05 Wenches and Mead

by Rick Dean

Rated: 13+ · Chapter · Action/Adventure · #2361045

The Defiance returns to St. Cruz and the crew celebrates their success.

Wenches and Mead

“Huzzah!”

Mugs clashed in toast. Konrad hadn’t even heard the toast. He just raised his mug in that general direction, sloshed his drink, then took a mighty swig. Already, he wobbled when standing. Yet he had no intention of standing. He’d tucked his purse deep inside his breeks, intending to pass out on the tavern floor. Not just yet, though.

His first round had been paid for by Ralph, for losing his wager. The lass Dorothy pretended to remember him, but she was unable to hide the fact that poor Ralph represented just another customer. Though sad at first, Ralph bought drinks for the crew and lost himself in another of Nancy's girls. Ralph soon forgot Dorothy as thoroughly as she'd forgotten him.

Meanwhile Konrad returned his gaze to the woman in his lap, trying to remember her name. He failed. Oh well, he thought, doesn’t matter. He’d take her upstairs in a moment and have his way, as best as a youth his age could. She wasn’t the prettiest lass in the bar but she spoke with a French accent and promised to do things “only the French girls do.” Konrad didn’t know what that meant but he had sufficient coins in his purse to find out. He’d have her, and then at least three or four more girls before he passed out. At his age, twelve days without seeing a woman meant the mere sight of them drove him crazy. He'd have them all if he could.

This was night two since the Defiance limped back to port. Captain Scarlett allowed none to leave the ship the first night. They could hear the sounds of other crews carousing in the town while anchored in the bay, yet Scarlett knew that the moment he allowed the men to go ashore they’d never get any repairs done. The fight with the Spanish brigantine had been short, yet violent. Defiance had taken a broadside and the Spanish ship extracted a terrifying price for such a brief encounter.

Scarlett shuddered to think of the devastation had he faced a larger ship. In those waters, something as small as a brigantine usually ferried dispatches and bureaucrats between the Spanish Main and their capital at Santo Domingo. Even had Defiance captured her, they would have won precious little plunder from the fight. Had they encountered a galleon that night, they could have won far greater spoils, yet in truth, the Spanish would, without question, have confined them to the briny deep. Or worse. Had they not sunk they’d be rotting in a Spanish gaol now.

Instead, he’d held the crew aboard overnight and they completed most of the repairs. Unlike the Spaniard, their mast had escaped unscathed. Yet they had several tattered sails to replace. Once they took down the torn sails, several men grabbed thick needles and darned the canvas. The other men joked and called them seamstresses, yet mostly out of envy, for they performed the least physical labor on the ship. Several lines had snapped, and multiple spars needed replacing. The port side rail may as well no longer exist. The Spanish cannons had splintered it. The ships carpenter fashioned a makeshift rail from spare timbers. It was crude and square, with none of the carved intricacy of the original, but she would keep men and gear from falling overboard and serve as a tie-down for the ship’s lines.

The carpenter and his men patched the holes in the hull. If Defiance stayed in port long enough, they would carve fresh timbers and hammer them into place with fresh caulking and pitch to ensure a tight seal against the sea’s wrath. In the meantime, they sawed the holes square and hammered plugs in place. It would keep most of the ocean at bay, but without the strength of a proper repair job. Not only that, the plugs would serve as an open invitation to shipworm, barnacles, and the other destructive forces hidden under the surface of the Spanish Lake.

The men of Defiance had buried their dead at sea and now felt eager to release the pent-up energy that comes with survival. Spending a day at port without shore liberty did not make Captain Scarlett popular. Had the condition persisted longer, it would have invited mutiny. Yet the men knew that in order to make Defiance seaworthy again, they must complete these repairs. Scarlett had cut their time ashore short last trip, and they had no idea how much time receive to indulge in the pleasures of drink and flesh awaiting them. This gave a sense of urgency to both the repairs and to the crew’s time ashore. The fact that they could hear the bayside taverns only tantalized them even further. The Quartermaster used this as motivation, reminding them that the sooner they finished the work, the sooner he would divide the loot and the sooner the crew of Defiance could sate their prodigious appetites.

Once the men had completed the work, Mr. English had a few of them bring the chest out from the hold. He opened the lid and the men gave a mighty cheer. There, in full view of the crew, he counted out shares. Captain Scarlett watched, but never counted shares himself. That was the quartermaster's job. This way none could accuse him of cheating the men. The men alternated between being thrilled and greedy. Thrilled to fill their purses with coin immediately, with no need to sell off “acquired” merchandise first. Greedy, on the other hand, wishing for an even greater payout. Mr. English had noticed over the years that only a rare man ever had “enough.” Rich or poor alike, they all loved to call others greedy while lusting for more in their own hearts. He kept that council to himself, knowing no good would come from sharing the thought. Instead he continued to divvy the loot. Once everyone had their rightful share, the portions looked thin in comparison to the brimming sea-chest. Yet that share would buy the men a staggering amount of fornication, liquor, gambling, and any other sort of debauchery their hearts and libidos desired.

Many of the crew had fond, if fuzzy, memories of Nancy’s tavern. It became the premier destination for the men of The Defiance. Nancy knew her business. With multiple ships in port, every girl in her employ would work that night. She even coerced a handful of other local girls to work. Nancy knew she’d have to beat a few of the girls, wipe away tears from some, and cajole them into going through with what they’d agreed to do. She detested that part of her job, yet she also knew she would be far less brutal in her persuasion than the customers, or worse, the savage who now ran One-Eyed Jack's. The time to for a girl say no was prior to going to work, not when a man had a newly empty purse in his hand and a newly full bulge in his loins.

Nancy had even more trouble controlling the slave-girls. Several plantation owners had female slaves who she rented from the plantations. Some of the customers preferred the exotic dark flesh. Some found it intriguing. Many others didn’t care. In their drunken stupor, anything warm in the night would suffice. The slave girls rarely proved willing. She had to hire a guard to prevent them from refusing. Their overseers told them what was expected, but between the language barrier and the girls stubborn pride, it rarely led to a compliant girl. Still, even after paying the overseer and the guard, they still generated enough money for Nancy to put up with the hassle.

When a ship returned from a successful voyage, Nancy would have far more women working than she would have rooms available upstairs. As the evening went on and inhibition lowered, many customers would no longer bother with rooms. Their transactions would occur out in the great room in front of all the other customers. Most customers were too occupied with their own women to care. They hadn’t seen a proper English girl in months, perhaps years, so any woman Nancy could scrounge could make a month’s wages in a single night. With every drained pizzle, a portion of every escudo or reales that changed hands would make its way to Nancy.

Nancy had a surprise for her customers this night. Mead! Mead was a rarity in the Caribbean. Most of the men drank ale, wine, brandy, or the new favorite, rum. Rarely did a shipment of mead make its way to this region. She guessed that some Lord’s wastrel son, stuck in the colonies, had insisted upon a shipment. Then a lucky ship captain had appropriated that shipment on the high seas. Nancy knew better than to ask the lucky captain for details. She’d paid him a premium for the drink, for years might pass before the island saw this honeyed wine again. She could serve a taste of home before the men got their taste of that other kind of honey. Nancy deliberately waited for a successful voyage before she served it, and she charged a steep price knowing full well the men would pay dearly for such a treat.

Throughout the night it was a toss up which the men cried out for more, “give me wenches!” or “more mead!” These shouts brought a smile to her face. Not only due to the profits but because she could scan the faces of her customers and see that in whatever form, she served unabashed joy. These were hard men in a brutal place. Between gunfire, fever, flux, and fights, most would die within the year. The men might squander their coins, but in most cases, those coins bought them the only joy they would have in their lives.

Nancy’s smile shifted as she saw Captain Scarlett making his way towards here. Speaking of bringing joy to people’s lives…

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