. "It's just that Riley, your friend, Jonathan that is, asked me to...well...have an eye to you. That's all." Grayson's eyes blinked in surprise. "Jonathan asked you to do this?" "Not this precisely. He just asked in a general sort of way. He was worried about you after you jumped, er, fell overboard." Long pale fingers began to pull at a loose thread on Grayson's sleeve. "Jonathan is always good to me," he whispered sorrowfully. "But I don't deserve his friendship." Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Grayson's bleak moods were almost too much to take at times. Particularly now, when he could be snug in his hammock dreaming of Angelique. "Well Jonathan seems to think that you are worthy of his friendship, so if I were you, I'd repay that kindness and come down from here before I have to go and find him and tell him what you are about. It's late and we should all be in our hammocks. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted and I doubt Jonathan will be pleased if I have to get him up at this hour!" Grayson's blue eyes widened. "Of course, you are right," he replied, nodding quickly.  "I'll come down. You don't need to disturb Jonathan." "Thank God," Nathaniel murmured under his breath. Ned Grayson followed him down the ratlines in the moonlight.