“Jamie! Jamie, I need you in my cabin, right now!” Sol’s voice thundered, when he appeared on the deck, his wavy hair in disarray, looking for his sailing master, with some papers in hand.

Everybody had heard this tone before, and they knew their captain’s usual temper explosion when somebody had done a thing they shouldn’t have, but until now Jamie had been never in this trouble. They were accustomed to see the two bickering from time to time, as Jamie was known to challenge anybody’s authority as a matter of principle, to whine and complain… But this was something accepted – by the former captain because he wouldn’t dare to cross the quartermaster wrongly, and by Sol because Jamie was a good sailing master, knowing all the Caribbean’s tricky areas and the good hideouts which could embrace a pinnace and make it invisible from a warship which, by dimensions and by design, couldn’t get exactly everywhere “The Caribbean Siren” did.

This was what attracted the crewmen’s attention, the unusual target of Sol’s rage outburst. And how couldn’t he be enraged, when two days before, Enrique had brought him some letters, saying that Jamie was hiding them from everybody, therefore they should be important to him. Sol took them and later he did his best to read them. It took some patience to decipher Jamie’s handwriting, especially that Sol could read English, but not as effortlessly as Spanish, and he had read more navigation books than anything else, but finally he succeeded. And the lecture proved to be far more interesting than he expected, so he had the motivation to read them all, several times, trying to understand what the sailing master had been up to lately. Now he was steaming and demanding loudly an explanation.

Once Jamie arrived at the captain’s cabin, Sol started the accusation with the angry words:

“What is this ship, a damn fucking brothel?"

Of course it seemed so lately – with Red Ben trying all kinds of intrigues, with two sirens driven away, and now a jealous lover selling Jamie’s secrets to the captain. Love secrets which, at least at the first reading, smelled treason. Sol wasn’t so quick to judge and label it as such, though. A man like Jamie, who had been a pirate for fifteen years, couldn’t become so easily a traitor, even for the foolishness of love.

Sol was willing to investigate the matter and find the best solution for everybody, because this was nothing he had been prepared for. Carrajo, he had been elected captain in order to lead a ship to good prey and sail her out of the battle victorious. If he wanted to judge petty love squabbles and intrigues he needn’t go to sea for this, another career in any bigger town would have been enough. This was definitely nothing he had ever asked for, and he was at lost how to keep discipline among his crew in these conditions.

Jamie was innocently measuring the speed of the "Siren" and trying unsuccessfully to find out a safe spot for the new modern octant, a valuable, state-of-the-art navigational instrument, when Sols unmistakably angry voice disturbed him in both important tasks. Andrea, who was standing close with the precious octant in his hands casted Jamie a confused look.
It was unusual for Sol to shout at the sailing master out of the blue... usually, he only did it, after Jamie had vexed him for quite a while and his opponent generally replied in equal measures.
But even Jamie had no idea what he might have done wrong.
They were clearly on course, the wind was good, the sailing intact, he hadn't put anything icky into Sols shoes or played another prank on him... so why in the blue hell was Sol shouting for him??

Exchanging a confused look with his mate, Jamie shrugged.
"Well well, it seems as if our dear captain has a sudden, compulsive desire for the pleasure of my company..."
he stated vainly, tossing his long, silky mane of hair back.
"Not that I could blame him, though... Angel, dearie, can you take over here until I've pacified our spanish toro? Shouldn't take me too long anyway, his bark is worse than his bite..."

"Yes, mon capitain, in a moment!"
he called out to Sol, rolling his eyes.
"You will be able to hold out that long, now won't you? Or is it already that bad?"

Snickering he tossed Angel the rope of the log and after a last few instructions turned around and sashayed, deliberately slowly, after the captain and towards his cabin.

But the greeting that welcomed him there made him blink in consternation.

"What is this ship, a damn fucking brothel?"
Sol barked at him, honestly confusing his ignorant sailing master. Of course he had not checked if his letters were still in their place for a few days... they were there, as far as he knew and the concept of stealing was nearly unknown to Jamie. A thief amongst the brethren was dealt with swiftly and permanently and Jamie had turned pirate as a boy.
Jamie could by no means know what the captain was talking about.''

Therefore, like he tended to do it when he was confused about a topic, he gave the captain his most charming smile.

"Well, to say it with Shakespeare: "As you like it", mon capitain..."
he purred, with an amused smile and bowed with a flourish, taking it all as a jest.
.
"And you know, it'll be quite a good brothel, if you think about it - after all, what brothel can boast to have a toffer?"

Flipping his hair back jauntily, Jamie grinned, dark amber eyes glittering with mischief.

Being his usual brazen self wouldn’t help Jamie this time, Sol thought when hearing his loud, lewdy comment, and the men’s chuckles and snickers. If other times he might laugh and let his anger dissipate, now it further fueled it to grow. Some of the men, who knew him better, got the same feeling from their captain’s burning gaze: this time something was in stock for the sailing master.

Especially that he kept giving back brash answers when Sol started scolding him, as if the captain was one of his bedmates he could seduce into forgiveness.

“The problem is that I don’t like it at all!” he snorted. “It was supposed to be a fighting ship, not the damn court of Madrid boiling in intrigues and conspirations! And this attitude won’t bring you too far – especially when the prized toffer shares too many rival beds at the same time. Some of them in history started wars with such an attitude, some got killed in jealousy or right retribution for their intrigue-related misdeeds; you seem to be a toffer helping the balance of a war turn to the other side,” he added, on a lower tone, because he definitely didn’t want to be heard by the others. “And most people would call this treason.”

He had to understand first what had really happened and how far had Jamie gone, before deciding what to do with the information and what he could do to keep discipline on this ship.

“I understand well whom you screwed, and that you went to meet your secret lover, the man who had sworn revenge against us, when you were supposed to be in totally different places. Now tell me what else you have done, besides disobeying my orders, herding with the enemy and… having the stupidity to write drunken love letters? Well, I guess there has to be one more thing I am missing, which led to the arrival of these letters in my hands. But I am not asking you this, I am asking you what’s behind the letters? Have you really betrayed us for a Navy man’s favours?”

He was familiarized with Jamie’s strong passions, and if he didn’t exclude the possibility of betrayal, at the same time Sol knew that it was possible not to have happened this way. And if so, he was ready to negotiate friendly the solution to exit this situation honourably.

Now this was brash!

Since when did Sol care about Jamies choice of bedmates? Why should he anyway?
Jamie snorted and started to pout charmingly - could he help being the object of desire and envy? Until now Sol had never complained about his various affairs, since every man on board of a pirate ship was free to do whatever and whomever he wanted, as long as the articles didn't forbid it.
Coercion or rape was an offence, punishable by death, if two men quarrelled about something, either they could negotiate peacefully or duel on shore, so Jamies amorous conquests hadn't had any consequences for him.
Well until now it seemed, but he would certainly not agree with Sol that the captain had the right to control the sailing masters love life! That was ridiculous!

And now he babbled something about his beloved spanish court, yes, the same one he pretended to hate and nevertheless couldn't help to follow avidly... but at least they had toffers as well there, like every civilized nation.
But when Sol started to talk about him... calling him a toffer, who influenced the balance of war, and told him right to his face that this was treason... and Jamie had no idea about what exactly Sol was talking at this moment. One word though, he caught of Sols sermon and that word enraged him, reasonably so.

"Treason!!"
he exclaimed, no more the sultry, charming little mascot, but an enraged pirate, ready to defend his honour and freedom to the last breath.
"Now who exactly do you think you are to call me a traitor, hu?"

The dark amber eye got certain copper and golden reflexes, telling everybody who knew Jamie Russell a bit better that this time it wasn't the faked anger of a pouting wench who wanted to be charmed and soothed, but the rage of a hot-blooded, lawless man, most likely than not with a certain amount of Spanish blood as well.

"May I remind you, who kept this spanish bitch on board against all reason and common sense and who knows what you did with her as well - it is not my business to know and I never asked, but why do you ask where I go and find my pleasure, eh?
Whom I screw is my business and if you think it is seemly for a captain to spy after his sailing master like a jealous husband, the shame is on you, not on me!
And furthermore, I'd like to know... now hang on a moment, how can you know..."

Jamie went pale under his smooth, suntanned skin. He had been rather discreet in his little detour, the smuggler who had brought him to Port-de-Paix and back had been paid more than well... letters?
HIS LETTERS???
Oh no... he cursed himself, cursed his damn, pathetic, womanly heart that hadn't been firm and stout enough to burn the betraying letters... and Sol, whose nosy, arrogant spanish attitude had stolen them! He had hidden them, after all!

Jamie was unusually quiet for a moment, blinked, blinked again and only then began to speak, strangely calm and composed:

"Letters? May I ask what letters you are referring to? Well, dear captain, either you are bluffing or you have committed or allowed what is one of the greatest transgressions against the articles on all the ships I have sailed on until now... thievery, if you took letters I have written and hidden in the privacy of my cabin. If it is not too much asked then, would you read a few sentences, so I am aware of these letters contents?"

Sol steamed of anger, and Jamie’s attitude, instead of being pacifying and cooperative, was defiant and antagonistic, aggravating him more:

“I haven’t called you a traitor YET. I said only that it is a possibility. I want to hear what you have to say before I draw any conclusion and before any decision is to be taken. I am your friend, and I remain your friend, because otherwise somebody else would have got already the conclusions, right or wrong, and your defense would have been heard only in front of the Council.”

Jamie’s mention of Roser in this context enraged him more:

“I am not spying after anybody! If YOU have a jealous husband, you should have been wiser and know it before he found the evidence of your betrayal and brought it to me! And why would you soil Roser’s name by bringing it to this context? If anybody dares to say that I had disrespected her in any way, I will…”

He swallowed the threat, taking a deep breath, but fully aware that he would have confronted anybody who attempted to insult Roser and soil her reputation. He wasn’t like that damn Frenchman whom Jamie was so taken with, and who tried his best to seduce Roser while she had been in his power. Sol had always behaved properly with her, and why did Jamie dare now to insinuate that…?

When Jamie asked him to read the letters, accusing him of bluffing or thievery, he answered, while skimming with the eyes to find exactly the fragment of a letter he needed:

“I think you should choose your words more carefully, Jamie! I wouldn’t lower myself to steal anything; I got informed by a jealous lover, who luckily for you hasn’t understood much. He might be worth a trial upon the articles, but for somebody who read the letters, the appearances say you would be the first one judged and condemned. So I want to understand everything first. And if you still think I am bluffing, then tell me what anybody would have understood from this,” Sol started reading exactly what had troubled him the most:

“You know the saying <A lie never lives to be old>? Neither do traitors amongst the Brethren and that would be exactly what they'd think of me, if they had only the slightest idea with whom I have shared a passionate and unforgettable night, while I was supposed to be in Jamaica. Oh, I would deny it to my last breath, not only for my life. You would be worse off than I would be, I reckon.”

Now this impudent, arrogant... ox of a captain was going too far!
Treason was a "possibility"?
He assumed that Jamie was capable of treason? Now if this wasn't a reason for a duel... well, unfortunately a duel needed the quartermasters approval and needed to be done on shore... and that would mean, too much time for Sol to run his mouth.
Jamie wasn't stupid, he knew that Sol *had* his letters.. otherwise nothing would make any sense.
He listened intently to the angry explanations of the captain, trying hard to find out who had been the *real* traitor!!
For he himself had exposed nothing to Raoul, although his heart, his soft, womanly nature had cried bitter tears about the fact that he couldn't help his beloved as well...

"I'm not more of a traitor than you are a mermaid, cretin!"

He ignored Sols enraged explanation of complete innocence in regards to Roser... suuuure, dear capitan, suuuure, wanna tell that a load of enraged Dons, howling for blood and/or the ladies virginity... he didn't care what Sol did with his wenches anyway. As long as it wasn't by force and consensual, it wasn't against the Codex, so... who cared?
"Damn, nobody cares about a spanish skirt more or less lifted!"
he finally snorted.
"And if she agreed, it is nothing shameful... I was just referring to her rank after all, estupido!"

Jamie honestly couldn't care less if Sol had done her, her father or the entire spanish armada... what he cared about was Raoul.
Raoul, whose reputation *he* had soiled already, Raoul, who had trusted him so much... and how was he paying him back? by being a stupid twat, unable to do the right thing and if he had to write these accursed letters, couldn't he have burned them? Couldn't he have been a man for once?
But what had been done - or not done in this case - couldn't be changed, now Jamie had to extinguish the fire of rumours and accusations, spiteful snickers and stories told in the taverns before it went too much to control.
The information that the "jealous lover" hadn't understood much was reassuring. So it was just Sol whom Jamie had to deal with in one way or the other. Shame that Sol didn't fancy him...

Actually, Jamie never needed to be reminded of the words he had written in these fateful nights, when he had been close to breaking - he knew every single one of them, by heart. But he had a good reason to ask Sol to read the letters and although this reason might not have been the most honourable one, it was the only one that might work for now.
As well as Jamie had earned his nickname, Sol had earned his... and Jamie couldn't risk a duel, not now, not in the Piercing Suns own cabin, which he had to know as well as Jamie knew his own... the sailing master needed the element of surprise.
He was smart enough not to show what he was scheming to do, struck a bored poise, weight on one foot, the other one tapping annoyingly on the planks of the floor... until Sol started to read.
It wasn't easy for him to decipher English, even less Jamies handwriting and so a good part of his attention went to the little, but so important piece of paper.... unless a metallic, hissing sound mingled with his voice and the tip of Jamies cutlass was less than a foot away from his throat.
The element of surprise...

"Thank you, that'll be enough."
the sailing master stated, visibly pale under his deep tan.
"I think I remember it well enough now. Drop them!"

Jamie, predictably, protested that he wasn’t a traitor, and he further insulted Sol.

"I might believe you that you aren’t one, given our friendship, if you tell me exactly what has happened," Sol answered, still angry. "And throwing undeserved wild accusations at me wouldn’t help you, but a sincere discussion might. What is Roser to do when it is about your French lover and your... other one?“

Of course, he wanted to know exactly what had happened, in order to know how to twist the facts so that, if it wasn’t treason, not to appear anymore like this for the Council. He didn’t want to deliver Jamie to the Council and tell everything in the open, if it could be negotiated between them and found an amiable way to appease Enrique too, so as not to stir more intrigues. Only to appear in front of the crew that he had taken steps in order to enforce discipline… and nobody else fancy any other strange ideas. Damn, it was a brothel indeed he was leading, not a pirate ship: far too many intrigues!

As Jamie didn’t seem ready to tell him what he had actually done and what he hadn’t, challenging him to read what he had got, Sol looked for the incriminatory part in that letter… only to be stopped by a strange tone in Jamie’s voice, asking him to drop the letters, while threatening him with the cutlass.

Sol blinked almost without believing what was happening, then he recovered his cold blood:

"Yes, I drop them, you take them back, then before you succeed to do anything with them, your …how did you say? …jealous husband finds somebody else, less friendly than me, to explain him what is there… who is the one you mention… and your name with his together might be linked with the letters on somebody else’s table! Be reasonable, for God’s sake, I am not your enemy and I have never been! And for a veteran pirate like you, you should know better what entails the gesture you are making now… Drawing your cutlass against your captain!”

He was angry again, but angry against the stupidity of this mule of a sailing master who didn’t know who his enemies were.

Jamie wasn't impressed.
"I would draw this cutlass against God and the Devil to get these letters back and to assure that nobody can cause any harm to him."
he whispered.
"I am a traitor? So who do you think gave me the confidential information about the allied navies plan, including the privateers?
Kind fairies?
Get real, Sol, you owe this "treason" your ship, most likely."

Jamie snorted, gave an angry grin, the shook his head, eyes huge and somehow.. scared in his too pale face. It was visible that he was desperate, terrified even, but the cutlass in his hand never wavered.

"I never meant for anybody to find these letters... but they are all I have of him."
he admitted, sadly.
"And I never meant to do what I am doing now, but I unfortunately need to make sure that no rumour about the one I love leaves this cabin.
I *like* you, Sol, but I can't allow you to become the undoing of the man I *love*. And if this means my death, due to the Articles, so be it.
Well, maybe I was a whore, became a whore again when Nicholas died, but during the time I had him, I never even looked at another man. And when I stay true to the one I love now and others don't like it, too fucking bad!
You would have been happy with what knowledge I brought, I would have been happy with my new love and now I am standing here and have to act like an idiot, just because some asshole thinks that he owns me like a bloody piece of cattle, just because I shared his bed occasionally!"

Jamie bared his teeth, hissing with rage, his dark mane waving with every movement of his head, ducked and ready to jump, eyes gleaming in the dim light of the captains cabin...
pantera, indeed.
It wasn't that he wanted to kill Sol, of course not, but he was confronted with an overwhelming, terrifying problem. It wasn't his life he was afraid for - a gentleman of fortune rarely lived to an old age and he had lived long already - he was afraid of being the very reason for Raouls undoing.
His poor étoile... he had trusted him so much... and now he was disappointing him!
Sleeping around like a slut, keeping highly suspicious letters... he deserved whatever punishment the Articles had for treason, that was for sure.
But he didn't deserve it for betraying his crew, his captain... but for betraying the captain of his fiery heart.
Compared to this, the violation of the articles that drawing a weapon against a crewmate was, was neglectable...

Jamie changed tone. If he was loud until now and everybody on the deck had heard, intermittently, a half of the quarrel or a bit less, so not enough to get an idea what was it actually about, now he whispered what was tormenting him: he wanted the letters back and he wanted to be sure that his lover was safe. Then, with an important piece of information he had withheld until now, he succeeded to convince Sol of his innocence in one of the matters: at least he wasn’t a traitor.

“And you are even more stupid than anyone if you think * I * am your enemy! But no, you won’t see them back now, because you can’t reason. I’ll burn them in front of you, a bit later, to be sure indeed that nobody else gets them and does exactly what you want to avoid,” Sol answered exasperated.

This was what he had intended from the beginning, but who to understand this? Jamie, who looked as if bitten by that fly which made cattle crazy on the hacienda?

However, he needed to accept what he had just learnt: not only that Jamie wasn’t a traitor, but also that the damn French captain had been... useful, and that he owed Jamie…

“I thought you had learnt it in Kingston, but this changes things… I guess all of us owe our lives to this information, indeed. However, you are here now, cutlass in hand, still threatening me, ready to die… for what? Do you envisage yourself a hero of a certain legend? You are a pirate, and you have signed the articles as all of us have done. Wake up, see who your real enemies are, and step back while you still can!”

No reasoning was working with this mule of a sailing master, who clung possessively to the idea of the letters as being “all he had” of his unfortunate love.

“I am not asking you why you have written them, I can understand it… being lonely and not able to tell anybody your secret… but you should have burnt them, for God’s sake!”

Then Sol rolled his eyes seeing that the stubborn one was so firmly convinced that Sol was the one going to start rumours and harm the Frenchman.

“I have a better idea than your death, Jamie. You ARE my friend, and please understand once for ever that I am not your enemy. You know me for more than two years and you may be sure that I have my honour of a honest rogue. Once you told me that you aren’t a traitor, and once you told me that it’s him you got the most important information from, do you REALLY think I would do anything against him, if he doesn’t start it first? And I guess he wouldn’t because he loves you…”

The captain took a deep breath, then he continued calmly:

“As far as you know me, have I ever been the one to start a rumour? Don’t you think somebody else came to me, letters in hand and steaming against you? So you’d better think twice what you are doing, and make your choice: dying by the articles, after killing me, who am innocent, before I have any chance to get to anything sharp to defend myself, is really what you want? Or finding a way to live – be it giving up your love, or with another solution which can save you from the hell you have got into willingly today? Do I deserve your wrath, or the man who started this?” he waved the hand with the letters. “Or maybe yourself who didn’t do what you should have done from the beginning – burn them and keep the secret to yourself?”

Sol sighed again and threw him the usual look which meant he was very angry:

“So, put your cutlass back into its sheat, take a seat and let’s find a solution to this mess! Of course you wouldn’t like any of the possible ones, but you have gotten yourself deep in a foul soup and it’s up to you if you can swim out of it!”

Wih the announcement that Sol wasn't willing to give the letters back - at least not right now, Jamie, whose patience wasn't developed that much, hissed like a wildcat and bared his teeth.

"Butbutbut... they're *mine!"
he protested fiercely.
"And I want them back! And who cares where I learn something as long as I learned it!"

Over the gleaming steel of the cutlass, he casted a puppy look towards Sol.
"Pleeeeease!"

The spanish captain seemed to be unconvinced when he reminded his wayward sailing masters of the Articles of Agreement that Jamie had signed as well... well, that was certainly a problem. Jamie himself was by no means aggressive, his common weapon against his crewmates were his sharp mind and his even sharper tongue. He had never been involved in a fight or a brawl or any other violation of the Articles and now he was jumping into one of the worst things that a pirate could do head first... drawing a weapon against a crewmate.
That meant death... if he was lucky, but at this moment, there was another life to consider first.

"Weeell... I *did* sign the articles..."
Jamie drawled, a bit embarassed, but nevertheless, his eyes stayed alertly on Sol and the cutlass never wavered.
"But who could have known that... I mean, Raoul and all... I certainly didn't *ask* to end up in this mess!"
But he had to admit, that Sol *had* a valid point.... he should have burnt the letters like he had promised it in one of them... he was such a stupid whore!

"Aye..."
he agreed quietly.
"I was really remarkably dumb... I should have... but then, somehow, I couldn't and I can't let anybody read them and now they got stolen and you got them and all is a mess now and I have no idea what to do about it... how to make sure... I mean... I don't want.. I never meant... but I will, if I have to and fuck the Articles six ways to Sunday!"

Dark amber eyes sparkling with copper and gold, Jamie glared defiantly at his captain, who tried - so far unsuccessfully to convince him to give up, to accept that Sol wasn't the enemy... but after all...

"You are the one holding the letters by now!"
Jamie spat.
"You are the one, who is a danger right now, what do you *think* I should do? I've gone too far by now to abandon what I want... and if it means my death, than so be it..."
But in the next sentence, be it by accident or by intention, Sol said something that nearly broke Jamies heart:
"And I guess he wouldn’t because he loves you…”

Because he loves you... what Jamie hadn't dare to belive, nay, not even to hope, became somehow, miraculously reality by Sols words and right in this moment, Jamie could have hugged him to pieces. The sailing master, determined and ready to die a heartbeat before, started to sniffle quietly.

"I... I love him, too."
he admitted, close to tears.
"And I... I didn't mean to... but what else could I do, and I don't know what to do now, for I won't give him up and I won't let you have these goddamn letters and I am chewing myself out worse than you and Nicholas together could do it already... but I fear I can't kill you. Not at all... but I *had* to do something - don't you understand?"

And now, finally, the tip of the cutlass began to tremble, ever so slightly.

"I... I don't know what to do now..."
Jamie whimpered.

When Jamie protested that the letters were his, half threatening him with the cutlass, half pleading, Sol explained him directly:

“Yes, they are yours. They have your soul poured in them, and a little bit of another’s too. But if I give them back to you, I can swear in front of Santa Virgen de Guadalupe that you won’t burn them, irrespective what you promise to do. And next time, your jealous bedmate won’t bring them to me anymore, you can be sure of this! Can you listen to reason at least once in your life? Sorry, Jamie, but I won’t do it. I’ll burn them in front of you, as I promised, after we get to an agreement.”

His friend, the sailing master, was definitely in love as crazily as he had been with the previous quartermaster, for whom he had come aboard “The Caribbean Siren”. One shouldn’t read palms and cards like Maribel in order to see this in all his reactions, and Sol knew that he was capable to do anything foolish and find his death… all in the name of love.

“Of course you didn’t ask to end up in this mess… or rather you sort of did, but what’s done, it’s done and water under the bridge. Now we have to see what can be further done to get out together from this mess. And keeping the cutlass to my throat doesn’t help you at all, by contrary,” Sol tried to persuade him.

He didn’t expect, though, Jamie’s reaction: no matter what he said, this man was still seeing him as his enemy.

“You couldn’t; I will burn them, for your safety and his. All is a mess now, indeed, but we can find a way to get out of it alive, both of us. And yes, I am the one who is holding the letters, but I am no danger to you,” he continued, making big efforts to keep his calm and the low tone of the voice.

It was enough what the crew had heard already. And this mule of a sailing master was still exasperating him. Sol put the letters, with slow gestures, in the inside pocket of his vest, so they couldn’t be taken or lost.

“Am I really the danger, or your… jealous husband who might rile up some others and say it was treason? Or send the letters to the one whose name he might have recognized, and have him down? Yes, I am holding the letters and I’ll keep holding them, to be sure that nobody else does. As long as… you say I owe him something too, and he and your impossible affair is useful to us, who am I to be against you? If he wanted to send you to the noose, he would have done it already, as I understood. Damn it, Jamie, how blind can you be not to see who are your friends and who are your enemies?”

Jamie, determined and ready to die a heartbeat before, started to sniffle quietly. Yes, a lovesick mule, admitting his love and his helplessness!

"You *had* to do something – only that you did the wrong thing! Making a scandal that the men are betting now what happens here, and trying to kill me when I didn’t want any harm to you. Let the cutlass down, and go open that trunk there, take a bottle of rhum. You need a sip, and so do I! We’ll figure up what is to done afterwards, and when we’ll get out of this damn cabin we’ll be both of us alive. Of course, it would have been damn easier without this show, getting to talk like two responsible men!”

Slowly, with every passing seconds, Jamies panic started to subside like the tide, leaving clear, white, smooth sand in its wane. The sailing master was trembling slightly, like always when he was emotionally involved into a situation, but not much. Nevertheless, his poise relaxed slightly and his hand, that held the cutlass, retreated a bit to be out of immediate reach.
He was listening...

This good and commendable effort of sensible behaviour was nipped in the buds though, when Sol pocketed the letters.
Jamie gave a protesting snarl that ended in a helpless whimper, eyes fixed on the accursed pocket that held the sheets of paper he valued more than his life.

"Mine..."
he protested weakly, casting a longing look to the pocket, like a hungry stray dog would have stared on somebodys filled plate. But Sol told him in no uncertain terms, that no, he won't get them back and the only way to get them would be to pull them out of Sols pocket again, what would subsequently mean, killing the owner of said pocket first...
Jamie snorted angrily and stomped his feet like a spoiled child. He didn't really want to kill Sol... on the other hand he didn't want to get the deserved chewing out that was certainly only withheld because Sol didn't like the idea of a foot or two of steel through his throat.
And in at least one regard, Sol was right, he had infringed the Articles already and the punishment for this was more than severe... and he wouldn't have been able to burn the letters.
No way.

Well, that were two things that Sol were right in and if Jamie would think about it any longer, he would probably find even more topics that Sol was right in. But he refused to think any longer. The subsiding tension made him tired and dizzy, the tip of the cutlass, that had been held motionless for quite a while, sank down, pointing to the floor.

"There!"
Jamie spat bitterly.
"You've won! As long as you hold on to the letters, there ain't much I can do against you anyway... but remember one thing! This is between us two - he has no part in this and if he gets involved, I'll come back and pull you down into Davy Jones locker personally!"
And with an angry gesture, he dropped the cutlass to the floor, then crossed his arms, every inch the defiant princess again.
Hey, that was obviously a poise, Sol liked...

When Jamie protested at the letters being hidden safely in his pocket, Sol threw him a piercing glare and answered:

“Of course they are yours… and they are safer here than anywhere else! Don’t throw a tantrum, it doesn’t help anymore this time.”

After a careful consideration, while Sol was still feeling the point of the cutlass dangerously close, Jamie gave up and admitted his defeat –still sulking and in a strange way. He dropped the cutlass, but not before threatening Sol again.

“Do you really think I need your menaces? Do you think me so lowly that I could have any contribution to the undoing of a man whose timely warning had helped me keep my ship and my crew alive?” the Spaniard hissed, still in low voice, but barely containing his anger. “I swear these letters and me would have no part in anything involving him; what about Enrique? Can he remember a name he had read? Could he make the connection if he happens to hear it again in any context? And hopefully it’s only him… Whom he might have sought advice from before coming to me? And what do the men think it’s happening here now, when you started shouting like a rabid dog…? Damn it, Jamie, fill those glasses and take a seat! Both of us need some rhum now.”

Snorting and hissing angrily, Jamie... obeyed.
He did it, simply because he had no idea what else to do and a sip of rhum might indeed calm his fluttering nerves.

Taking two glasses out of the chest as well as the bottle, Jamie smashed them onto the table, still with angry, erratic movements that told clearly of his inner turmoil.
He even poured both of them a drink, but was too agitated to sit down.
Pacing up and down in front of the table, glaring for all he was worth, beads and charms and trinkets tinkling and clinking aggressively.

"I don't *care* about what Enrique thinks, he is a goddamn idiot anyway!!"
Jamie fumed defensively.
"I am not *his*, goddamnit! I'm not *anybodys* anymore..."

Jamie fell silent, out of a sudden, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Hell and damnation..."
he whispered, a little forlorn, when he remembered, how he had signed his letters.

And then, with a rapid movement, he picked up his glass and downed the rum.

Sol didn’t care now about Jamie’s rant on Enrique, simply because he didn’t answer to the points Sol had raised. For Jamie, it was just a jealous man’s attempt to “own” him, against which idea he rebelled, while for Sol it was a matter of the discipline aboard the ship, about the ship’s safety ultimately, because only God knew what else Enrique was able to do and whom he might have rallied to his cause.

He swallowed his rhum sip by sip, deep in thoughts, pondering carefully what was to be done in order not to lose all the crew’s respect, and not to be suspected of treason together with Jamie if that damn stupid Enrique had told his embellished story to any drinking buddy. All possibilities were dancing in his mind, together with their related consequences, until he finally said:

“If you didn’t shout so loudly at first and when you raised your cutlass at me, the situation could have been mitigated better, but I think you agree with me that you can’t get away without a punishment now. Of course both of us know that the letters are not to be mentioned to the council, both because somebody could take an advantage of their existence and because if they were to be read publicly, as I fear Cutter would do, it would lead to an accusation of treason which you wouldn’t be able to deny in front of them and find the same understanding you found with me. So, as long as you know the Articles, Jamie, you have just got yourself a date with the <captain’s daughter> for having threatened your captain with the cutlass, and you are aware that it is the smallest punishment possible.”

Well, he had an idea how to make it even smaller, but he couldn’t tell it to Jamie now. And there was another problem that Sol couldn’t help thinking about, one which Jamie hadn’t been willing to consider when asked: exactly what Enrique had understood from the letters he had brought to Sol. He couldn’t read English, but he could read Spanish, and deciphering some names was nothing difficult. What if he retained them and found another way to put this to his personal use? However, Sol hoped now that the diversion from the letters to the violent gesture and the fact that Jamie got his punishment, a thing rarely occurring aboard the “Caribbean Siren”, will sidetrack Enrique’s thoughts – and others – to the part of obeying the rules and reinforcing the discipline which seemed to have gone to hell lately. And without discipline on a ship – be it a pirate one or not – things went easily to chaos.

If Enrique was up to anything else, it was time to take the needed measures according to the case, but with a bit of luck this would be enough for everybody. As for Jamie’s date with the “captain’s daughter”, he had an idea or two how to make it somehow less painful for him, because Sol intended it more like a reminder to the whole crew than actually harming Jamie. Some pain and hurting wouldn’t be possible to avoid, though a good part yes, if Sol played his cards carefully and no devil introduced his tail in the captain’s plans.

The fiery liquid actually soothed the sailing master, who was still breathing faster, eyes shining with a hellish fire whenever he thought of his stolen letters that were now in the captains pockets, where they, by all purpose and intend did NOT belong!
He actually felt wronged, even though he had drawn steel against the captain, but hell, he would have never done it in another situation! How could anybody dare to steal what was his... and even more so, when he had hidden them so well? That was an affront agaost the articles, if anything...
Another sip of rum. When he thought about it, maybe Sol had taken them in good faith... and maybe he had been a bit hasty threatening him and not the real culprit...
It was obvious, that the alcohol was calming the enraged sailing master down quickly, soothing the fiery temper and he merely looked up from the glass he was nursing, when Sol started to speak again.

The glass dropped.
"You aren't fucking serious!!"
Jamie gasped.
"You ought to be kidding, the cat? That's a joke and a bad one, too..."
A look to Sols face made Jamie frown, though. It seemed that the captain was dead serious for once.
"It'll be a cold day in hell when I'll dance with the captains daughter."
Jamie stated firmly, glaring back at the Piercing Sun, eyes huge and unblinking.
"Do whatever you want to, but don't expect me to play along with that!
Not that easy, Sol."

Another long, deep glance, from big, scared eyes. Then Jamie dove down to get his cutlass back, desperate to defend himself against the scary proposition. He had never been publically flogged before... sometimes it had been close, but still negotiable. Be it, that he agreed to extra work, that his share of the booty was halfed - something he didn't really mind - or that he merely screwed his way out of it, but he had never been rigged to the grating in a public display of humiliation and shame.

"You can rig the damn grating with my dead body if you feel the need, Sol."
he said in a small voice, holding the cutlass defensively between him and his opponent.
"But I don't want to get torn into pieces in front of everybody..."

Well, he had been flogged once. Not with the cat, though, but with a flogger of smooth leather, that was usually called the "boys pussy", an instrument to punish younger and subsequentially less resiliant members of a ships crew.
He remembered it well... the first and only time Nicholas had had to raise a hand against him. But as the quartermaster, he had to keep up discipline and when Jamie had been sulking for the one or other reason and had mistaken a call to arms for an attempt to lure him out of his hiding place. He had realized his mistake when he had heard sounds of fighting and had taken his part in the fight, belatedly, but that was a transgression that couldn't remain unpunished.
Not if Nicholas shouldn't become a laughingstock.
But how could he do this to his matelot, knowing his frailty, both of body and soul, how could he destroy him with the cat in front of the whole crew??
He couldn't. But on the other hand, he couldn't allow his little rascal to get away with this.
During the council, Nicholas asked for a weeks time for the punishment and promised to show the results of it... not the punishment itself, though, what Jamie had feared most.
And if after this week the crew was still convinced that Jamie hadn't got punished sufficiently, they could take the cat and do to him whatever they wanted, because Nicholas would resign as quartermaster.

Four days later, Nicholas had carried an unconscious Jamie, wrapped in a bloodsoaked bedsheet on deck and had asked the crew, if they saw the need for more of this.
When the bedsheet was pulled back... after all, a little blood was easy to fake... it had been visible that there was no part of Jamies body that wasn't bruised and swollen and raw, hundreds of scratches on his skin oozing blood. But the deep, scarring lacerations of the cat were missing.
Standing protectively over Jamie, Nicholas had explained what he had done.
For every deserved and agreed on cut with the cat, Jamie had received five with the flogger.
Even the less educated members of the crew could count out, that Jamie had gotten it worse than anybody else with that "deal" and so their respect for Nicholas grew. If he didn't even allow his own dear matelot to screw with the articles, he was certainly not fooling around in any regard.
They didn't know how Nicholas himself had suffered, how long he had sat with Jamie, trying to ease his pain, dreading the next three or more dozen he would have to give... just to be rewarded by a fleeting, weak smile, a small glance, a head nestled trustingly under his hand, despite of the pain this very hand had caused...

But Nicholas was dead and gone now, leaving Jamie alone in this mess he couldn't know how to solve on his own and it didn't seem to be possible to negotiate with Sol... Jamie wouldn't have even known where to start in his aggravated state of mind.
Therefore, he took the second of his two usual options... his weapon again, disregarding the fact that he was just getting himself even deeper into trouble with this.
But he couldn't help it, he feared the cat more than anything. Hadn't he bought himself out of the forty lesser one with a week of hellish, excruciating pain... thanks to Nicholas... and hadn't every movement for another four weeks been torture as well until the bruises he bore faded?
And now there even wasn't a Nicholas to help him, to ease the pain away, to comfort him when he couldn't even sleep, due to the overwhelming pain...
No, Jamie would prefer a quick death by the sword or a small arm to this.

Sol had expected Jamie to protest, complain and even plead with him - of course, the little peacock didn't want his plumage ruffled - but that was this time unavoidable. Not, because Jamie was so unruly or a notorious troublemaker, he wasn't really... but his part of trouble had been the straw that broke the camels back... and Sol fancied himself a rather patient camel, so to speak. Not that he knew, what exactly a "camel" was...

But when Jamie decided to hide once more behind his weapon, for as far as Sol could see, he wasn't willing to attack this time, the Spanish captain frowned.
He had no idea in the first moment, what Jamie’s goddamn problem with this was... everybody got the cat one day, sooner or later... but he saw genuine terror in the big, brown eyes... the fear of a child in the dark, when the unnamed horror crept out from under the bed, the boogieman grinned out of the cupboard... the fear a virtuous woman felt if she accidentally wandered into a shady part of the harbour and ended up alone in a dark alley, cornered by a group of brazen sailors.

Not a realistic fear, not the fear of being crippled or dying from his injuries, not even a coward’s fear of pain... this was something much deeper, much more primal... And though it was a ridiculous fear, at least to Sol, who was much more acquainted with the agony of the lash than he would wish it to anybody, he understood that, at least for Jamie, the fear was as real as the cutlass in his hand. In his cramped, white-knuckled hand.

And Jamie was his friend.

Sol gave a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

"Jamie... calm down. Hush now. Put that butter knife away and come here," he ordered firmly. When this had no particular effect except of a flinch and a snarl, he lowered his voice. "Hey... You're not alone in this, aye? I'm not Nicholas - but I am your friend as well. Peace now?"

The cutlass sank down, but before Jamie could do anything else, Sol had his wrist and took the cutlass from Jamie with a firm and sure grip.

"Now I will have no more of this nonsense!" he hissed angrily, putting the weapon aside. "You silly little thing... do you think eventually that *I* want this? But if the crew sees no consequences to this, what will happen? They will demand an explanation! Enrique will babble about the letters - and this would be your fault and you know it damn well! Do you want to explain this? Certainly not. Therefore, this is a feint, to distract the general attention from these accursed letters you had to write in your drunken stupor! You ordered the music and now you will pay and if you don't like it, tough luck!"

Jamie’s resistance faltered a little, huge, terrified eyes were staring up to Sol, but he didn't try to fight anymore. He looked so helpless... like a caught jaguar in one of the traps back at the hacienda, a proud predator caught in a situation beyond its control, still proud, still fighting, but in the end, fighting in vain against an enemy it had no chance to overcome. Sol bit his lips. This was going to be harder than he had thought initially, but who could have known? He had to get through with this or lose any shred of authority he still had...

Acting on impulse, he used his free arm to pull Jamie in a rough, brotherly embrace and felt immediately, how the sailing master nestled against him, gratefully, as if he was searching for protection... a protection he couldn't offer. The only thing he could offer, was reassurance.

"Jamie, I have no idea why you're that scared, but I can assure you, whatever horror stories you've heard, it's not that bad!" he tried to explain. "I've been through it, more than once. *Nicholas* had been through it. Cutter as well, damn, nearly everybody I know. You can stand it as well, I know you well enough for that. It is just an irrational fear, like some men fear harmless snakes or little dogs... and the silly womenfolk screams when they see a mouse."

Slyly he added:

"And you know what some idiots say, that you're more of a wench than of a man. Just imagine their faces when they see that you can stand for what you do as well as any other man! You can't dey you draw your arm against me, can you? But if you are good and shut up now and stop with your goddamn complaints and temper tantrums, I'll be good as well. I will speak no word of the letters and of your little foolish affair and when somebody else brings up the topic, I can proclaim that the issue is merely an argument between us with you drawing your weapon. Infringement of the Articles without the need to discuss what lead to this argument."

Jamie was still trembling, hiding his face in Sols shirt. No need to deny it, he was scared. but now it seemed to be... manageable somehow. Not pleasant but... well, in a way, Sol was right.

"And.. you'll give the letters back?"
he asked hopefully.

A sharp, sarcastic laugh answered.
"We've discussed that already, Jamie! And if you annoy me a little more, I can let the crew discuss them!"
Not that Sol was intending that... but every moment they spent in this cabin could be interpreted... wrongly by anybody who was more accustomed with Jamies.. wiles.
"You'll be good now, and in another week you'll laugh about this, I am sure!"
he promised, while dragging his wisp of a sailing master towards the closed door...


----------------------------

The door of the captain’s cabin opened with a bang and Jamie stumbled out into the corridor. Stumbled, because Sol pushed him outside, but that was the least of his problems now. The usually cheery and flamboyant sailing master kept his eyes carefully down, staring onto the coarse planks that formed the middle deck of the "Caribbean Siren".
What on earth had he done??

He could consider himself lucky if he wouldn't get simply marooned or keelhauled or sold as a slave at Tortuga. Drawing a sword against a crewmate... not to mention the captain... had been a really, *really* bad idea. To be honest, none of his ideas had been outstandingly brilliant recently...

But his gloomy thoughts were quickly interrupted, when Sol stepped out of his cabin after him and grabbed him by the scruff like a wet kitten. Of course, the Piercing Sun was far stronger than the slight Jamie, but that had never stopped him before to get in a fight. This time though, he deemed it wiser, not to resist, considering Sols momentary temper. The Spanish pirate captain seemed to be ready to explode if his wayward sailing master would give him even more trouble than he already had and despite of himself, Jamie understood the man.
When had he turned into such a moron?

"Will, Shannon, tie him up!"
Sol’s voice snapped painfully loud next to him and Jamie couldn't help a small pout. Tying him up? Here, in the middle of the ocean? And he had promised to be good now... but of course, this was an additional punishment, Sol’s way to show him, that he couldn't be trusted any more.
"Guard him, nothing more! I'll call in a council."

A council, great. But yeah, the articles... the goddamn articles. Jamie could only hope that Sol would keep his promise in return for him keeping his own.
If Jamie would be good and contrite and admit what he had done - at least, regarding to the articles - Sol would burn the letters. Would feign ignorance to their content. Oh, if he just had been enough of a man to burn them immediately! But no, he had to keep them, hoard them, hug them like a pathetic, love struck idiot.. endangering not himself, but the man he already loved more than his life or health or whatever. Sol had chewed him out well, had described to him in graphic details what the content of these fiery, explicit letters could have done to the subject of said letters... but he had promised to take care of the problem. Even though Jamie didn't deserve any lenience, at least he had said so.
No mercy.. didn't sound good.
And the "...stupid bitch!" that Sol hissed at him before stomping towards the upper deck didn't sound good as well. Especially, since Sol was damn right...

The ropes around his wrists hurt, but he didn't even wince or complain, like he would have done usually.
"Shut up until I tell you otherwise!" Sol had snarled at him and Jamie really tried to be good for a change. At least for a while, until the accursed letters were safely burned...
"Damn, Jamie, what on earth did you do to the captain?"
Shannon, an Irishman with a weathered, sun burnt face asked in disbelief.
"Sol seems to be ready to slaughter a battalion of Limeys all on his own... "

No answer. The sailing master kept his gaze down, long lashed shadowing high cheekbones and dark amber, kohl-enhanced eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. Whatever Sol would tell the crew, he couldn't know and he couldn't do anything about it. Not now. Not with the letters in the captains hands and the knowledge about Jamie’s fatal affair in his head.

Will, the second sailor, a rowdy sarcastic guy chuckled.
"What's up, Toffer, cat got your tongue already? No idea what you did, but I think you'll get your pretty hide a bit tanned.. if you're lucky, that is."

Oh yes, the thrill of the obvious! Jamie silently berated the man. Do you think I don't know that myself? But the insinuation made him shiver a bit, nevertheless.
The captain’s daughter, the cat o'nine tails... that was something that happened to others!
Not to Jamie "Toffer" Russell!
He couldn't even fathom how such a thing should be even possible, but of course what had happened since that fateful trip to Port de Paix had been like a feverish dream as well... he, the seducer, the whore, the butterfly, being enthralled, enchanted, bewitched by a decent, upstanding, honourable Navy captain, arch enemy of all pirates. Way to go, Toffer...

Now what could he do? Was there anything he could do to keep the cats claws away from his smooth, flawless body? He had prided himself always in being astonishingly unmarked for the life he had lead only a few, small, unobtrusive scars could be found on his body, nearly invisible on the gleaming, smooth and well-tanned skin, but he feared that they soon would get company from deeper, uglier scars...
The worst thing was... he deserved it!

Sol breathed deeply, to appear calm in front of the others. He had no pleasure in doing what had to be done, but he saw no better solution either. Discipline was important, and if he allowed the sailing master to get unpunished now, after everybody had heard the quarrel, then others would have followed with their deeds, and he would have lost the crew’s respect.

He liked Jamie, he was a good sailing master and, when not a smartass, he could be a good friend too. They had drunk together and shared stories many times in the three years he was aboard the “Siren”, and before he had drawn his cutlass in rage against him – luckily Sol could hold his own temper in check before anything worse happened – the captain was even more ready to find a painless, negotiated solution. Only that their burst of anger had been loud enough to require a discipline settlement. Besides, it was not the first time when Jamie had something to complain about vociferously. Sol could humanly understand the imprudence love drives a person to, he could even understand the fact that, instead of being a traitor, endangering the ship and allegedly divulging its secrets, Jamie had proven himself useful to the crew, warning Sol about the impending trap they were to be attracted into. But there were certain things he couldn’t accept either.

When people of all ages, personalities and ways of thinking got cramped on a small pinnace, having to get along with the others in narrow quarters, their angry passions had to be kept down, and punishments were invented in the articles exactly for the power of example, meant to quell the most reckless natures. Otherwise, chaos would have reigned aboard; nobody would have observed any order or rule and the ship would be doomed.

His crew had to act like one in battles, so that the good, the wicked and the foolish had to make an effort to keep down their conflicts and not let them to find a way to live in peace together. He was sick of Enrique’s jealousy, of Red Ben’s intrigues – because obviously he couldn’t stand Angel, but he was too sly to show it in the open, of Jamie’s attitude, always challenging his decisions… not to mention his love dramas which were now generating conflicts inside the crew and also endangering the whole ship. Something had to be done in this respect, for everyone to see, but without knowing the… details of the deed.

“Ben, pipe the men on the deck for council!” Sol asked shortly the bossun’s mate, in his way to seek the quartermaster and tell him an… abridged version of the sordid story. “We have a discipline issue to discuss!”

Who was involved in this “discipline issue” was no wonder for anybody, the shouting had been angry enough to be heard, at least partially, all around the ship.

The quartermaster was busy inspecting the supplies - an inventory was needed in order to know how each pirate would get his right share. Sol entered the storeroom, greeted politely and, without any detour, passed directly to the immediate business:

“In a few minutes there will be a council summoned. I got Jamie tied up and guarded. With your approval, he deserves Moses’ Law. He raised his cutlass at me in my own cabin, after having refused to comply with a legitimate order. I asked him to go to one of those cities with a spying mission and he refused. The quarrel started from there, and he drew his cutlass. It’s up to you to ask him if he admits his guilt, if you want to, but he does.”

Of course he would confess this, instead of divulging what was really the matter – and what they finally had agreed.

The quartermaster looked at him in wonder. Everybody knew Toffer was a drama queen, but he and Sol had been friends since they were working together… Besides, Sol was not one to be lightly punishing his crew. In the nearly one year since he was the captain, no other flogging had occurred. When he had a serious clash with a man, he had been simply asked to find another ship where the captain tolerated his behaviour. The Irish captain they had when Sol joined the crew had used to be more liberal with punishments for the “lot of rabble” he led, thinking this would enforce a better behaviour. This turned the matter at hand more serious.

“I won’t ask him more than the Council will ask. I agree with you. His misdeed is provided in the articles, and so is the punishment for it. See you in a few minutes, when the men are gathering.”

Rumours spread fast on a ship. And therefore it was no wonder that within a few minutes the whole crew had been alerted to the fact, that the sailing master had done... something. Something outrageous, apart from the outrageous things he was known - and by some of the men definitely liked - to do. There were several versions, from trying to kill the captain, to arson, to treason... but the only man who wore a knowing smirk, was the whore’s former favourite bedmate, Enrique. He wasn't aware what had been written in these letters, but the hiding place had stirred his interest.

Jamie *never* hid anything, whatever for? Stealing was an offence, punishable by either death or marooning, what equalled the same and Toffer had turned pirate as a *boy*.

The concept of stealing was completely unknown to him and he saw no need to hide jewelry or money or his favourite weapons at all. But these letters he had hidden, awkwardly, because he had no experience in hiding anything, but they had been clearly hidden.

This, Jamie’s... unusual reluctance for a good tussle in his satin sheets and the fact, that he had called out another mans name... a French name!... in the spasms of ecstasy had made Enrique angry... and curious. He was fully aware of the fact that Toffer was a passionate being, quick and rash in his decisions and willing to do a lot for something or rather somebody he wanted and persistent in his desires until they were quenched sufficiently... but this new attitude had lasted quite a while and it had started grating on his nerves.

When did the whore turn nun and why? He was looking forwards to find out... and the captain would do this for him. Or had already, regarding the rumour that Jamie had been seized and was under strict guard. Obviously treason... and for that, the snobby sailing master would pay.

And with this thought, Enrique couldn't suppress a satisfied smirk. His pride would be avenged...

Another man was rather intrigued by the current situation. Red Ben had the reputation of being a man, who could hold a grudge for eternity and he hadn't forgotten the times, when he had made a move on the flirty, feminine bastard, who could tease and tease and tease... and then spurn a man in a nonchalant way, as if he was nothing.

But Berend de Vries wasn't "nothing"!

He was the boatswains mate and with a little bit of luck, the man who would hold the sailing masters life and health in his hands, in case he was sentenced to Moses Law. He was the one who would have to wield the cat and he would decide how, when and where a lash would hit.

There hadn't been an infraction of the "Articles of Agreement" for a long time... for years! And Sol was probably a good captain, but in regards to discipline he was a pathetic weakling. Yeah, he had disembarked a few notorious troublemakers, but nothing more... no marooning, no real punishment, no nothing. Not even the cat.

Berend de Vries, "Red Ben" had been on a merchant vessel for eight years, before he had turned pirate... involuntarily at first, but he had quickly learned to enjoy the comparative freedom of this new life. On board of the merchant ship, floggings had been common, one or two dozen lashes mostly, only rarely Moses Law or even more. He himself, as a tall and well-muscled lad, had learned to use a cat as well, the old boatswain having a stiff arm. And he had practised with it, had learned to aim correctly and finally, he had trained to vary the intensity of the blows, according to whom he had under the lash.

This particular talent had earned him quite a bit of money and hatred in equal measures... and now it might become handy again.

With a smirk, Red Ben slipped away from the gathering - all eyes and ears were on the captain anyway - and went under deck, to see, to what use he could put his talent this time...

When the boatswains mate arrived under deck, he detected the culprit fairly soon. Framed by two other sailors, Jamie leant against the wall of the captain’s cabin, looking down sullenly, maybe even pouting a bit... as expected. Ben had to stifle a satisfied grin. Now this time it seemed, that the sailing master wouldn’t get to charm his way out of a tight spot! He wasn't aware if or if not Sol occasionally fancied the whore - if so, he was very discreet about it, unlike others - but Jamie’s poise and behaviour, as well as the fact that he was bound and guarded, indicated that Sol had a *large* bone to pick with him.

Schooling his features into a mask of ignorance and innocence, Ben strolled down the corridor, pretending that he hadn't heard already all there was to hear about the incident.

"Hu? Now what's going on here?" he asked, opening his eyes wider, the perfect image of confusion. "Jamie..?"

No reaction, except of the little bastard snorting angrily and gritting his teeth.
Charming, really charming. Finally, Toffer would get what he had had coming for quite a while.

Nevertheless, Shannon was quick to give an explanation:

"Why, didn’t you hear it? Council! Something bad from what I've heard."

He gave Jamie a sidelong glance.

"Capt'n said to guard him... so we can't know what exactly happened and Jamie is silent as a whole graveyard...for a change."

"Yeah, looks like the cat got his tongue already!" Will added, chuckling.

Interesting... so there were others who might enjoy seeing the whore getting what he deserved in Red Bens opinion. That was certainly an advantage...

"Well, if there's a council, you should go as well." Ben suggested sneakily. "After all, what can he do, bound and all? You two go and check out what's going on, I'll stay and take care that he doesn't get eaten by the bilge rats before the verdict, eh?"

Another snort from Toffer. It was clear as day that he *would* have liked to answer back, but somehow couldn't or didn't dare to... whatever the reason, Ben had to admit that he enjoyed seeing the arrogant sailing master so utterly.. helpless.

Will and Shannon were a bit reluctant, after all, they had direct orders to guard Jamie... and who knew, what he had done. On the other hand, Ben was strong and Jamie was tied up. No real danger at the moment and of course the curiousity what had happened was itching them as well.

"Aye... I think if you promise to stay and guard him..." Will agreed finally and soon enough, both men vanished to get the newest gossip and give their vote.

Just as planned, Ben thought gleefully and walked, decidedly slowly, to stand in front of Jamie. Still no looking up, no movement, except of the dark fawn eyes glancing to and fro, maybe a bit insecure? Good...

"Now, now, it seems that you're in quite a bit of a foul soup this time, Jamie..." he said, seemingly concerned, but with a hollow ring to it. The fact that he wore a wolf like smirk didn't help this impression at all, but Toffer was staring at the floor determinedly.

That wouldn't do.

Ben wanted to see the defeat in his eyes, wanted to see his posh posturing crumble when he realized what fate had in store for him and who could tip the scales of fortune in his favour... or not. Just as it pleased the boatswains mate to do...

The sneer broadened, when the taller man took a handful of dark, shining hair, woven into intricate strands and adorned with jewels, to pull Jamie’s head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. A painful hiss and for a moment, dark amber eyes glared hatefully at him, before the sailing master looked down again, a perfect image of submission.

Sweet.

But Ben didn't want submission, not yet. Not that way. Not without having made his point clear.

Chuckling he raised his other hand to flick the half opened shirt away from a sun kissed, comparatively frail shoulder, regarding the smooth skin with a sneer.
"I suppose you have no idea what you in for, *sailing master*, do you?" he continued. "Ever got rigged to the grating? No, not you, right? Not pretty little you, of course not."

The hand wandered towards Jamie’s neck, brushing the glittering strands of darkness aside, exposing more tanned skin, shining in the few rays of sunlight that found their way down here.

"Well, Jamie, that might change today if I am not completely wrong. But since I am a nice guy, I'll tell you what to expect... so you can prepare yourself for the inevitable."

His large hand came to rest in the hollow of Jamie’s neck, savouring not so much the feeling of the warm, velvety skin but the rush of power it gave him. Usually, Toffer had discreetly turned away, indicating in a gentle, but unmistakable way that he wasn't interested, but now he didn't even do that. Too shellshocked probably... but still, that wasn't what Ben wanted. Demanded.

Casually he moved his thumb over the spot, where the large vein was pulsing at the sailing masters neck.

"Probably Moses Law for you, eh? You know what that is? I spell it out for you, shall I? We'll tie you to the grating... then we'll get you out of your shirt... and then you'll get the cat. Forty stripes lacking one."

He paused to let his words sink in.

"Oh, how you'll bleed. How you'll scream and plead, but there's nothing you can do. Not this time at least, Sol is angry enough to feed you to the sharks. Maybe he'll degrade you after this. Let you scrub the bilge or something. If you're good, he'll maybe allow you to work in the rigging, you're small and scrawny enough for that job."

Ahh, he was getting to him, a slight growl answered the taunts and he felt the slender muscles tensing in mute protest under his hand.

"Oh no, better be good now... after all, remember under whom you'd have to work then."

And now, for the coup de grace...

"And - you might have forgotten this tiny but important fact in this empty, whorish head of yours - remember who will wield the cat!"

Under his still stroking thumb, Ben felt the pulse quicken, the muscles stiffen in fear and anger even more... success!

"You know, I'm rather... artistic with the cat.", he continued this one-sided conversation. "Did quite a lot of flogging in my time, aye. And the dreaded thirty-nine more often than I can count, my dear little slut. It will hurt and you will be marked for the rest of your life, but guess what? That is, if I *like* you! And momentarily, I don't! Shall I tell you, what I'll do to a man I don't like? With thirty-nine lashes, I can - and I will - expose your ribs. You'll have no more flesh on your back when I'm finished with you and only if you're lucky you'll die quickly. In the worst case you'll die slowly, painfully, a feverish, mutilated wreck after a week of agony. And guess what, I've done that before!"

If thoughts alone could have killed, Red Ben would have never been able to utter more than the first few words. It wasn't that Jamie hated him or anything, he just didn't like him. Of course, they had to work together and all and the sailing master was professional enough not to endanger the ship due to petty likes and dislikes, but he never sought Berend de Vries out voluntarily, preferring other company amongst his crewmates. True, some didn't like him as well, the silly bible-thumpers and do-gooders who thought that his form of loving was a sin... and how big their eyes grew when he had told them *en detail* about his first man - a monk!
But Red Ben was neither a man whose companyhe valued much, nor a man who could stir the flames of his passion, and when he had made a - definitely even for pirate standards - crude attempt to make a move on him, during a pub crawl the crew had instigated after a successfull encounter with a British East India Company ship, Jamie had felt compelled to tell him in no uncertain terms to keep his hands to himself if he wanted to keep them. The captain, back then had frowned, but since Jamie had made himself scarce and discussed with the current siren about the virtues of venetian silk compared to mere satin, there had been no lecturing and Ben had left him alone for a while.
Jamie had thought he had understood it, but unfortunately not quite. There had been other situations, a bit more refined, but with the same outcome, although Jamie, being on board at that time, had been a bit more polite in his declination.
He wasn't hat much older than Ben, but a hell of a lot more experienced and he had instinctively understood that nothing good would come out of it, if he allowed the man in his bed. Usually, Jamie wasn't the one to value a friendly tussle between the sheets too much, but he had had the gut feeling, that Ben connected something more with this. And that was something, the sailing master tried to avoid at any costs. He had seen men die for things like that, good men, just because somebody thought that he had the only right to his body.
His body belonged to Jamie, thank you very much, and he decided who was allowed to enjoy it for a night or two or even longer, giving him joy in return.

At least... it had been like that. But after meeting the guiding star of his heart, the man for whom he had risked the gallows and worse, the man, who had branded him his, without even trying... it was a different thing.
Oh he had tried to stay clear of men, he had tried to be good, to be clean and pure - at least as pure as possible for a whore - for him... but he had failed. In the hot nights under the midnight blue, caribbean sky, sprinkled with stars that reminded him of the course his heart was already following, he had been fighting the whorish urges of his body, the desire to be touched, mounted, the hunger for warm flesh under his hands and lips... only to fail.
His body, the body of a whore, a whores son, was used to carnal pleasures, was used to be satisfied. And it was demanding this relief, stronger and stronger, until it became a mind-numbing torture to feel the satin sheets of his bed against his body, feel the stirring of desire when he remembered one of his former lovers... until he had given in and Enrique had been only too happy to take what he offered, releasing the whore under the nuns habit.

And now... it was another man who wanted a piece of him as it seemed. And Jamie had to admit, that his arguments were good. He knew, theoretically, the boatswain or the boatswains mate handled the floggings, but he couldn't, for the life of him, recall one. Nevertheless, he knew how devastating the cat could be, he had seen the traces on some of his crewmates and some of his lovers backs. These traces would never fade and he couldn't fathom the pain that these scars told of. Yes, Jamie was scared and Bens soft, spitefully hissed words didn't do anything to soothe his fears, to the contrary. The hand, that brushed his shirt aside, raked through his hair in the parody of a caress - oh, Raoul! - felt cool and slightly clammy, as well as the thumb that was stroking him. He didn't like that touch, but neither did he like the notion of being flogged to the bones.
Or being flogged at all, come to that.
But that wasn't Bens decision altogether... he couldn't just plead with him to spare him the cat. Ben would have liked it, probably, but that was nothing he could grant. And Sol had ordered him to be quiet... and unlike the boatswains mate, Sol had the power to help Jamie... if he'd be good.
He had promised it!
The other large hand in his hair held his head up, exposing the vulnerable throat... another thing he didn't like, but there wasn't much he could do, was there? Playing the nobleman and tearing his head away would have earned him nothing but scorn and possibly a beating. Pathetic, such a resistance, pathetic and probably painful. There had to be other, better possibilities...

Cautiously, Jamie kept his glance down, not to betray his mutinous thoughts against this abasing treatment. Of course, he didn't mind men expressing their... interest in him, but not like that! Not now, not that way and not *this* man! And the longer he thought about it, the harder it was to bear these hands on his body.
That was Raouls!
But Bens voice kept talking, explaining, painting a gory picture of blood and shredded skin and raw muscles, of exposed ribs and men dying in agony. Jamie didn't want to end like this and who could blame him? Hesitatingly, he relaxed in the coarse grip.
Maybe, if he would be good... but Raoul... what would he think of him, pathetic, spreading his legs for the mere possibility that this sadistic bastard who was pawing him would keep his unsaid promise...
But what would Raoul think if he saw him *after* this, mutilated, ugly, a wreck? He had to do it! But then, he couldn't, he couldn't give, what wasn't anymore his to give... Jamie’s poor, terrified mind gave out on this dilemma and a soundless sob racked his body. He felt... dirty. Whatever he would do, these hands, these impudent, lewd hands marked him for what he was, a whore.
And he didn't want to be a whore anymore...

Of course, Red Ben had felt the shuddering under his hands, little tremors running through the wiry little body he held pressed to the wall. It seemed that his soft, nearly gentle words were working their charm, or at least, convinced the high-and-mighty sailing master that he was better of in his good graces for now. Sure, the body language told him clearly that Jamie wanted in no way to be touched by him right now, but that was certainly not his problem. He was in charge now and if this whore of a sailing master didn't like that, too bad. He would make him *beg* for it, later on! And it seemed that he was getting closer to his goal,considering the small whimpers and shudders, Jamie gave. The sailing master was known as being very emotional, maybe even overly so, and a horror story, like many sailors liked to tell them, could worry him for days... like a little girl. Things he knew on the other hand... he did his part fighting and wasn't afraid of a boarding, a hurrican or whatever else there was to be feared. His wanton imagination was Jamie’s worst enemy, at least for now and Red Ben was planning to use this to his advantage, of course.

He kept caressing the sensitive spot slowly, while he spun his seamans yarn, knowing full well, that Jamie would,despite of himself, believe him, fear him and his revenge and at the same time being caressed gently, maybe hope for a little bit of protection in his arms... or rather in his bed.

Ben was aware of the fact, that he couldn't take his prize right now, the time was too short. But he could convince him, that he better should submit and take a first taste of the damn bastard who had teased him for quite a while. It was not as if Ben liked men and especially not Jamie. The sailing master was an arrogant, condescending bitch, additionally to being a whore. A tasteless whore, at least when it came to choosing a lover. What was it with this negro anyway? Or the array of other common sailors who had shared the sailing masters bed for a night or several?

No, Berend didn't like Jamie... occasionally he had wanted him for a brief while, but this wasn't about lust... not completely at least. It was revenge, the lust of exerting pressure, of forcing somebody into submission... in a way, if he would bed an unwilling Jamie, it would be just as good as flogging him. And with a modicum of luck, he would be able to do both today!!

Well, after the flogging, it was hard to say, what Jamie would be able to do for him... but he was sure that the whore would find a way to please him with the right incentive.

Taking a colt with him into the cabin should be incentive enough with Jamie being in agony already. Just a small unobtrusive rope stuck in his belt... easy to explain if asked by somebody else and Jamie... well, he would know. And be good. Better than good, hopefully!

But first things first...

Leaning closer, Ben pressed the smaller man hard against the wall, feeling him wince when the ropes cut into his bound wrists. Well, that would be the least of his problems soon enough.

"Sooo... what will it be, my dear *sailing master*, eh?" Ben whispered into the flood of silky dark hair, the light, distinctive scent of sandalwood drifting up from the heated skin to his nostrils.

"Will you be good now? Or do you want to play tough, eh? You won't last a dozen stripes and you know it. Will be hard enough to keep you tiny little bastard alive with thirty-nine, so you better make it worth my while!"

One hand pinning Jamie to the wall, the other in his hair puling his head aside, Ben exposed a slender, tanned and - suspiciously unharmed - neck. No bite marks, not even love bites... unmarked!

So not like Toffer... but a nice little surprise. And a chance to mark him his already, in a different way than he would do later.

Dipping his head slightly, Ben dug his teeth viciously into the smooth, velvety skin, eliciting a gasp and a painful whimper.

"Stop whining, whore, that is nothing yet," he murmured, annoyed, but became a bit more gentle.

Not much, though, why should he? More bites and nips made Jamie whimper and tense slightly, trying weakly to wind away, but to no avail. And of course, Ben stood to close too him as if Jamie could have tried to raise his knee, he was too cautious for this. But aftera few moments, the resistance ceased again and the little shudders that followed, signalled clearly submission - maybe arousal? Ben smirked, his face buried into the hollow of the sailing masters neck. That whore!

"See, that's a good boy..." he whispered,rewarding his prey with a few more gentle caresses and felt with glee, how the slender body seemed to nestle closer, invitingly. "And maybe I won't kill you for being such a bitch, if you'll stay that way, hmm?"

A tensing of muscles, mute refusal, outrage, but a hard bite made Toffer whimper again and press closer, pleading wordlessly for forgiveness. He was trembling by now, the little shivers ran together in a perpetual slight shaking.

"Hush, just be good and it won't hurt that much now," Ben promised, chuckling.

The real pain would come later of course...

"You... you wouldn't do that, if I weren't bound, aye?"
Jamie snapped defiantly, close to tears.
He couldn't remember feeling so...violated before! Sure, he had been, but this... this was a nightmare!
What confused him even more was the difference between words and actions, the threats that were voiced and the soothing strokes of the thumb, then the hard, demanding... punishing... bites.
Then another caress that reminded him of Raoul... oh Raoul! Raoul, mon étoile, why can't you be here? Why can't you come and make... everything right again? But no, he had been bad, had been sleeping around again, like the goddamn whore he was, just because he wasn't able to stay clear of his goddamn carnal desires, his whorish body overrunning his reformed mind!

A hard backhand.. only the open hand.
//... it is against the articles to raise ones hand or weapon...//
but alas, he did it before Red Ben did. His own fault.
"Shut up, whore, or I'll shut you up!"
Yeah, right.
Jamie shut up. He shouldn't have snapped back at Ben in the first place, it had been foolish, unnecessary and.... Sol had told him to shut up. He had better listened.
But this... he knew he had been bad and he deserved to be punished and all that... but this felt wrong. He didn't deserve this!
More hard bites and, somehow detached, Jamie witnessed his body reacting, moaning, whimpering... but he wasn't aroused. It was a pattern that had happened a few times already, body and mind separating, the body following a well-known routine, while mind and soul looked down on it in disgust. But he had to stop it somehow!
This wasn't right, this wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what Raoul would want and Jamie whimpered again, this time in frustration.
Obviously, Ben understood him wrong and a painful tug at his hair pulled his head back. The shirt was ripped wider open and the cool, clammy hands wandered over the whores hard, tanned chest, pinching, scratching, taking... using.
Jamie didn't look up, not wanting to see the hated face. Damn, if he ever survived this... he would kill him. Fuck the articles!
For now, he clinged to the only positive thing that seemed to exist in his life - Raoul.
Raoul with his clear, blue eyes, his charming blush, his innate elegance and coy, but still heartstoppingly manly demeanor...
Raoul, whose name he had called out, when his body had betrayed him and this had in the end lead to this here.
"Raoul..."
just a whisper, desperately, pleadingly, but obviously loud enough for Red Ben to hear.

"Raoul? Nah, no Raoul here to help you, whoever this is!"
the boatswains mate gloated.
"But don't worry, after I've finished with you, you won't even think any more about this Raoul. You'll have other problems that that! Like perhaps... a skinned back? There, better shut up. It ain't as if you weren't used to that, whore."
Ben laughed quietly, forcing Jamie’s head up.
"Now let' see, how fiery you can be when you're desperate."
It took the much larger, stronger man only a moment, to force Jamie mouth open and kiss him.
Bruisingly. Brutal.
In the first moment, Jamie had answered the kiss, out of fear, confusion and maybe reflex, but after this moment, he stiffened and pulled back as well as possible, shaking his head angrily. He couldn't do anything against Bens unwanted caresses, but he could very well deny him the affection he seemingly demanded in return.
A fist landed on his left lower ribs, taking his breath away and he would have crumpled down, if Ben hadn't kept him standing with a hand in his hair.
He couldn't breathe! Couldn't breathe and the kiss wasn't making it easier at all!
Whimpering through his nose, he tried his best to obey and kiss back, hoping against hope that he would be allowed to breathe if he submitted. And indeed, once he had showed that he had understood, the kiss ended and coughing, Jamie sucked down the precious air, trying to fight the sudden dizzyness.
As if through a wand of fog he heard Bens chuckle.
"Just a little warning, Toffer."
he stated complacently.
Sure, it was so *manly* to beat up a tied up man, of course! Idiot!
But for now, Ben was in charge, if Jamie liked it or not and he was obviously hellbound to get what he wanted. The sailing master squeezed his eyes shut, still sucking in deep breathes and trying not to whimper with the pain every breath caused him. The hit might have broken a rib and there was not much more, Jamie could do to emphasize that he wasn't in the mood. Ben wouldn't take a "No.", not now, that powertrippy bastard!
"There's more where that came from... and remember, what is still in store for you."
Ben continued, pressing closer and kissed Jamie again, hard, demandingly.
And this time, his kiss got answered, shyly first, then, after an insisting growl from the boatswains mate more eagerly, but still clearly submissive, only reacting to what was demanded of him.

Well, Ben could live with that, very well, indeed. The whore knew who was in charge now.

Chuckling quietly, he returned his attention again to the incredibly soft skin of the neck, a bit gentler now, since Jamie had submitted so nicely already... and he had to admit, that he got a little wrapped up in this. So soft and sweet smelling, nearly like a womans skin... but still there was more heat to it, more... aggressiveness, more fire. Not too bad...

Occasionally, he stopped for a moment, to check back, see if the sailing master wasn't changing his womanly, quicksilver mind, kissing him hard and had his kisses answered immediately, submissively, obviously anxious to please now. Nice, very nice indeed. Ben could get used to that kind of power.

Even more so, when he allowed his hands to trail lazily over the smaller mans body, like somebody on a market would test a fruit or a piece of cloth by touch, to see if it was worth the price and Jamie pressed closer to him, shivering. This trembling was a bit annoying, though, but that was nothing that could be helped for now. After all, Ben pondered with a nasty smirk, the sailing master had every reason to fear him. But at least he seemed to be good in what he was doing and for a moment he pondered, if to order him down on his knees for now. On the other hand... there wasn't enough time probably and though Jamie seemed to be obedient enough for now, he didn't trust him enough to let the little rats teeth close enough to sensitive spots. Much time for that later... when Toffer would be in too much pain to even think about earning even more pain... but damn, the idea was tempting.

"Soon, you little slut, soon..." he whispered into the flood of dark hair. "Soon you'll be marked... forever... by me, as mine. And you'll like it, whore that you are, I am sure."

Another bite into the tensed, seemingly frail shoulder, so hard that it draw blood and Jamie whimpered pitifully, trying to turn away. He had never gotten the idea to scream... nobody would help him anyway. And usually he didn't need help, but now..?
Angry hands tore at his shirt, exposing more surprisingly unmarked skin, lips brushing over it, teeth digging inside, bruising and hurting and Jamie was already wishing he would kill him and get through with it. There wasn't much more that he could stand and oh God,he already *wished* to be at the grating. At least, he wouldn't have to endure this then...
He wasn't Red Bens! He was Raouls!
Even if his body hadn't understood this refreshingly simple concenpt yet, his soul had. Since the day he had nearly blown up on Sol because he had taken Raoul from him after this one, sweetest kiss... his mind had accepted the inevitable, when he had found himself in front of Raouls house, wondering what in the blue hell he was actually doing there and had then decided, that it didn't matter at all.
It was Raoul. Nothing else, nobody else mattered.
"Raoul..."
He wasn't aware that he had whispered the name again, until he received the next backhand for this, harder this time.
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"Stop that, you pathetic bastard or I'll skin you alive!" Ben hissed. "Who is this Raoul anyway, some drunken idiot who took you for a girl because he couldn't get one? Shut up and do what you're told, if you want to get merely used and not killed by me! For what little you're worth anyway, but at least you'll be a diversion between two harbours."

Jamie gritted his teeth, audibly so and immediately earned a fist to his stomach for it. He had seen it coming, sure, but tied up and pinned to the wall, he had had no way to avoid it anyway. The smaller man took the full force of the blow and doubled up, gasping for air. This time, Red Ben didn't support his weight, to the contrary. With a hard push, he brought Jamie off balance and watched him topple to the ground, curling up in pain and in apathetic attempt to protet himself from further abuse. But for now, a few hard kicks were enough to satisfy Bens anger, before he took another handful of hair and pulled Jamie back to his feet, trembling again and panting painfully.

"Sooo, is this understood now? Hmm? You're not stupid, Toffer, I'm sure you've understood now who's in charge, haven't you?"

No other reaction than trembling, cringing and a slight whimper after every slow, arduous intake of breath. Maybe now it was time for a little gentleness, just to calm him down enough to understand what Ben told him. Take the tension, the pressure down.

"That's better, Jamie, much better already..." he cooed quietly, stroking a cheek playfully with a finger. "See, you can be a good boy, although you probably need a trashing now and then to keep in line. Hush now... quiet... do what you're told and it'll all be well. About well, at least. You'll get a good, sound flogging though, but you'll live. And concerning your abysmal behaviour, I think you'll be a better whore after the flogging, know your place and all that. And you certainly will understand the advantages you might have if you're mine."

I AM RAOUL’S!!!

A wave of white-hot rage flooded Jamie, a rage so pure, so destructive so... deadly, that he stood completely still, neither trembling, nor breathing for a few seconds. He wasn't even tensed, so when Ben raised his face upwards with a finger under his chin this time, he didn't resist. It seemed as if he had given up, but the rage, the fire of hatred in his belly was so hot that he wondered, detached, for a moment, when it would burst out of him and consume Red Ben, set him ablaze, burn him into dust and ashes on this very spot...
But it didn't. A hard grip forced Jamie’s mouth open, wet lips met his and a tongue thrusted eagerly into his mouth, exploring, conquering again and again. A gentle flick of Jamie’s tongue against the other one, then, for the second time during this encounter, he raised his dark amber gaze to look at the redhead.
Exactly one second, before his jaws closed firmly, bruising Red Bens tongue, that retreated immediately and catching a good piece of his lower lip between sharp, white teeth.
Jamie squeezed his eyes shut, body tensing and expected the onslaught of fists, but his teeth dug deeper and deeper, savouring Bens astonished squeak and the commencing growls and muffled curses, while the taller mans flailing arms tried to free his lip from the sharp rows of teeth. It hurt, the fists were everywhere and for a moment, Jamie was sure he would get beaten to death, but he didn't open his jaws again until finally, with an astonishing curse, Ben pulled free, leaving a shred of skin and a part of his lower lip in Jamie’s mouth when he stumbled backwards, eyes wide open, a hand in front of his bloody mouth.
The sailing master merely answered with a wink and a grin that showed bloodstained teeth.

All the men were gathered, curious what happened. The quartermaster opened the discussion directly, without roundabouts:

“We are gathered here to judge our sailing master, Jamie Russell, who has acted against the articles of agreement, raising his cutlass at our captain, following a quarrel in his cabin. Fighting men may have reasons to be violent sometimes, but not in close quarters, against fellow crewmen… and if his opponent was the captain, even worse for him. Our law says clearly, any conflict should be solved on the shore, in fair duel.”

Some men looked at Sol. The perspective of a single combat having as adversary Sol Picador didn’t sound good for anyone. How could Jamie be so mindless? And Jamie… yes, he could be annoying, or teasing, or a warm comfort, because enough of the participants had shared his bed one time or another, and they had no complaints about him. They wanted him alive…

“I have heard the details of the brawl, and the one who threatened first was Jamie Russell. As all of you know, the punishment for such a deed is Moses’ Law, namely fourty lashes without one. Art and Paul, rig the grating, please! The punishment will be carried out at the next bell, unless anybody has a reason to voice now. It was an offence against the articles we all have signed,” the quartermaster continued.

This left for almost half an hour, the watch bell had just rung.

Upon being given the order, the two carpenters laid one of the wooden gratings that covered the hatches flat upon the deck and placed another one against the bulwarks, to prepare it for the punishment.

Sol’s mind ran quickly in all the directions. He didn’t want Red Ben to do the flogging, because he was too… experimented as a bossun’s mate, and he had a penchant for inflicting pain. At the same time, he couldn’t trust Angel to do it either, because the men would suspect something rigged. Everybody knew Angel was not only Jamie’s mate, but also his friend… more than Sol was now. It remained only for him to do it…

Claiming that he was the offended party, would do? Would the crew and the quartermaster accept it? He had learnt a trick from his brother, far back at the hacienda, when his brother was the overseer’s right hand, and if Josema could do it with a normal whip, why couldn’t he with the cat of nine tails? It took only a sure hand… and a swordsman’s should be sure… so that half of the nine tails go into the grating around, sparing poor frail Jamie of a part of the pain. He had to try this, if he could.

Six months have passed since Andrea was aboard the "Caribbean Siren", and this was the first council meeting of real importance. A punishment!

Yes, a pirates' council gathering was nothing unusual for any petty reason - the gentlemen of fortune used the common agreement method for establishing the next route to take, for choosing among two potential preys if it was the case, but these were, in fact, mere formalities on a ship with a good captain his crew trusted and with a good quartermaster. There weren't many dissenting voices to be heard at this kind of meetings.

Other reasons were when newcomers signed the articles, but these were festive moments. He had witnessed a few of this kind, besides his own.

But an infringement of the articles, a judgement - this was important, and different than anything he had seen until now. Moreover, the judged one was the man he was apprenticed with, besides being his friend. And the accusation was serious - attempting to fight, or to kill their own captain - a friend too. What the hell could have happened there behind closed doors?

He cringed when he heard about Moses' law - he had been explained before what it meant. Poor Jamie!

In all his life spent at sea, Andrea had never known the “caress” of the nine-tailed cat, but he had witnessed some floggings among the corsairs, too. Captain Allegre ordered it only with good reason. For petty offences, there were other punishments to be remembered – such as the most unpleasant chores, no alcohol and no setting foot ashore for a longer period of time. Only that they weren't now among the corsairs anymore, and the offence was too great.

When asked if having anything to say, Andrea looked at the quartermaster and asked with a little voice:

"Isn't it any possibility of reducing the punishment? Like.. circumstances if he had been drunk or something? I am thinking that he is too frail to resist to the full Moses' Law, and if it takes him out of work for as much time as I fear, what would I do alone during the chase of the Manila convoy?"

It was only partially true, but this might help Jamie.

Cass had been on the Caribbean Siren for a long time, longer than a lot of the crew, at least, simply because pirates on any ship tended to have shorter lifespans and needed regular replacement. And he had been a pirate many years before joining the Siren, on ships with far harsher captains than people like Sol. So it was understandable that he had seen floggings many times, and had more than once actually watched crewmates die after bleeding to death from a beating with the nine-tailed whip.

However, on the Siren, especially under Captain Sol, such things were rare. It was partially because they had a good crew who only on very infrequent occasions violated the articles, but also because Sol was an understanding captain. And even before Sol, he could only remember being called to a council meeting maybe two or three times. This is was certainly something out of the ordinary.

He wasted no time in going above deck to find out what had happened, and found the quartermaster already announcing the details of the event. Jamie? Had he heard that right? Jamie Russell? Now that, more than anything, was the real shock. He had always imagined Jamie and Sol to be friends, and he had thought Jamie would have more sense than to ever draw a weapon against a crewmate, let alone his captain. Something must have really made Jamie angry, something more than what the quartermaster was telling them...

As a generally apathetic person, it was surprising that Cass felt such a sense of pity for the sailing master. Although he himself had be beaten when he was younger, he had never in his years personally experienced what they called the nine-tailed cat. And Jamie, such a gentle and almost feminine person, didn't seem like the type to hold up well with such a brutal punishment.

But where was Jamie? For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to see the man. There was nothing he could possibly say to Jamie, but he wanted to be able to read his face, his expression. Was he scared? Was there something else going on? What had exactly transpired with Sol? Cass didn't like when there was something he didn't understand, and he prided himself on being able to figure things, and people, out pretty well. But he couldn't do that without at least seeing Jamie.

He slipped away from the crowd, which he already stood on the edges of, and moved slyly towards the lower deck. Surely he wouldn't be missed....

The Call had been sounded. As Lucky found his way up to the open deck he came face to back with several others all ready there. Lucky had been late, not surprising as the galley had been left a mess from the earlier meal that had been made for everyone. As he stood behid the others, his height kept much from obscurement to the man. As he was tall. A tall and thin man usually had nothing blocking his view, even when others where right in front of him.

As the charges were called out, Lucky distinctly heard the man say that the offender had drawn a weapon...on the captain no less. That was a mistake. If there was a way to get on Lucky's bad side it was to threaten Cap'n Sol. He owed that man a great deal, least of which was allowing him to prove his worth, instead of casting him aside. Sol was a good man in his eyes and anyone that would set the Cap'n off like this deserved what he got.

But then the details read out further that the man would be beaten with the whip. That didn't set well with him, although it was a common punishment, all too common if Lucky remembered right. But it wasn't luck's hand for that flamboyent peacock to get a defense from him. No Sir. Lucky never wanted to overstep his bounds and give an attestament for the man.

Pavoun was one of the two men who were sent to bring the convicted to the place of punishment. The other, Gus, was behind him. The Provensal hurried, because as soon as it would be over, the better. He liked Jamie and he felt sorry for him, but he was aware – as he had his taste of the captain’s daughter aboard the other ships too – that prolonging the waiting is the hardest torture. He saw Cass in front of him, heading to the same place… And they witnessed the boatswain’s mate passionately kissing Jamie even tied as he was…

Well, nothing made Pavoun wonder anymore, he knew the Dutchman’s peculiar tastes. In a brothel in Port de Paix, once, he had beaten a prostitute who didn’t obey him enough, and it had happened in the room next to the one he had been in.

But he smirked when he heard Red Ben’s surprised sounds and curses, and noticing how he stumbled, before having seen the three men who had caught him in the act. What could have happened then?

He looked at Cass and asked:

”Have you witnessed the lovers’ squabble from the beginning?”

Then, with the same smirk, he approached Jamie and untied him:

”The soonest it will be over, the better… And don’t fret about it, every sailor had a date with the captain’s daughter once or another time. Nobody here aboard, except the youngest, have been exempted! It will pass…” he tried to comfort the victim.

Less than two minutes later, Jamie was pushed upon the quarterdeck and stumbled forwards, needing a second to steady himself. There was no part of his body that didn't hurt, but his eyes were gleaming dangerously still. He turned around slowly, an ankle screaming in protest, but he managed not to whimper or cry out. It was rather certain that he would need his breath later, when he was rigged to the grating, that had been put up conveninetly already. Sol stood there, glaring at him and Red Ben had followed him on deck as well, mouth clamped shut and glaring as well.
Toffer gave a small sigh, there was nobody who had even the slightest interest to help him. Not Sol. Not Enrique and sure as hell not Ben.
To the devil with them all!
It wasn't that bad to die, probably, but not this way... not under the lash. But if that was, what they wanted to do, there wasn't much Jamie could do against it. He threw his head back, exposing his bloodied, marked neck, that had been smooth and immaculate not half an hour ago and sneered at both Sol and Red Ben, who conveniently stood close to each other.
Then he took a deep breath and spat, with a rather good aim, in front of their feet.
A lot of blood and a good piece of flesh and skin, the trophy, he had taken from Red Ben.
With a snort and another, disdainful sneer, he turned away and walked to the grating, his shirt still in disarray, the marks on his body clearly visible, in pain, but intrepid.
Strong.
Strong enough to face what he feared, strong enough to face the music,or rather, the cat for what he did. Strong enough to face himself. Strong enough to be more than a whore.
Maybe even strong enough for...

"Raoul..."

What Cass found below deck was not at all what he had expected. Red Ben was there, not guarding Jamie, but rather attacking him. There was a good deal of blood, especially around both of their mouths, and it looked like Ben was actually kissing Jamie. What the hell was going on? He reached out and grabbed Red Ben's shoulder, forcibly shoving him away from Jamie, but before he had time to even formulate a question for the two, Pavoun was there untying Jamie with the strangest grin on his face.

"No, I have not," he muttered in reply, although he didn't think it really mattered. He never got involved in matters of gossip around the ship, never bothered to figure out who had slept with who, or who had had a fight with another crewmate. But now, he was starting to think maybe he should pay a little more attention. It seemed he had missed a good deal. "Jamie..." he began, but the sailing master was already being pulled up the stairs. There was no opportunity for Cass to say anything to Jamie now, not even a word of comfort.

But there was still Red Ben. As the group reappeared back on deck, Cass stayed close behind the boatswain's mate, watching him with narrowed eyes. It was easier to watch the redheaded man than it was to watch Jamie. He wasn't a weak man in any way, but he didn't really want to watch gentle Jamie get flogged. Although, the man seemed to be heading towards his fate with a determination that Cass hadn't expected from him. Maybe the sailing master would hold up better than anyone thought.

Sol looked at Jamie without understanding, in the first moment, why he spat at him in such a demeaning way. This man really had no respect…? Sol had tried since the beginning to help him, to reason with him… He was no enemy, for God’s sake, Jamie was his friend with whom he had talked and drunk not only once… but today he seemed possessed by the Devil, he had no reason, nothing else than sheer violence! Surely this problem could have been solved in a less painful manner, Enrique would have known that the captain had taken measures and discipline would have been enforced without all this pathetic display….

Once he thought this, he looked better, and realization stroke him. Jamie’s neck hadn’t been marked crimson like he was now. His disheveled look, his crumpled shirt in disorder, and even this spitting, hadn’t been out of contempt for the captain he had rebelled against three bells ago. Somebody had taken advantage of him. He was tied to the mast and in impossibility to defend himself, so he did what he could… And by his side, Red Ben, this time deserving his name with a bloodied mouth… carrajo, what could he need more? This was the evidence he needed in order to not allow poor Jamie in Red Ben’s hands… not that he would have intended it before, but this was a clear reason for everybody. And he’d have a firm discussion with the Dutchman afterwards, with a clear warning. How cowardly could somebody be in order to torment a defenseless man?

But who else could do it? Angel? No, he was known as Jamie’s mate and friend, so everybody could suspect an arrangement against the law. But who else could Sol trust to spare Jamie of as much of the pain as possible? Nobody, he could trust only himself.

“You all may guess what foul play has happened here while the sentence was being discussed by the Council,” he said, looking deep in the quartermaster’s eyes. "And it is obvious who is the victim here and who is the culprit, so in this case, given that I have been the attacked party, I kindly ask you to be granted the right to wield the cat myself.”

Sol’s tone was determined. Everybody had heard the loud exchange of bad words between them some time before, so who could doubt the honesty of his intentions? At the same time, he was known as being rather fair and not holding grudges, so the quartermaster agreed.

Sol was trying to remember what he had been told many years ago, in a few different occasions, about ways to hold the whip in order to make flogging less painful for the victim. It was knowledge not common to everyone, and he had heard it both in his years at the hacienda, close to the overseer, and from Frank, his pirate sworn brother. He caught the cat of nine tails, praying silently God to spare Jamie of as much pain as He wanted, and to give him the needed memories, skill and strength to carry on this punishment scene in the spirit he intended.

Of course he couldn’t meet Jamie’s gaze, he was looking only to the deck, in deep shame, irrespectively how he tried his best to keep under control his emotions, his reactions, anything that might betray him. With a deep breath, he took the whip and hit once, saying loudly: “One.”

This first blow had to be given with all the tails, but not with full force. He limited his speed like in a sparring swordplay, but less obvious for the others.

Sol got startled by the ferocious hissing sound when the tails travelled through the air to their intended, soft and vulnerable target. He was wishing to be anywhere else than on the other side of the cat when Jamie’s back, of a translucent deep tan, like a parchment waiting to receive the flourishes of a map, got striped instantly with nine crimson bars.

“No, impossible, it’s me and I can’t believe I am doing it…”

The tails made again an almost musical sound as they rushed through the air at high speed. The second blow seemed to bring the bars over the existing ones, and not many people noticed that half of the tails went to the grating. He couldn’t stand the impact of his misinterpreted authority on his friend’s body. He had never wanted the power to make anybody else suffer. He had killed enemies in fight, but nothing more. And he never aimed at making it more painful. As easy and problemless as possible. Besides, these were, damn, enemies, while Jamie was his friend…

“Three”. Again his moves kept the gracefulness of a fencer, but also his control, and half of the tails did stop in the grating, not on Jamie’s flesh, but the ones who touched him ripped his skin. He saw blood on Jamie’s back and almost felt his pain, together with reminiscences of his own when confronted with similar “caresses”, in his years at sea or, much more often, in the year spent in prison.

“Four”. The sound of his broken voice and the loud crack when the leather made contact with the sensitive skin on Jamie’s back shocked him, but not as much as a few voices on his left:

“I bet 20 reales that the sissy will faint after six lashes!”

“No, after ten!”

“He won’t, haven’t you seen that Sol doesn’t hit with full force? He has no experience with the cat!”

“This is sure, it’s enough to look at him how he holds it… But the result is clearly written on Toffer’s back. So it counts, and I’m keeping the bet. After six.”

Sol wasn’t really certain he was hearing correctly, as his mind was too busy with keeping control… or actually it was as if only a part of his brain was processing this information, the other part chasing away the pain… Jamie’s pain, or his own, because they were one and the same.

Jamie was as silent as a grave. He did not look up, he did not protest, he did not resist when he was tied firmly to the grating, his arms spread, so that whoever would have the dubious pleasure to be the executioner, would have the largest possible target.... in theory, Jamie knew something about whippings.
But he had never thought, never dreamt of experiencing this himself! Nevertheless, he was quite aware that he had brought it on himself and biting Red Ben might have been a mistake... as well as spitting what the bastard has lost between his teeth at the captains feet... and yes, it seemed like he was right with that.
While Red Ben was out of it as it seemed, this wasn't really a reason to feel safe... now the obviously pissed Sol was going to try his aim... Jamie very nearly sighed, but caught himself.
He was determined not to give in, not to do what they expected of him, not whimper, beg, cry out or something else.
He was man enough to show them.

Somebody ripped his shirt off... a good one, but for once, Jamie didn't even think about it. His mind was somewhere else, focusing on his hatred and rage and hurt feelings and... well, *they* started it!!
*They* stole his letters, all he had of Raoul! And then the captain had had the nerve to threaten Raouls safety! Was it really that strange that he lost it in this situation?
Well, yeah, articles and all, but... but tie him up for that, when it was blatantly clear that he wasn't a threat to anybody? Allow Red Ben to do what he did?
That wasn't fair...

Somebody, probably the quartermaster, reached for his hair and pushed it back over his shoulder, exposing the back completely. It wouldn't do for the cat to get tangled in the wild mane of hair, the nine tails were fast enough to rip out entire strands if they got caught in the process. So it was more or less a precaution in the sailing masters favour.
Initially, Jamie had stiffened and hissed quietly with the touch, still remembering the unwanted hands in his hair, on his body, but calmed down immediately, when he understood that it wasn't Red Ben. He even tilted his head aside obligingly to help with getting his hair out of the way.
No use in getting hurt more than necessary.

The murmuring and whispering voices went quieter, when the quartermaster stepped back and a cool breeze caressed the exposed, sunkissed skin. Dark amber eyes gazed curiously through the square fields of the grating, onto the open sea. It was nearly surreal to see the world like this and for a moment, Jamie forgot why he was here.

Then, something like a burning bar seemed to hit his back and elicited a sharp gasp from him... more of confusion than of pain, first.
The pain came a heartbeat later, the sleek muscles of Jamies back and sides tensed immediately and he held his breath for a moment.

“One.”

Ah yes. Thanks a lot mate, I might have lost count already without your help.
But on the other hand, Jamie mused wryly, he might pass out anyway during the whole thing and then...
The second lash came a moment after his back relaxed again, heralded by a definitely evil hiss of nine leather strings, each of them slung in nine knots whirling through the air, aiming for blood.
And it hurt... damn, that fucking thing *stung*!
"Two."
Closing his eyes, Jamie made the mistake to concentrate on his aching, pulsing back, relaxing the tensed muscles a bit to estimate the damage done. The next lash ripped a pant and a small shudder from him, when he felt the unmistakable feeling of his own warm blood, pouring languidly out of a cut and trickling down his back, sticky, cooling down in the soft breeze from the west...
"Three."

Three. Three of thirty-nine. That he could...
And just when he had gotten the idea that he could survive this, Sol taught him better.
In his commendable attempt to spare his sailing master at least some of the pain, he had miscalculated just a tiny bit, hadn't given the cat enough room and the consequences were harsh.
Instead of hitting the grating, the farest and therefore fastest ends of the strings coiled around Jamies side, biting, cutting into his ribcage with full force.
Like from a hot iron, the sailing master shied back, giving a small whimper, while blood spattered against the gratings wood.
"Four."

This must have been the method, Red Ben had mentioned, it occurred to Jamie, when the red wave of agony passed. He wondered, somehow detached, why Sol knew that as well... but grimaced with disdain when he heard, from afar, a few bets made about his possible stamina.

//They wouldn't call me a sissy to my face at least...// he thought wrathfully.
//And I certainly won't give them the pleasure to hear me cry for mercy or whatever...//

It seemed that Sol was a bit confused about the last lash and was probably rearranging the cats tails - a brief reprieve, for Jamie as well. And he was determined to use it.
Gritting his teeth determined to remain silent, he adjusted his weight a bit to stand more steady against the assault of the cat that pressed his slender body mercilessly against the grating.
No sound. He would give no sound. He had been told to be silent. Oh, not that he usually obeyed Sol, if he could help it, but in this case, he better did.
For Raoul.
The next cut redirected his attention to his bleeding back, away from his side and as much as it hurt, it was still harmless against the agony that the deep cuts in his side caused.
Jamies breathing was slightly accelerated, half in an effort to suppress the pain, half with nervousness and fear.
"Five."
Another lash, fiery, spidery fingers dancing over his back in a hellish caress.
"Six."

"Damn, he is still standing!"
"Yeah, your silver's mine now! But I reckon he won't stand after a dozen... no way."

Goddamn idiots. Goddamn, fucking moronic idiots!
"Seven."
A small, stifled whimper, blood was slowly, but steadily trickling down the toned back, gathering at the belt and slowly soaking into the beige breeches.
The next two lashes made him whimper again, louder this time and pull subconsciously at his restraints, chafing his wrists on the coarse rope.
Another cut, that was about bearable... or did he lose his senses already? Was the overload of pain too much for his body already?
"Ten."

Jamie bit his lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. It didn't hurt much... then he was clearly in a lot of pain from his back. Damn...
Another lash landed in the burning fire on his stretched, taut back, cutting deeper yet again. The blood was rather soothing by now, the way it ran down his back in thick, slow beads, as if his tortured skin was weeping...
"Eleven..."
The next cut wrung a stifled sob from him. Jamie winced, trying to get away from the pain, as futile as it was. He didn't notice that he was trembling slightly.
"First dozen."

Enrique was watching the punishment without blinking. Jamie deserved it, and he wanted to make him suffer... as much as his wounded pride had hurted when Jamie had called him on another’s name. He still didn’t understand what had Sol made of the letters he had brought him, and he somehow knew, or rather felt that the squabble which had lead to Jamie being there at the grating site had started from them. Love letters? Yes, this he could figure by himself, as some of them were stained by tears. Jamie’s tears, most likely, as he suspected that the sailing master was pining after somebody who didn’t love him back – otherwise, hotblooded as he knew Jamie, he would have jumped ship again... And he could read the same name he couldn’t forget... The name which burnt his ears... his heart... (Well, assuming that Enrique really had a heart, because actually it was only his pride getting hurt. Nevertheless, he saw himself differently…)

At first, he thought he could watch Jamie under the caress of the “captain’s daughter” and feel avenged, but soon this awoke in him memories long time buried somewhere, in the back of his mind… He had tasted it both aboard the first ship he had served on and before, at the hacienda, the punishment for having attempted to run away from slavery…

So, after the first five, or six lashes, he almost felt the pain on himself too, wishing to be able to comfort him differently… Almost ready to shout to Sol: “Enough! He probably had learnt his lesson… and I feel avenged… no more need for it…

It wasn’t what he had wished for Jamie. But what had he, actually? What had he hoped to get from bringing the letters to the captain? Well, anything he had hoped for, he wasn’t anymore. He rather pitied Jamie now. In order to hide his feelings, he looked at the master gunner, who happened to be a little behind him, and asked him genuinely:

”How come that you aren’t making any bet? I was convinced that you like gambling.”

Sol was almost feeling himself Jamie’s pain, added to his own distress. Jamie’s sobs could have materialised into claws pinned deeply into his heart. And how would he have cried if all the nine tails landed on him, at normal force? If that grating site could have complained about having received half of the lashes, it would, but this was a too little thing he could do to alleviate his friend’s torture.

Jamie’s clenched fists ready to fight the whole world, his nails digging into his skin, as if the cat’s tails weren’t enough… he was almost feeling them all! If he, the torturer, could barely endure it, how bad could it have been for the poor victim – his victim? Nevertheless, he wasn’t regretting the fact that he chose to do it, the alternatives would have been far more painful. He tried to bravade, at his turn, and controlled his voice to sound, when counting the lashes, as firm as when giving orders during a fight.

Nobody should know how much he hated being in this situation… Damn Enrique, damn Jamie, damn Red Ben! Damn them all! While maintaining the force he had chosen and trying to calculate where each tail should land, he tried mentally to avoid focusing on the swollen back which reminded him of another time and another punishment he had witnessed… Only that he hadn’t been the one wielding the whip then, but Josema, his twin brother, under the overseer’s supervision…

The one who was getting punished was, then, one of their friends, Paco, Benita’s cousin, who had run away to another hacienda where he got into a fight, trying to kidnap the girl he wanted to marry, to save her from a forced marriage… And Josema, exactly like him now, had to take charge of the punishment in order to avoid somebody else doing it… He had done it before, and he had learnt from an old man what was to be done in order to spare the victim of a part of the suffering. Then he taught his twin brother, because he might have been asked by the overseer to be in this situation too… He couldn’t know when the teachings would get useful… namely now! Like then, every blow hurt him too, not only Paco, just from watching… but now, he was the one who had the cat in his hands… and he tried to pretend in vain it didn’t mean what it meant for him.

Ben was in pain and mad enough to bite a hedgehog.
The damn whore had not only bitten him, but had bitten a piece out of him, like a goddamn shark!
Despite of te pain and the blood trickling into his mouth, leaving a disgustingly coppery taste, Ben couldn't help to poke and prod the injured spot with his tongue. And to add insult to injury, this little guy who fancied himself a master gunner was glaring holes in his back, after having played the knight in shining armour for the whore.
Despite of his pain, Ben smirked. The poor deluded man obviously thought that this would buy him Jamies favour... but when Sol accused him of foul play and wanted to do the floi imself, Ben was more than annoyed. He had been lookin forwards to that! And sadly, Cutter agreed... oh well.
While Jamie was tied to the grating and the quartermaster prepared him for the lash, Ben ooked around a bit. Fortunately, most of the crew saw it as free entertainment to see their outlandish sailing master getting the cat and that was just in Bens favour.
His smirk went broader when he heard some bets... but Sols handling of the cat made him frown.
One lash going amiss, he could understand, Sol wasn't an experienced boatswain, but this was definitely not a normal flogging.
After six lashes, Ben shook his head and declared loudly, for all crew to hear:

"Cutter, this isn't correct, he is flogging the wood!"

A murmur started amongst the men, some agreed, others casted Ben angry glares. He did not mid them. Those had probably been the ones, who had shared the sailing masters bed already or hoped to do this once.

Sol finished the first dozen and then stopped, as it was good custom, so the physician - well, they had none at the moment - could check back on the delinquent.
And in this moment, Cutter, the quartermaster approached Sol, with a very serious face.

"Sol..."
he stated quietly.

"I know Ben is a bastard and a half and that he is mad with Jamie now... but as much as I hate it, he is right. Nice try, though..."