Master and Commander - 9. Chapter 9

June, 1794

Fitzwilliam looked down at Granger with a shy smile and knelt next to him. Granger watched him move, the whole thing seeming to go in slow motion, as his mouth moved closer and closer to Granger's dick. And then Granger felt his soft lips and his tongue on the head of his cock, felt his mouth as he moved down his shaft, felt Fitzwilliam's hand as it fondled and gently pulled on his balls. Granger reached over and ran his hand along the young man's back, encouraging him, urging him on with his gentle touches. Then Granger felt himself reach the point of no return, felt his load rising up, and then he came, blasting into Fitzwilliam's mouth and down his throat. Fitzwilliam didn't miss a drop.

“Thank you Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger said with a smile. “I wasn't expecting that, but it was very pleasant.”

“It was my pleasure sir,” he said with an evil grin, “although that's not what I was hoping for.”

“So what brings you down here?” Granger asked, ignoring his statement.

“Mr. Calvert asked for you. He has two hands for punishment.”

“In the future, you must remember that ship's business comes first,” Granger said, gently admonishing Fitzwilliam.

“Yes sir. I'm sorry sir,” he said.

Granger sighed, pulled on his casual uniform, and headed on deck. He didn't deign to address Calvert; he merely strode up to him.

“Sir, I've logged two men for punishment. Waddell and Hercule. They apparently traded with their mates for an extra grog ration, got drunk, and got into a fight,” Calvert said factually.

“Is either of them injured?” Granger asked.

“Waddell has a wound on his arm where Hercule's knife cut him sir, but it is expected he will be fine,” Calvert replied. Granger ignored the flatness of his voice. He was like a pouting child, and that just irritated Granger even more.

“So they were fighting with weapons?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir,” Calvert answered.

“That's an important matter Mr. Calvert. See that your reports in the future are more complete,” Granger growled.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, abashed.

Granger was mad at Calvert for being so bitchy about his fuck with Fellowes, but he was really mad at having disorder on his ship. They hadn't had a flogging since they'd gotten rid of the troublemakers by putting them on the captured brig. “Very well. We'll have punishment tomorrow. They'll get a dozen lashes each.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said simply, only this time he wasn't being pouty, this time he was trying to be correct, to give his Captain no grounds to vent his temper on him. Granger just stood there, staring at him, watching Calvert slowly wilt before his glare. Then he felt guilty. Calvert was a good first lieutenant. There was no reason for Granger to let his personal issues cloud his professional duty, and the thought that he was doing that really irritated him.

“Carry on Mr. Calvert,” Granger said, and stormed back down to his cabin.

“All hands! All hands to witness punishment!” yelled the bosun, as he pulled out his whistle and blew the call that meant the same thing. The men came pouring up from below and massed on the forward part of the deck, while Granger and his officers, along with his small squad of marines, lined the aft part. In the center a grating was rigged for punishment. The men were quiet, not chattering like they usually did, not exhibiting their usual good morale.

Granger pulled out his copy of the Articles of War, the code that the Royal Navy operated under, and read all thirty five of them. It was the 28th Article that always made him pause and consider his own personal behavior: If any person in the fleet shall commit the unnatural and detestable sin of buggery and sodomy with man or beast, he shall be punished with death by the sentence of a court martial. Granger had to make sure that his voice did not waver when he read that self-damning article. When he was done, he nodded to Farrel.

Farrel and his mates then tied Hercule to the gratings, took the cat-of-nine-tails that Hercule had made himself and proceeded to administer 12 lashes. Granger stared forward, impassive, hating every minute of this. He hated flogging, detested it. To him, it was completely counter-productive, making a good man bad, or a bad man worse. But it was important for discipline, and even in a small ship discipline had to be maintained. These men had fought with knives in public, so he could not ignore it. He knew that 12 lashes was a small punishment compared to most ships, but that didn't assuage his sensibilities as he watched the whip shred the skin on Hercule's back.

Hercule was one of the Frenchmen that had volunteered to serve under him specifically, and that made Granger feel even guiltier. Finally the thing was done and they cut him down from the grating and took him down to the surgeon. Hercule looked up at Granger as he went below, not with animosity, but with a look that said he was sorry. Granger found that his own emotions were even stranger. He was proud of the man, proud that he didn't utter a single cry or scream during the flogging.

Waddell was next, one of the merchant seamen pressed by Calvert. They tied him up and began to flog him, and he made it through the tenth lash before he cried out, and even then it was restrained. Granger thought back to his time on the Victory when he'd witnessed a flogging around the fleet. The horror of that, where boats rowed the guilty man from ship to ship and each ship sent its bosun into the boat to flog the man, was unforgettable. And the screams, the shrieks as the men were finally broken and couldn't restrain themselves, just added to the whole macabre scene.

Then the thing was done, and the hands were dismissed. Granger watched them carefully, looking for signs of sullenness, rebellion, but found nothing. It seemed as if they weren't too upset about the flogging, which meant that he must have gauged it just about right. He headed to the lee side of the deck and began his walk.

He should be thinking about his mission, about how he was going to keep the schooners bottled up in Port Louis, but his mind wouldn't go there. It was distracted by the pain in his heart, the pain from not having Calvert as his partner. Last night had been torture as his anger at Calvert began to fade and was replaced by longing. If Granger were an objective observer, able to step out of his body and look at himself, he'd realize that he was a person who craved love, craved affection. He wasn't able to do that, though, he was only able to evaluate the data available, and that data simply told him he was lonely and miserable.

He tried to latch on to the anger again, justifying things in his mind, determining that none of this was his fault it was just Calvert being overly possessive and clingy. It was Calvert demanding unconditional monogamy in a service that would never really facilitate that, his unreasonable expectations that had severed their relationship. But that didn't work either, especially when he stopped to consider how hurt Calvert must be.

That was a bad place to go, sympathy for Calvert. Granger loved him; he knew that now, loved being with him, and regardless of what happened between them, he didn't want to hurt him. His feelings for Calvert were too strong to let him consciously hurt the man.

In the end, it was his pride and his sense of duty that he clung to, that gave him some sort of emotional relief. He had a job to do. He was a King's Officer, with responsibility for the best sloop in the navy and nearly one hundred men and officers. Their welfare was his burden, their mission was his to implement. He'd been successful so far, but if he let this thing with Calvert distract him, to affect his judgment, he risked losing everything.

Despite the depth of his thoughts, his subconscious seaman monitored conditions. They were well into the Southern Hemisphere now, the depth of their winter, and the darkening clouds, freshening winds, and building seas told Granger they were in for a squall, and a big squall at that. He stared up at the masts, at the sails, internally calculating the strain on the rigging, and then looked back at the convoy. They were head-reaching on them.

“Mr. Calvert, we'll get the topsails in, then loose the mains with two reefs,” Granger ordered. Taking in the topsails would leave them temporarily without sail, but that would let the convoy catch up with them.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said and began giving orders to complete the evolution. Granger watched carefully, making sure the evolution was completed without the slightest flaw. There was no way Granger wanted to make an error in sight of Implacable and Fellowes.

Granger joined Calvert as he stood looking back at the convoy. “We seem to be maintaining station.”

“Yes sir,” Calvert said. “I wonder how long before they reduce sail.”

“Not long,” Granger said. “They won't want to lose a spar. Spars cost money.”

Calvert laughed then, the first time he'd even smiled, much less laughed, since they'd had their confrontation. “Begging your pardon sir, but you have the amazing ability to think like a merchant.”

Now it was Granger's turn to laugh, letting Calvert rib him gently about being a bit Bourgeois. “Don't tell my father.” He looked away from the convoy and his eyes met Calvert's. They stopped laughing then, and Granger saw the same pain and anguish in Calvert's eyes that he was feeling himself. How stupid that was, he thought. That they'd act like this, torture each other, torture themselves. “Join me for dinner.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, the only thing he could say.

“We'll eat when you get off watch. I think we'll be busy enough soon. In the meantime, send the hands to dinner. Let's let them get their meal in while the galley stove is still lit.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said again. Granger went below to alert Winkler and Lefavre to get his dinner ready, and to see that it was, well, romantic. Granger was below for less than ten minutes when Intrepid's motion told him the gale was increasing. He went back up on deck and had to brace himself against the wind and spray.

“Squall is intensifying sir,” Calvert screamed in order to be heard.

“So I see. Change the lookouts every hour, if you please,” Granger yelled back. He turned his telescope toward the Implacable and saw flags soaring up her mast.

“Sir, ‘Flag to Convoy, Heave to’,” Fitzwilliam said.

“Acknowledge Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger said. “Mr. Calvert, have the hands man the braces.”

“Aye aye sir,' he said and proceeded to call the watch. The waves were growing larger and larger, urged on by the wind. Granger got the feel of them, estimated the distance between them, and bided his time.

He turned to the helmsman. “Helm's alee! Put her into the wind. Stand by the braces!” He felt Intrepid begin to turn and watched a wave barreling down toward them, but his little sloop turned quickly and took the wave on her bow, soaring up, as it lifted the ship then down as it passed. Then Intrepid put her bow directly into the next trough and Granger watched nervously as a wall of grayish blue water cascaded down the deck, soaking all of them. Most of the water poured harmlessly out of the scuppers, but a good amount still cascaded below and would have to be pumped out later. But then she seemed to get the rhythm of the sea, and began to rise and fall with the waves.

“Trim the braces Mr. Calvert!” Granger called. The men on deck tugged on the braces, hauling the sails around, and the maneuver was complete.

“The convoy has hove to sir,” Calvert said to him. Granger stared off at them. The huge Indiamen and Implacable had no problem in these heavy seas which might easily swamp Intrepid, maybe even Rattlesnake.

“Very well. For once leeway will help us out. These Northwesterly winds will blow us toward the Cape,” Granger observed.

“Yes sir,” Calvert agreed.

“I fear we will have to postpone our dinner,” Granger said. There was no way both of them were leaving the deck in the middle of this squall.

“That's alright sir,” Calvert said. “Maybe when the storm abates.”

Granger looked at him, studied his face, and nodded. Which storm, Granger wondered?

Granger climbed the ladder up to the deck, making sure to keep his steps even, to not give away his exhaustion. He emerged onto the deck and could feel the difference immediately. For four days they'd fought a storm as bad as any they'd faced in the Bay of Biscay, for four days they'd ridden it out hove to, for four days they'd endured freezing cold weather, and for four days Granger had almost been constantly on deck. He knew that the whole crew was tired, but there was only one man who could share his complete and utter fatigue: Calvert.

Calvert had been terrific. He'd been on deck with Granger, and on the rare moments when Granger left, he'd take over or vice versa. The wind was too loud for conversation, but somehow the storm had cleared the tension. They'd had to work together as naval officers, and that bond had been reconnected.

“The weather seems to be easing sir,” Calvert said, stating the obvious.

“So it does,” Granger said, staring at the still massive waves all around them.

“Signal from flag sir!” Fitzwilliam shouted. “Course Southeast.”

“Acknowledge!” Granger shouted back. He turned to Calvert. “We'll get some sail on her.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, and like a well-tuned team they put the ship before the wind and reefed her mainsail enough to keep station on the convoy.

Granger heard the pumps working, trying to pump the water out that they'd shipped. He thanked God that he'd spent that extra money on good pumps. He estimated it cut the labor required in half at least. He studied Intrepid's motion carefully and decided that it was safe to light the galley fire.

“Mr. Calvert! Have the galley fire lit and feed the hands,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir!” he said with a smile. Hot food, hot anything at this point would be heavenly.

“Perhaps after that we can have that dinner after all.”

“It would be my pleasure sir,” Calvert said, maintaining his smile. Granger called Winkler and told him to fix dinner for them, and stayed on deck with Calvert until it was ready.

Winkler came up about half an hour later to tell him the meal was ready, so Granger called Humphreys to take the watch and led a weary Calvert down to his cabin.

“Hot food! And tea sir! I feel as if I've walked into paradise,” Calvert observed.

“It smells wondrous,” Granger agreed as they ate ravenously. “I'm not sure which I'd prefer. A good sleep or food.”

Calvert laughed with him. “Humphreys is taking the rest of my watch and his, so I get to do both.”

“I'll have to think of some devilish reason to call you,” Granger teased. They were slap-happy then, so tired they were silly.

“Well, that would make you quite the cad, but of course if you call I'll respond sir,” Calvert said diplomatically.

“Wouldn't want to be more of a cad than I've already been,” Granger said, taking them to the abyss of their issue. He regretted his words and the sobering effect they had on both of them. They stopped talking then and just ate. Granger wasn't sure if the silence was due to the discomfort between them, or just because they couldn't eat and talk at the same time.

They finished eating, having devoured everything placed in front of them, and just sat there, contentedly full. Granger didn't want Calvert to leave, and Calvert didn't seem to want to. But someone needed to say something, and Granger knew that as much as he wanted that person to be Calvert, it had to be him. He was the Captain, he was the senior officer. It was his responsibility, even in a personal situation like this. But he couldn't do it. He didn't know what to say, how to end this impasse.

Calvert stood up, placing his napkin on the plate. “I guess I'd better get what sleep I can,” he said softly.

Granger stood up with him and swallowed hard, then moved toward him. Calvert looked like he wanted to run, but he didn't. “Stay.”

“And eat more? I'm sorry sir, I'm pretty full,” Calvert said, trying to dodge the issue.

“No. Stay with me. Sleep with me,” Granger said. He moved in close now and put his hands on Calvert's sides.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Calvert said nervously, refusing to look at him.

Granger moved his hand up to Calvert's face and pulled it so their eyes met. He moved his mouth to Calvert's and kissed him gently, lovingly, and felt Calvert return his kiss with the same fervor. Not passion, no, it was more intense even than that. It was tender. “Please, Francis.”

“I'm fighting my feelings George, I'm fighting them so hard, trying not to love you,” Calvert said, almost frantically.

“Don't fight them. Love me back. We're both miserable.”

“You don't love me,” Calvert said. “If you did, you wouldn't want other men.”

“You're wrong. I do love you. I love you more than you know. I guess I separate sex and love and you don't. We need to work this out. I miss you Francis. I ache for you,” Granger said.

“I miss you too,” Calvert said. Were those tears in his eyes? A King's officer, crying?

“We need to work through this, but I am so tired I must surely drop. I know you feel the same. I want to be with you, to feel your warm body, to smell you,” Granger said softly into Calvert’s ear as he kissed his cheek. He held out his hand and Calvert took it, and Granger led him to his sleeping cabin.

They stripped off their wet uniforms and stood there, shivering. Granger started giggling and Calvert did the same. Granger climbed in his cot and Calvert climbed in with him, then they hugged, wrapping their bodies around each other, reveling in each other's body heat. But they were both young men, and it wasn't long before Granger felt his dick rising, and he felt Calvert's pressing against his.

“You lured me in here to warm me up and now you're trying to seduce me,” Calvert said with a smile.

“Of course I am. You are exquisite,” Granger said, and kissed him. Calvert seemed to resist, not the kiss but the passion, but then he surrendered. The surrender was so complete it sucked Granger in like a vortex, all the old emotions, their love resurging, but resurging with a strength it didn't have before, a power that was magnified by their time apart, the anguish of their separation.

Granger pulled Calvert on top of him and grabbed the lanolin, frantically lubing Calvert's big cock and his hole, and then he lined it up and felt Calvert push into him. Heaven. Granger was in heaven. He wanted Calvert to fuck him because with his big dick he could do that and they could still kiss, share those amazing looks, while they fucked. He felt Calvert moving in and out of him, probably only half of his cock penetrating him due to their angle, but it was more than enough. He felt Calvert's pubic hair and his abdomen rubbing against his dick with each gentle thrust.

“I missed you so much, I missed you so much,” Calvert said in his ear, and Granger felt something wet on his shoulder. Tears.

“I missed you too. I did. So much. God, I love you so much. So very much,” Granger said back. Calvert's tears stopped then as he gave in to his passion, his lust, and started moving more quickly. Granger wrapped his arms and legs around him, keeping the contact and friction. He knew Calvert, knew he was getting close, and knew he was getting close himself. And then they came, together, in perfect sync with each other. Their orgasms flowed like the sea itself, a series of waves that seemed to go on forever, an ecstasy Granger was sure he'd never felt before. Then they were spent and they lay there together, with Calvert's dick still buried inside Granger's ass, waiting for it to soften and leave of its own free will.

And then, their emotions and hormones sated, the two exhausted young men fell asleep just like that, totally intertwined and totally linked.

“Sir, sir,” Granger heard someone say. It was a most unpleasant noise, and a most unwelcome presence. He felt Calvert's weight still on top of him and reality began to penetrate his brain. His first thought was panic, panic that he was here, in his cot with another naked man sprawled across him. He opened his eyes and saw Winkler looking down at him, grinning and blushing. Winkler saw that his eyes were open. “It's half an hour before the next watch. I thought you and Mr. Calvert would want to know.”

“Thank you Winkler. We'll be up shortly,” Granger said. He nudged Calvert but Calvert didn't budge, so he reached down and began stroking his half hard dick, getting him fully erect in no time. They hadn't moved at all, so deeply had they slept, so Granger was able to adjust his hips and take Calvert inside him again, just as they were before.

He felt Calvert's lips against his neck, felt his hips start to move as he began to fuck Granger as if they'd never slept. Granger wrapped his arms tightly around Calvert, pulling him to him with such strength it felt like he was trying to pull Calvert literally into his body. Then he put his feet on Calvert's magnificent ass cheeks and urged him on, faster and faster, until they both achieved orgasm again.

Calvert made to get up but Granger held him there. “I have the watch,” Calvert objected. Granger let him go.

“I'm worried that if you leave you won't come back,” Granger said, exposing more of his inner psyche than he planned.

“I'll be back George. We'll work through this,” Calvert said, gave him a kiss then dressed hurriedly and headed back to his own cabin to get ready for his watch.

Granger got up grudgingly, his muscles aching, his mind as fatigued as his body. Winkler helped him get dressed and made sure he had a bite to eat, then Granger headed up on deck. The weather had moderated considerably, Granger could tell even in the darkness that was fast enveloping them.

“Night stations sir,” Calvert observed.

“Very well,” Granger acknowledged. Fellowes was right; sailing with Indiamen was much easier than other merchants. They actually followed orders and they could actually keep station pretty well. “Walk with me.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. They began pacing as the sun dipped below the horizon, their legs by now accustomed to Intrepid's motion. It was the first few lengths that hurt the most, their aching legs rebelling against being worked yet again.

“You are so important to me, so much that I can't explain. But we won't always be together. I've found that monogamy in this service isn't realistic. It won't work,” Granger said, thinking of Blackwell and Arthur.

“You can't expect me to just sit back and relax while you fuck around with other men,” Calvert said indignantly.

“A question for you. Do you think that when I was with that other man that I would have preferred to be with him instead of you?” Granger asked. Calvert said nothing. “There's no one I'd rather be with than you.”

“You say that now,” he said dogmatically.

“We're connected. You can feel it now, I know you can. And when we make love, it's a connection like no other,” Granger said.

“I can,” Calvert said. Then they paced a few more lengths of the deck. “I'm sorry if I overreacted. If you need to be with someone else, I guess I'll have to deal with it, even if I don't like it.”

“And I’m sorry I hurt you,” Granger said. They paced the deck for a bit and Granger felt the fatigue overwhelm him again. “I'll be below. Please call me if I'm needed.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said formally.

“If you feel up to it, come see me when you're off watch,” Granger said.

“I'll see you in four hours,” Calvert said. Granger could see his grin in the soft light from the lantern by the binnacle.

Granger, Calvert, Carslake, and the two midshipmen stood on the quarterdeck, comparing their calculations, trying to decide just exactly where they were. And once again, to Granger's delight, they were all quite close. Their position was about fifty miles south-east of the Cape of Good Hope. Granger glanced out at the tossing waves. The seas were still moderate, had been since the last squall, but the skies were clear.

“Deck there! Flagship's signaling!” Came the call from the masthead.

“Mr. Fitzwilliam, what is on the Commodore's mind?” Granger asked cheerfully. Fitzwilliam grabbed a glass and began reading the numbers and making frantic notes.

“Flag to Intrepid,” he said. “Proceed.”

“Acknowledge Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Calvert, shake out the reefs in the mains and the topsails.”

“Aye aye sir,” they both said simultaneously. As soon as the acknowledgement fluttered up the mast, Intrepid shook out her reefs and surged ahead, leaving the convoy behind. It was as if she was being freed from bondage, and was anxious to escape from the convoy that had enslaved her.

“Helm, course East Northeast,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” the man said, moving the wheel larboard a point. Granger watched the convoy grow smaller and smaller as they left her behind.

“Gentlemen, I'd like to ask that you join me for dinner,” Granger said; an order, not a request.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, speaking for them.

“Mr. Wilson can take the watch,” Granger said. “We'll convene in thirty minutes.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said again. Granger went below to tell Winkler about dinner, and left it to Winkler to break the news to a grumpy Lefavre.

“Pass the word for Jeffers and Farrel,” Granger told Winkler. An order from the Captain was like a message from God. They arrived in his cabin quickly.

“You sent for us sir?” asked Farrel, the senior.

“Canvas the crew. I want to know if anyone is familiar with Port Louis, on Ile de France,” Granger ordered. Fellowes had been unable to acquire anything more accurate than his own pathetic chart.

“Aye aye sir!” They headed off to their task. Granger spread his chart out on the table and looked for some weakness, some flaw that would help him bottle up the schooners. A glass of wine appeared in his hand as if by magic, courtesy of Winkler. About 15 minutes later there was a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Granger called, and Hercule came in, looking very nervous.

“I know Port Louis sir,” he said with his thick accent. “I served there under the great Suffren in the last war.”

Granger recognized the pride Hercule held for the old French navy, the navy of the Ancien Regime. “Admiral de Suffren was one of the great naval commanders. You were fortunate.”

Hercule beamed. Then growled. “That was when French officers were gentlemen, like yourself sir.”

Granger smiled. “How is your back?”

“It is healing,” he said. “I am sorry to let you down sir.”

“Everyone makes mistakes Hercule. You have paid the price for yours, and now it is forgotten.” Hercule smiled back at him. “I am going to discuss our mission with my officers over dinner. I would like you to join us.”

“Me sir?” he asked, nervous and shocked.

“Yes. I want your input on Port Louis.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Winkler was scurrying around the cabin, overheard their conversation, and set another place automatically. He truly was an excellent Captain's servant. The officers began filing in, most of them casting a surprised eye at Hercule, who took his place at the end of the table with the midshipmen.

“As most of you realize, we have been detached on an independent mission. I asked you here to share the particulars of that mission with you. Our convoys are being harassed by small ships, primarily schooners, believed to be based out of Port Louis on Ile de France. Seaman Hercule has joined us tonight because he has an intimate knowledge of that port.” Granger nodded to Hercule and the officers nodded and smiled at him as well, endeavoring to make him feel comfortable.

“Our mission,” Granger went on, “Is to prevent those schooners from attacking our convoy.”

“How are we to accomplish that sir?” asked Humphreys.

“That is up to us to figure out,” Granger told him.