Master and Commander - 8. Chapter 8

June, 1794

Granger stooped down to the sparkling stream and cupped his hands, scooping some of the precious water to his lips. It was so pure and clear, almost as good as the water at his favorite spring at Bridgemont, or at his swimming hole on Minorca. He drank his fill, gulping down water, but no sooner had he finished then he started drinking again. Dr. Jackson said it was the salt in their diets that made him crave water, and created this bloating sensation. For Granger, there was nothing quite as good as fresh, pure water and it was that much better now since it was so rare on board Intrepid. The water would be put into casks and sealed, where it would lie in the hold and become a breeding ground for all types of microscopic creatures. By the end of the voyage, the water they drank would be green with this life. Just the thought of it made Granger sad, and made him drink more of this crystal clear water.

His thirst finally sated, Granger turned to watch the men from Intrepid work diligently to empty, scrub, and fill their casks then load them back into her launch. “You will be finished by this evening?” he asked Calvert.

“Yes sir. We've got one more load of casks to bring out and then we're done,” Calvert said.

“Very well. I'm heading over to the town. There's a general meeting.”

“Have fun sir,” Calvert said with a slight smile.

“I seriously doubt that fun is in the offing,” Granger observed. He climbed back into his gig and had himself rowed up to the jetty. Jamestown was a pretty little town, wedged into a valley between two volcanic hills. St. Helena was like a coconut. The outer shell, or ring, was rough and ugly, made up of volcanic mountains. It was stark and barren. Once beyond that outer shell, though, the island was beautiful and green. He let his eyes wander around the anchorage, at the convoy of some 15 ships, riding at their anchors, and at the three warships, looking much more aggressive. His gaze landed on Rattlesnake, a ship so much like Aurore, and that made him think of Travers. Would Travers still love him after spending time with Robey? Would he still love Travers after spending time with Calvert?

Granger had been so busy looking at the ships he was taken by surprise when they reached the jetty. “Boat your oars!” Jeffers said to the men, causing the oars to lift in unison, the blue tips forming a uniform pair of lines. Jeffers guided his gig up to the chains perfectly and the bowman latched on. Granger sprung out of the boat and began to stroll up the street to the Governor's residence. It wasn't hard to find, it was the biggest house in the town.

He strolled up to the large home and a doorman threw the front door open for him. He whispered his name to the man, who cleared his throat then boomed: “Commander the Honorable George Granger of His Majesty's Ship Intrepid.” Granger smiled to himself, thinking how similar this was to visiting St. James Palace, and how that made it all just a bit pretentious. He spotted Fellowes with another naval officer and made his way over to them.

“Captain Granger, welcome!” Fellowes said. Granger saw the twinkle in his eyes and felt his own loins stir, and he struggled to keep them under control. “This is Captain Bergland.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you sir,” Granger said to Bergland. Bergland was an older Captain, one of those rare men who had worked his way up from the lower deck to the coveted rank of Captain. He looked grizzled and weather beaten, his skin leathery, his back hunched, but there was an intelligence in his eyes. There would have to be for him to rise from a seaman to a Post Captain.

“Captain,” he said, his voice raspy. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Indeed sir?” Granger asked with a smile, turning on his charm. “I hope that is positive?”

“Most of it was,” he said with a sly smile. Granger found himself warming up to the outwardly grouchy old man.

“You are ready to sail?” Fellowes asked.

“Yes sir,” Granger responded. “We're finishing up our last load of casks as we speak.”

“Excellent,” Fellowes said.

“You won't think it's so excellent tomorrow, begging your pardon sir,” Bergland said. “I'm looking forward to having some help keeping these merchants in formation.”

Fellowes laughed. “They're Indiamen Bergland. This is nothing. Count your blessings.”

“So you say Sir Evelyn,” Bergland grumbled. “There's a few times I've been ready to loose a broadside into some of these buggers.” They laughed at that, at the ridiculous thought of blasting an Indiaman out of the water, and at Bergland's grumpy demeanor.

“Well, in any event, Granger won't be much help to you. He's got the van, you've got the rear,” Fellowes said.

“I get stuck with the ass eh?” Bergland joked. “It's something I'm used to sir.” Was that a double-entendre? Granger put that out of his mind. So Intrepid was out front, the ship on point.

Fellowes led him around the room, introducing him to the captains of the Indiamen that would be sailing with them. They were a comfortable looking bunch, the cream of the merchant marine. Well paid, with big crews and well-armed ships, they had only to be somewhat alert to the threat of pirates and privateers, and somewhat more attentive to the weather, to make a very good living. Urgency and discipline were foreign words to them.

Then Fellowes led him up to a handsome man, probably 50 years old. “Sir Robert, this is Commander George Granger. Granger, this is Sir Robert Brooke, the Governor.”

“It is a pleasure to meet Your Excellency,” Granger said respectfully.

“A pleasure for me as well Commander,” he said. “I know your brother. He's doing quite well in India.” Granger deduced without much effort that he was referring to Bertie.

“That is good to hear Your Excellency,” Granger said politely.

Brooke turned to Fellowes. “There is a room upstairs if you wish to freshen up before dinner, Sir Evelyn.”

“Thank you Sir Robert. That is most thoughtful of you,” Fellowes said. “Mr. Granger, you will accompany me. I have some orders for you to take back with you.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, hiding a smile. He followed Fellowes through the group and up the stairs to the second floor. A servant guided Fellowes to his room and then closed the door discreetly behind him as he left. Fellowes followed him to the door and locked it.

He turned to Granger, passion in his eyes. “I don't know what it is about you, but you inflame me like no other.” He moved forward and their mouths met. Granger loved kissing Fellowes, feeling his dominance, his control, as his tongue assaulted Granger's mouth. But Granger also knew that they didn't have much time, so he broke off the kiss and dropped to his knees. He took out Fellowes' big dick and started sucking him, savoring his taste and his smell, until he was rewarded with Fellowes' load.

Granger stood up and licked his lips, smiling at his Commodore. “You inflame me as well sir.”

“We have but little time now,” Fellowes said. “After dinner, meet me here. We'll spend some time and really enjoy each other before we sail.”

“I'll be looking forward to that very much sir,” Granger said seductively. Then Fellowes led him downstairs. As soon as Fellowes arrived, dinner began. It wasn't until there was a pause in the dinner that Granger realized that he was actually the junior officer present. He hadn't had to toast the King for ages, since he was a midshipman.

He stood up and said confidently: “Gentlemen, the King.” The others stood as well, raising their glasses, mumbling platitudes like “God bless him” or “Long may he reign.”

The captain next to Granger, slurring a bit, struck up a conversation with him. “So you've been to court recently?”

“I have sir,” Granger said respectfully. “I attended His Majesty's levee right before I left.”

“Ha. Lot of stuffed up popinjays there!” he said, laughing. The captain across from him laughed as well.

Granger stared at them, his eyes steely now. They were insulting his friends, maybe even his family. “My father is usually in attendance on His Majesty.”

“Your father? What is he, a footman?” the other one laughed. Granger did not.

“My father is the Earl of Bridgemont,” Granger said deadpan. Their laughter was cut off as if by a knife to their throats. “I assume you have heard of him? I believe he is one of the directors of the East India Company.”

“Well I certainly wasn't referring to his lordship,” the Captain lied. “No offense, eh Granger?”

“No sir,” Granger said, just glad the subject was changing. After that, the captains were the picture of decorum. The one sitting on the other side of him, who hadn’t said anything during the whole conversation, leaned into him.

“I'm Blalock,” he said. “I know your brother.”

“Indeed? And how is he doing?” Granger asked.

“Lives like the Maharajah himself. Bertie's got a style, an élan about him. He's the hub of the social world in Madras.”

“I'm not surprised at all,” Granger said with a chuckle.

“He's got his own harem,” Blalock joked. That was nothing new. Bertie was always chasing after whores.

“It sounds as if he is much the same as he was in London,” Granger said.

“I didn't know him in London, but they say he was quite the gambler and quite the playboy. He doesn't gamble much anymore, but he has ladies, God, does he have ladies. Still, he's very focused on what he's doing. And what he's doing is making a small fortune,” Blalock said. Clearly Bertie had impressed him.

“Well, a successful man is allowed to indulge himself in some pleasures,” Granger observed with a smile.

“Indeed he is,” said Blalock. The rest of the dinner passed smoothly, with none of the merchant captains wanting to antagonize the young man who was related to influential men on both sides of their voyage. Granger smiled to himself. His father in London would have created a ruckus at being referred to as a popinjay, but Granger wasn't a malicious man. The party began to break up quickly, as such affairs go, with Bergland tastefully leading the way, and the Governor hustling the merchant captains out before he had no wine left.

Granger took his leave of the Governor then surreptitiously climbed up to the room he'd blown Fellowes in. It was only a quarter of an hour before his Commodore joined him. Having blown Fellowes before and gotten no relief himself, Granger was keyed up, horny beyond belief. “I yearn for your body,” he murmured into Fellowes ear.

This time they took off their clothes and got into the bed, with Fellowes moving up behind Granger, lubing his ass, and then entering him slowly. Granger was disappointed, hoping for a little more foreplay, but Fellowes made it up to him. He went slow, so slow, moving his massive dick in and out of Granger at a snail's pace while his hands explored Granger's body, his smooth chest, his soft flat abdomen with it's almost imperceptible trail of blond hair leading down to his dick, his balls, already rising up under the stimulation from Fellowes roving hands, a sensory overload. Fellowes kept at it like that for what seemed like hours, turning Granger into a moaning blob of gelatin, until he could restrain himself no more.

Fellowes began to move into him more forcefully, more quickly, picking up his pace like a ship that has just set more sail, slowly but deliberately. He went faster and faster, and faster still, until he was slamming into Granger, pounding his ass, and then they both climaxed. Granger bit his finger to stifle his scream of ecstasy, drawing blood, while Fellowes bit Granger’s neck savagely. Then spent, they lay there; still connected, shaking and quivering, reeling from the exertions and joy they'd brought each other.

“Thank you so very much,” Fellowes said as he dressed. Granger recognized the mood. They had fucked, it was over, and it was time to go. He dressed quickly, keeping pace with his Commodore.

“I was going to say the same thing sir,” Granger said, throwing out a little smile.

“I hope we can see each other often on this voyage, but it may not be possible. At least you have given me something to imagine when I pleasure myself,” Fellowes said. “And now I must get back to my ship.”

Granger followed him out and then walked down the main street of the town. Fellowes went on ahead, and not wanting to appear to stalk him, Granger stopped in a shop and bought out their supply of fresh bread. He'd use some of his Spanish gold for this special treat for his crew. The baker and his assistant lugged it down to his gig, and then, full of bread, they headed back to Intrepid.

Granger climbed up the side and saluted the quarterdeck. The men had just finished loading and stowing the last cask. Granger stared over at the scuttlebutt, where men would draw their water rations. When watering there was no limit on the amount of water they could drink, but now that they were done, standard allotments went back into force. He spotted Andrews, checking off casks on his list.

“Mr. Andrews!” he called.

“Sir?”

“I have purchased bread, enough for every man to have a loaf. Would you distribute it for me?” Granger asked, an order, not a request.

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said nervously.

“You can relax Mr. Andrews. It was purchased with my own money,” Granger said, although that wasn't entirely true, since he'd used their Spanish money.

“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” he said. He saw the men grinning as the fresh bread was hoisted up and distributed. Granger grabbed his own loaf and went below to relax in his cabin. It was not to be. There was a knock on his door almost immediately.

Calvert came in smiling, holding a loaf of bread. “I'm sorry to interrupt sir,” he said.

“If it's you, it's not an interruption,” Granger said affectionately to this splendid man who had won a piece of his heart.

“Thanks. And thanks for the bread. It was a nice gesture.”

“You're welcome. I saw a baker on my way back and I figured I'd buy out his supply. Keep him in business,” Granger joked. Calvert moved toward him and wrapped his arms around Granger, pulling him into a deep, meaningful kiss.

“I'm not on watch tonight,” he whispered into Granger's ear. “I want to spend it with you.”

“I'd like that,” Granger said, ignoring the fact that he'd spent the last few hours with Fellowes' cum dripping out of his ass. “Have a seat.” Granger took his decanter and poured a glass of wine to go with their bread.

“So we are to sail tomorrow?” Calvert asked.

“Aye. On the morning tide,” Granger said. He loosened his cravat and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, relaxing in his cabin.

“What happened to your neck?” Calvert asked, worried. Granger jumped up and looked in the mirror, and there was a bite mark, the bite mark Fellowes had given him while he was ejaculating. Granger thought about trying to lie about it, rummaged through his brain for a suitable story, but the teeth marks were so obvious it would be pointless. Calvert ran his hand over Granger’s neck. “Looks like someone bit you,” he said bitterly.

Granger saw the pain in Calvert’s eyes reflecting back from the mirror and turned to face him. “Yes,” was all he could say. He put his hand on Calvert's shoulder, but Calvert shrugged it off and made to leave. “Wait,” Granger said.

“Why? What are you going to tell me that will explain this? You were attacked by a vampire?” Calvert said angrily.

“Would that work?” Granger said, joking. Calvert rolled his eyes and relented just a little bit. “I saw an old friend and things got a little intense.”

“I thought you loved me?” Calvert demanded. Granger was reminded once again of how different this was, how young and immature Calvert was when it came to this kind of relationship. At least that was how Granger saw it.

“I do love you,” Granger insisted, putting his hand on Calvert's face to force their eyes into alignment. “I haven't asked you about the men in your past, and you haven't asked me about those in mine. I'm wondering, though, if there were any of them that if you were alone with them, having sex would be the natural thing to do.”

“No. At least not while you're around, while I'm with you,” he said. “I know there's another man you love. Was it him?”

“No. It wasn't. It was someone else that I had a really intense sexual relationship with and a really deep friendship. There's no love there, at least not in the romantic sense, it's about two men who enjoy being together,” Granger said. “It's about a bond of friendship.”

“I don't fuck my friends,” Calvert spat. “So maybe that's why I have a problem understanding this.”

“Have you ever been in love before?” Granger asked.

Calvert stared at him. “With you.”

“Besides me. Have you ever been in love?” Granger asked.

“I thought I was. I thought I had found the man who would be the one, my partner. But he cheated on me. With a friend,” Calvert said, almost beside himself now. No wonder this upset him so much. This must be ripping the scabs off that old wound, and opening up a new deeper one too.

“Were any of the men you fucked your superiors?” Granger asked.

“You want a list?” Calvert asked, furious now.

“I want an answer. Were any of them your superior officer?” Calvert saw the fire in Granger's eyes and backed his own fury down a notch.

“One was.”

“How superior? A Captain?” Granger asked.

“I'm not comfortable answering that. I don't feel like I can trust you very much right now,” Calvert said. “I need to go; I need to think about this.”

“You're dismissed Mr. Calvert,” Granger said, his words, his tone, and his manner all told Calvert that he had reverted back to navy discipline, and had thrown his barriers up. He softened briefly. “If after you have thought about this, we decide that our relationship should not continue, I would like to at least retain your friendship.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said formally, and then left the cabin. Granger sighed, feeling very sad and very lonely.

Granger paced the lee side of the quarterdeck, his eyes focused on the ship around him, his mind focused on his broken heart. Calvert hadn't come to see him last night, and Granger knew that was significant. Calvert was a man who, when he was in love, let his emotions rule him. If he would have been able to work through this, he would have come to see Granger. But he didn't. Granger sighed, but only internally, and steeled himself for the dawn that was now upon them. He noticed it was just a little lighter; the new day would be upon them shortly. No one would see any difference in him; no one would know the personal pain he hid behind his façade.

Now it was much lighter, light enough to see the main yard. “Mr. Humphreys!” Granger called.

“Sir?” he said crisply.

“I want the anchor hove short,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. It was premature to do that, but he wanted to make sure they reacted promptly when the time came, and Intrepid was to be in the lead.

“Begging your pardon sir, but what is our position in the convoy?” Calvert asked. Just hearing his voice caused a searing pain to rip through Granger's chest. Granger turned to him and saw his expression, his lifeless eyes, unwilling to expose himself at all. He felt just like Granger, and was holding himself back just like Granger.

“We are to be in the van, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said pleasantly. “Captain Bergland was most unhappy about that, since he'll have to round up the stragglers.”

“Yes sir,” Calvert said noncommittally.

“Mr. Fitzwilliam, look alive this morning. There should be a lot of work for you,” Granger said. He anticipated a signal as soon as it was light out. He heard the clanking of the capstan as the men pulled Intrepid up so she was directly over her anchor.

“Anchor's hove short!” Humphreys called.

“Very well Mr. Humphreys. Avast heaving.” Granger ordered. Then they waited, on edge, for the signal to come. He smelled breakfast, the food the men would eat, and knew his own creation at Lefavre's hands would be superb. His stomach growled in anticipation. Well, it would have to wait until they were under way.

“Flagship's signaling sir!” Fitzwilliam called. “General signal. Weigh anchor.”

“Acknowledge,” Granger ordered. “Hands to make sail!”

Calvert already had the men positioned on the yards, so there was no rush of men. It was just a preparatory.

Granger grabbed the speaking trumpet. “Up anchor Mr. Humphreys!” He waited for Humphrey's acknowledgement. He turned to Calvert. “Get the fore and main topsails set.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. He took his own speaking trumpet and bellowed out the orders that freed those two sails. Granger felt Intrepid straining at her cable as the men heaved and heaved on the capstan. For a minute, Granger was worried that their anchor was foul, but then he felt the ship begin to move.

“Anchor's aweigh!” Humphreys called.

“Helm, two points to larboard,” Granger ordered. Intrepid began moving out of the harbor, first, as she should be, while Granger turned his glass to watch the rest of the convoy struggle to get under way. There was mixed sail drill among them, and it seemed to take forever for them to get their anchors up. Intrepid had moved so quickly she was already outside the harbor by the time the first Indiaman had even raised his anchor.

“Heave to, Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered. “Dismiss the watch below for breakfast.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said crisply.

“I'll be below if I am needed,” Granger said, and went down to his cabin to eat a fast breakfast. Let Calvert keep charge of the deck; let him wait to eat his breakfast. Granger recognized the warning signs, the signs of the next emotion that would hit him. That would be anger. He finished dining and headed up on deck to see the convoy emerging from the harbor now in some sort of order, with Implacable signaling them, trying to get them to hurry up or slow down as the case may be.

“Square away Mr. Humphreys,” Granger ordered, clearly giving Humphreys charge of the deck. “We are to be about three miles ahead of the convoy.”

“Aye aye sir,” Humphreys said. This was a good exercise for him, gauging just how much sail Intrepid would need to show to maintain the same speed as the convoy, but only after they'd taken their position in the van.

Granger paced the deck, pretending to ignore Humphreys as he maneuvered Intrepid quite handily. By afternoon the convoy was lined up in three columns and keeping station quite well. There was nothing like the precision and efficiency of the Mediterranean Fleet, but for men focused on commerce, they were doing pretty well.

Granger stayed on deck all morning and well into the afternoon, watching the convoy, making sure they were on station, making sure the lookouts were alert. Intrepid was the first line of defense, the scout in the lead. He felt a presence and turned to see Calvert coming on deck to take the next watch. He and Humphreys exchanged comments, and then Humphreys went below.

“Good afternoon sir,” Calvert said formally.

“Good afternoon Mr. Calvert,” Granger said, responding in kind.

“The convoy appears to be keeping good station sir,” Calvert observed.

“They do. Maintain this position and make sure the lookouts are alert, Granger said tersely.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. He was still playing this stupid game, pretending to be some sort of stone with no feelings or emotions. Granger got an evil idea.

“Rig the wash deck pump if you please. I'll have my bath.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. Granger went below and shed his clothes and put on his bathrobe. Then he went back on deck to find the pump ready with the typical grinning seamen ready to blast him with water. He handed his robe to Winkler and nodded to the men. They sprayed him with water then stopped to allow him to soap himself. Granger did, making sure Calvert had a good view. Then they rinsed him, with Granger spinning frantically under the cold water, making sure Calvert got a view of his ass, reminding him of what he was missing. Refreshed emotionally and refreshed physically, he put on his robe and headed down to his cabin, not even deigning to look at Calvert.

He dried off and headed to his sleeping cabin to try and get some rest. Tonight would be tense, with the convoy on night stations. Intrepid would have to learn how the convoy sailed and acted at night, and that may take a bit of trial and error.

He lay on his cot, flat on his back, with his arms folded behind his head. His cabin was fairly dark, with only a little light sneaking through from his day cabin. He moved his legs around, stretching them, and causing the sheets to rub against his body. He felt himself getting erect and smiled. A good jack off session with the ship moving gently and the sounds of the crew working to get off to. He dropped his hand down, letting it run across his chest and squeeze his nipple gently, then lower, pushing down the sheet as he went, exposing his abdomen and then the top of his pubic hair. He grabbed his hard cock and started to stroke, savoring the feel of his hand as it slid up his shaft, across his head, then back down again.

Granger was fully into his masturbation session, so much that he didn't hear the soft knock at the door. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back, so he didn't see the light beam into his cabin as the door opened. He felt himself getting closer and closer, but he was enjoying this and wanted it to last. He moved his hand up, back across his abdomen and to his chest where he playfully flicked his own nipples, thrusting his hips, imagining he was fucking someone.

Granger was about to reach down and resume stroking his dick, to bring himself off this time, when he felt a hand grab his throbbing cock. Only it wasn't his hand. His eyes flew open and focused on the person standing next to his cot with Granger's dick in his hand.