Chapter Seven
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Cezar quickly ordered another round of drinks to appease the irritated sailors, retrieved the knife, and went back to instructing his protégé. "Keep your wrist absolutely stiff, Patife. Watch me," he said, demonstrating once again how to hold the blade and throw, hitting the target nearly dead center each time he demonstrated.
Little by little, Hector began to get the hang of it, and by the end of the lesson was at least striking the target most of the time, and some of his throws actually stuck.
When it became late and the pair headed up to get some sleep, Cezar went off to answer a call of nature and came back to find that Hector had flopped onto his bed and shoved his hands behind his head, obviously lost in thought as his brow furrowed in that way that he had just before he was about to ask a question.
Surmising that the topic of interviewing pirates was about to come up again from where he had dropped onto his own bed, Cezar was surprised at what was really on the lad's mind.
"Cezar," he began thoughtfully, " I noticed tonight that ye never once strayed farther than an inch from the center of the target during me lesson."
"I have been throwing a knife all my life, Patife," Cezar replied with a shrug and then a half-stifled yawn.
"Well enough, and that may rightly be true," Hector said, rolling over on his side to prop himself up on his elbow and stare across the room. There was an odd look on his face, like he was perhaps trying not to smile. "But last evening ye managed to throw two blades that came not anywhere near the middle before ye made the smartest strike of the night to win the match," he continued, a wry grin now sliding slowly into place.
Cezar had likewise propped himself up on his elbow. "So?"
"You had me worried at first that ye might not be up to the task," Hector replied meaningfully.
"That would be the entire point, Barbossa," Cezar replied with a deepening smile behind the beard.
"So," Hector continued, "out of the goodness of yer heart, you decided to liven up the match by missin' a few throws, did you?"
"Something like that," came the amused answer.
The gray-blue gaze met Cezar's in challenge from across the room. "It'd have naught to do with financial gain on yer own part, now would it, Cezar?" The boy was beginning to laugh just a little wickedly.
Cezar joined in. "Of course not," he said lightly, rolling over on his back, hands behind his head. "You have a vivid imagination, Patife." When he saw the boy flop back on his own bed, Cezar slid a hand furtively under his pillow, thinking he'd best not let the boy discover what he'd placed there.
"Lookin' for this?" came Hector's voice from across the room.
Cezar shot a look over to see the triumphant grin and the small coin purse the boy dangled tauntingly from his hand. He sat bolt upright and yanked his pillow off the bed to find only a vacant spot where the pillow had been.
"Ha!" Hector yelled, sitting up suddenly. "Yeh had a wager goin' on yerself, didn't yeh?"
There was nothing Cezar could do but burst into laughter along with the boy. "Yes," he said, finally catching his breath, "I had a wager going and managed to change the odds nicely as you can see there." He indicated the fair amount of coin Hector held.
"Ye cheated, Cezar," Hector admonished him affectionately, and then tossed the purse across to the older man.
"Yes, well, let us just keep that between us, yes?" Cezar said, tucking the purse under his pillow again.
There was a mischievous glint in the lad's eye as he spoke again. "And what do ye think my silence be worth, Mr. Silva?"
Cezar laughed aloud again. "You are blackmailing me, Barbossa?"
Hector shrugged innocently.
Cezar fished a coin out from under his pillow and tossed it to the boy with mock irritation. "See if I pull your sorry ass out of a puddle of vomit again," he snipped.
Hector pocketed the coin gleefully, enjoying tormenting his good friend. "And see if I let you set a wager on yerself again without getting' in on the deal!"
"Fair enough," laughed Cezar, and he doused the light.
The next few days were spent trying to find any information about either Mateus Barbossa or Manuel Rivero by any means they could think of other than talking to pirates. The days melded into two weeks before either one of them knew it.
Cezar made it a point to let Murdock know that both he and Hector would be willing to make the return voyage on the Tempest, but the decision dampened the boy's mood again as he realized they were rapidly running out of time before they departed for England.
Finally, frustrated by Hector's sulkiness and sympathetic to his disappointment, Cezar agreed that they would at least spend their last evening in The Old Stag, the tavern where they had first spotted the pirates. The condition was set that they were only going to talk to the barkeep and would not approach anyone who even remotely looked like a pirate.
McCreedy, the barkeep, knew an awful lot about the comings and goings of a lot of people, but he also knew that he should keep his mouth shut about a lot of that information as well. "Ye unerstan' I cannae be bumpin' ma gums aboot such things ta jus' aniwoon," he'd said kindly.
He genuinely did not know anything about Hector's father, although he confirmed that Rivero was indeed dead.
"Aye, run agroun' upriver by Morgan 'isself, th' bastirt," McCreedy said with a nod.
He'd poured them a couple of rounds and said nothing else that they found of use, and the evening passed thankfully, at least as far as Cezar was concerned, without the appearance of any known or suspected pirates.
On the return trip to Bristol aboard the Tempest, Hector was withdrawn and brooding again. Cezar left him to himself for the most part, knowing the boy couldn't stay in a bad mood indefinitely.
It wasn't until the third or fourth night that the boy finally appeared to eat dinner with him on deck, seeming slightly less sullen.
In an attempt to cheer the disappointed teenager, Cezar suggested that they have a practice session with the knife. Hector reluctantly agreed, but it wasn't long before he was beginning to smile and show a little enthusiasm, and eventually the moodiness dissipated for the remainder of the trip.
By the time they neared Bristol, Hector's mood had improved considerably, as had his knife skills.
Again, after the luck of a reasonably smooth crossing, Captain Wallace offered both Cezar and Hector more permanent berths aboard the Tempest. Both were inclined to take them, and were informed they would be needed to ready the ship again in a few weeks.
Hector's mood took an even greater upswing as he realized that he was going to have time to make the trip to Padstow and back. He was anxious to see his mother and tell her of his adventures and what little he'd learned about his father. He was also anxious to be able to provide some financial support for her out of the wages he'd earned from the two voyages.
Cezar said that he would meet Hector back in Bristol a day or so before they were expected at the Tempest, but upon hearing that his friend would just be biding his time alone in the city, Hector insisted that they journey to Padstow together.
"I do not wish to intrude upon your mother's home and hospitality," Cezar protested.
"Nay, ye won't be," Hector said confidently. "Besides, I'd like her to meet you."
Cezar opened his mouth to protest once more, and shut it again with a laugh as he saw the lad was not budging on this point. "Alright, Patife, I shall accompany you," he said.
"Ye won't regret it," Hector said cheerfully. "Me mother's the best cook, and she'll see that we're both properly fed for a change!"
Arriving in Padstow, Cezar had all he could do to keep up with the pace that Hector set as he climbed the road out of the village that lead to his mother's home.
The air was chilly, and the wind strong as it was now late in the fall. Hector crested the hill and could see from the road that his mother was outside, having just returned to the house from where she'd been gathering the last apples of the season.
She nearly dropped the basket when she realized who was striding across the yard toward her.
"Hector," she breathed quietly, saying a prayer of thanks that her son had returned and was safe.
She placed the basket on the ground and ran toward him, calling him out loud this time. "Hector!" she cried with delight, and she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely.
It only took her a moment before she realized he was a little taller than last she'd seem him several months ago. "Ye've grown," she said, placing a hand gently along his cheek.
"Aye, I suppose I have," he said gently in return. "I have so much to tell ye!" he said suddenly with great excitement, "but first there be someone ye should meet."
Beryan followed her son's gaze to where Cezar stood nearby, trying his best not to intrude on a mother's reunion with her son.
Hector made the introductions, and it was agreed that the men would fetch rabbits from the orchard, and Beryan went inside to set about making a pie.
After the remainder of dinner had been cleared away, Hector could barely contain himself long enough for Beryan to fetch dessert.
"Now ye'll see what I was talkin' about," Hector said proudly. He'd often told Cezar about his mother's cooking and her pie in particular.
Cezar finally sat back in his chair, knowing he couldn't possibly eat another bite. "Hector was right, Mrs. Barbossa," he said with a warm smile. "This is one of the most delicious dishes I have ever tasted. Obrigado –thank you."
Beryan had begun clearing the dishes, insisting that the two travelers stay put. "Ye be most welcome, Mr. Silva," she said.
"Ah, please," Cezar protested, "my name is Cezar."
"Fair enough, if ye call me Beryan," Hector's mother replied. "Mrs. Barbossa makes me feel a bit old," she said with a laugh.
The threesome sat up well into the night, talking about all that had happened to Hector since he'd last been home. Cezar finally excused himself and went off to bed so that Hector might have a little private time with his mother.
He told her about Mateus, but mostly went on about Cezar, and everything the man had done for him since they had met. Beryan made a mental note to thank the man herself when she had a moment, for looking out for her son so well.
"Oh!" Hector suddenly cried, breaking off in the middle of a sentence. "I brought this for you…." He went to his satchel and pulled out the purse with the money he had earned on his voyages. "This will make things better here," he said softly as he handed her the purse.
"Hector…." Beryan started a teary protest, but he cut her off.
"Nay, mother. This'll help. Take it fer me own sake," he said gently. He knew it would make things easier for Beryan for quite some time. "I'll bring ye more the next time I come home."
"So, ye'll be leavin' me again?" she asked. She'd known when he'd walked into the yard that he would.
"Aye, but I'll stay a while yet," he said quietly, kneeling at her side and taking her hand in his.
"Your friend is welcome to stay as well," she said, squeezing his hand.
"I thought ye'd approve of Cezar," Hector said, grinning. "Now mayhap ye'll not be worryin' about me so much."
She touched her son's face for a moment and then pushed the untidy hair out of his eyes. It was longer than it had been when he left. "Cezar or no," she said softly, " I will always worry about you, Hector."
The next few days passed more quickly than any of them would have believed they could have. Hector went off several times to hunt in the orchard with the ocean view that he loved, or to fetch fish for dinner down at the wharves, and Cezar made himself busy with some repairs around the small house in return for the hospitality that Beryan had shown him and the fine meals he had eaten at her table.
One afternoon Hector had gone off to pay a brief visit to Father Connor, who's health had been failing in the past months, leaving Cezar trying to re-hang the front door so that it sealed shut more snugly against the cold. He finally had it more level, and opened and shut it several times before he was satisfied that it was properly repaired.
Dusting off his hands, he turned around to see that Beryan had been watching him from the kitchen.
"It will be less of a draft now, yes?" he asked, taking the warm drink she'd just handed him.
"Aye, and I thank ye for that," Beryan said gratefully, indicating they should sit together at the kitchen table. "I also should be thankin' ye for looking out for my son the way ye have been….I am most grateful."
Cezar waved her off. "It is nothing," he said kindly, "you have a fine son, Beryan. I am most fond of him."
Beryan smiled warmly and then spoke again as concern began to replace the gratitude in her eyes. "Might I impose upon ye to keep an eye out for him this voyage again, Cezar?"
"You do not impose at all," he replied noticing that Hector must have gotten his mother's slate-blue eyes, "It will be my pleasure." He watcher her as she smiled and rose to gather together the things she would need for the jam tart she was going to make for dessert.
They spoke for a while longer before Cezar inquired as to what she was making.
"Jam tart," she replied from where she worked across the table, "if there's one thing that be true about my son, it is that he has a bit of a sweet tooth."
"He certainly likes your pie," Cezar agreed.
"True, that be his favorite," Beryan replied, "but it'll not take much to talk him into a second helping of this either."
"Or a third," Cezar said with a hearty laugh. "I've seen him eat!"
Beryan joined in laughing. "Aye, like most boys his age, he has the appetite of an ox."
"Yes, but not the same capacity for rum," Cezar added jovially, about to take a swig of his tea. He stopped short as he realized what he had just said.
"Did ye say, 'rum'?" Beryan asked, a note of displeasure slipping into her voice.
Cezar held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Let me explain……
Hector could hear laughter coming from the house as he crossed the yard to the front door. He could see through the window that Cezar and his mother were both sitting at the kitchen table, obviously engaged in a conversation of an amusing nature. He opened the door.
"…..and then I had to pull his backside up out of the barrel again!" Cezar was saying as he entered. Beryan had a hand over her mouth, unsuccessfully trying not to laugh at the story of her son's misadventure. Both looked up where the boy had just walked in.
Hector's eyes narrowed at Cezar. "Do I want to know who's backside ye be discussin'?" he asked suspiciously.
Cezar grinned broadly behind his beard. "More than likely, no."
After dinner, Hector stepped outside to stretch his legs while Cezar stayed behind to help clear the table. A few minutes later the older man joined him outside only to receive a half-hearted punch in the arm.
"Ye told me mother I was drunk on rum?" he asked in an incredulous whisper.
Cezar laughed, rubbing his biceps. "It is a funny story now, Patife."
Hector still didn't look like enough time had passed for him to find it amusing.
After standing together outside for a few minutes, Cezar finally spoke. "Your mother understands that for better or worse, you live each day more in the world of men, and less in the world of boys."
"Aye, that's true," Hector admitted, knowing how much it had taken for his mother to admit he was growing up and not hinder him from his voyage.
They stood together companionably for a few moments before Cezar spoke again. "You spent a lot of time telling me about your mother's cooking, Barbossa," he said, "but you never told me she was beautiful."
"Aye, the fairest lass in all of Padstow in her day, "Hector replied proudly.
Cezar laughed and clapped him on the shoulder fondly, amused at the difference in the age perspective. "Yes, well that day is still upon her, my friend."
Hector shot Cezar a piercing look as he suddenly realized that there was a good chance that it was not just Beryan's lovely blue eyes Cezar had been admiring.
Cezar laughed again, and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just an observation, Patife."
A wry grin finally tugged at the corner of Hector's mouth. "Aye, well ye best be keepin' yer observations to yerself."
"Of course," Cezar said.
The next week flew by quicker than the first, and sooner than any of the three of them wanted to admit, the last evening came before it would be time for Hector to leave with Cezar for Bristol.
Hector had run off to say goodbye to Father Connor, knowing he would likely not see the old priest alive again. Cezar had gone to the market and brought back a chicken that Beryan had requested.
Beryan herself was in the kitchen when he walked in, back turned to the door as she worked at peeling apples at the table.
"Here is the bird," Cezar said cheerfully, holding the dead chicken up by its feet.
Beryan pointed to the end of the table without looking at him. "There," was all she said.
Cezar put the bird on the end of the table, and glanced at what Beryan was doing. "Hector will be most pleased with that," he said. He watched her from behind as she merely nodded her head and he frowned a little.
"Do you need help?" he asked, taking a step closer.
"No." The answer was a strangled whisper.
A moment later Cezar could see that the woman's shoulders were shaking silently, and he understood that she was crying, but trying to hide the fact. He stepped next to her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "I will watch out for him, Beryan," he said softly. "I swear."
Her tears had made her nose a little red, but also made her eyes seem an even clearer blue than before when she turned to him with a look of distress at the thought of her son leaving again. A sob escaped her involuntarily, and Cezar placed his hands on each of her arms willing her to look at him. "I fear something terrible is going to happen to him, Cezar," she said.
"No harm will come to him if it is within my power to prevent it," he said earnestly. "I promise." The next moment she was in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably against his chest.
He held her for a long moment until her crying tailed off and then spoke softly into her hair. "That boy will be intolerable if he has to wait very long for that pie to be finished." He gently released her and smiled, picking up a knife and an apple as he made a point to stand discreetly at a more appropriate distance from her.
By the time Hector walked in, Beryan had dried her tears and did her best to remain cheerful throughout dinner. It was very late by the time they all decided that they should go to bed.
The men were up at dawn and ready to head for Bristol, and Beryan walked them out into the cold, gray, windswept yard. She gave Cezar a brave smile. "I thank ye again, with all of my heart," she said softly.
Cezar nodded, understanding what she meant but suddenly looked slightly taken aback as Beryan's lips brushed his cheek. "Take care of yourself, as well," she said, meeting his eyes for a moment and then turning to her son.
Anything she might have wanted to say remained unsaid as she took his hands, unable to fight back the tears any longer. She'd said what she'd needed to last night, and now, she grabbed him and clung to him as if she were never going to see him again. A moment passed, and she knew she should let him go.
Hector kissed her cheek and turned to walk away after the only three words she'd managed to whisper in his ear.
A/N: Now that we've spent some time setting up background and getting to know young Hector, it's time to start livening things up a little, and the best way I can think of to liven things up is with a pirate named Henry Morgan. ;)
