Chapter Eleven
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Hector appeared thoughtful as the two companions managed to find a small table that suited their requirements in a local tavern, and continued the conversation they'd been having along the way.
"Mayhap I could ask you a question, Cezar? Would ye answer me plainly?"
"I'll be as straightforward as I can," Cezar replied honestly. "What is it you would ask?"
Hector frowned, not sure how to go about asking what he wanted to, or whether or not he should, but he was curious and knew Cezar would probably understand. "Cezar, how old might ye have been when….when ye….the first time…."
Cezar understood where the conversation was headed. "I was just about your age, Patife," he said kindly, knowing the young man was at the age of discovering that men and women are very different and that it could be a wonderful thing.
"Oh."
Cezar smiled at the fact that his young companion was at a lost for words. He'd long suspected this conversation might fall to him since the he was, by default, the closest thing Hector had to a father. Not that he would have to spend much time explaining the how's and why's – living on a ship with dozens of sailors provided enough graphic detail of the how's and where's and when's and why's for any nearly seventeen year old lad to come away with a pretty fair idea of what sex was.
Cezar spoke softly after taking another pull at his rum. "Two words of advice, my friend," he said as Hector met his gaze again from across the small table. "Do not rush into things unless you want to –there will be a lot of pressure on you from your shipmates, especially with this crew I'll wager."
"And what be yer second bit of wisdom?" Hector asked, teasing Cezar a little.
"Respect, Patife. Always treat the women you deal with, whether they are sweethearts or working girls, with respect. It will keep you out of a lot of trouble."
Hector quirked an eyebrow up at Cezar.
Cezar sighed. "Hector, women and love and sex are very, very thorny matters. You will understand this sooner than you think."
Hector sat back with a bit of a smug air. "I've heard it explained well enough to understand that it not be all that complicated," he said wryly.
"Yes, well, trust me. On the surface it may seem very simple, but once you lose your heart to a woman…..things change. Hector, women are more complex than most men, and life with them can be complicated at times," Cezar tried to explain.
"So, why do men bother?" Hector asked, jokingly.
Cezar grinned. "That, Patife, is a question that men have been trying to figure out the answer to since the dawn of time. I wager you that by a year from now, you understand what I'm saying much better than I could ever explain it."
The lad shrugged, took another swig of rum, and then stood. "Be back," he said, and left through the back door of the tavern with the intent of answering a call of nature.
What set things in motion for Hector's adventure was the chance he happened upon three men that we in the company of a young woman, and were quite obviously not treating her in the respectful way that he had just been discussing with Cezar. He caught sight of them dragging her into an alleyway while she struggled in vain to throw them off.
His first logical thought was to run for more help, but when he heard her scream once, all logic went out the window, and he dashed across the street and into the alley. There he found two of the men handling the woman roughly, holding her still for the third who was tearing at the front of her dress. Unable to scream again because one of her assailants had a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, the girl's eyes were wide with terror, and met Hector's as he came skidding to a halt several feet away.
He realized as all four occupants of the alley looked his way that he had no idea exactly what he was going to do to help.
The man in front snarled at him and put a hand on his sword. "Yeh'll mind yer own business if yeh know what's good fer ya," he spat.
Hector thought it was very good advice, but unfortunately was not inclined to leave the girl to what appeared to be a very unpleasant fate. He tried to keep his voice from quavering too much as he challenged the woman's attackers.
"I'll keep to me own business, if ye let the lady keep to hers," he said, not believing what was coming out of his mouth.
"'Zat so?" Man number one asked, slowly sauntering closer to Hector while his two companions laughed where they still held back the girl. "Yeh inclined to do sommat about it if we don't?"
"Aye," Hector replied, wishing he could come up with something a little more smart and intimidating, but at a loss as he realized this might count as a life and death situation in short order. The other man drew his sword in a slow and deliberate manner, and Hector reflexively put his hand on his own sword, thankful that it was a sharp one.
'Breathe, relax,' he tried to tell himself, echoing what Jedediah had been telling him all along. He knew well enough that he never should have put himself in this situation, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
The girl's assailant grinned wickedly at the younger man standing in the alley alone in front of him, and raised his sword menacingly, hoping to chase Hector off.
Hector stood his ground, trying not to let his hand shake too noticeably. He became aware of the fact that he was shaking as much from anger as adrenaline as he spoke to the man once more. "You don't want to be doin' that," he said, knowing that it was about to come to blows. He hoped the girl at least thought well of him for trying after he was cut down.
"Really?" The man's arrogant grin grew even broader, and he reached back with his sword, intending to strike at Hector, who hadn't drawn his weapon yet.
Reacting instantaneously, Hector yanked his own weapon and swung it up and under the man's arm in one swift move, like he'd practice so many times the past weeks with Gray, only this time he didn't pull his swing. The scream that the man let out as his sword fell to the ground, still clutched in the hand that had been severed from his arm, was blood curdling, and he fell to the ground clutching at the stump of his elbow, pouring blood into the street.
No one was more surprised at what had happened than Hector, and the fact that he had pulled off the move without being run through came as shock to him. He stood there dumbfounded, staring at the man's arm in the street, thinking he might actually be ill.
Hector was not the only one shocked by what had just happened. The injured man's two companions, never having seen anyone draw a sword and do so much damage so quickly, decided to relinquish their prize and make a hasty retreat.
Finally coming to his senses and a full grasp of what had just taken place when he caught sight of the two others moving, Hector planted his feet and held up his sword again. "Take this filth with you," he ordered, getting immediate compliance from the intimidated cohorts as they grabbed their bleeding companion and dragged him off.
Hector finally lowered his sword, feeling that his hands were still trembling, and praying that he wasn't going to vomit in front of the girl who still stood wide-eyed and huddled against the wall. He risked a glance at her. "Are ye harmed?"
The young woman, a bit dirty and ragged from the way she'd been handled, was unhurt otherwise, and shook her head.
"Good." Hector said, now walking closer to her, mostly to get away from the arm that still lay in the street holding the sword. "Yeh sure?" he asked, watching the way she still leaned against the wall.
"Yes," she breathed unsteadily, apparently still rattled by what she'd been through.
She gave Hector a look that he couldn't quite place, but definitely found that he liked, and he straightened up a bit, buoyed by the fact that he had just impressed this girl. "Ye'll come to no harm now," he said, a bit cocky after his success. "Have ye a name?"
Still breathing a bit raggedly, the girl was still trying to compose herself, and looked like she wasn't succeeding very well. "Christine," was all she managed.
"Christine," Hector replied, trying out her name. "Well," he said, switching his sword to his left hand and offering her his right, "Hector."
He was struck dumbfounded again as Christine opted not to shake his hand, but flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, finally breaking into tears at that moment. "Thank you, Hector," she breathed between sobs.
Unsure about what had just happened, and at a loss as for what to do, Hector did nothing for a moment, and then finally let his hand rest lightly against Christine's back.
She started saying something else through her tears about being grateful, and how he'd probably saved her from being murdered, but he heard very little of what she actually said as he was now aware of just how tightly she had pressed herself against him.
Having not embraced another woman besides his mother this closely, he discovered very quickly that this was a completely different sort of thing altogether.
"…me home?" Christine had said, now leaning away from him as she wiped the last of her tears from her face. She looked back up at him questioningly.
"What did ye say?" Hector asked awkwardly, realizing he'd been paying more attention to how soft she'd been while pressed up against him than her question.
"I don't mean to impose," she said, now taking as step back to a more appropriate distance, much to Hector's disappointment, "but might I ask you to walk me home? It's not far."
"Of…..of course," Hector finally said. He realized after a minute that he was probably grinning stupidly at her and straightened back up, sobering as he did so. "I'd be yet delighted to, Miss Christine," he said, kicking himself mentally.
He went to sheath his sword at that moment, and realized that it was stained with blood. Looking about him for some grass to clean it off on, he found nothing but the arm laying in the street, and wincing a little, wiped the blade clean on the severed sleeve.
"There," he said, still queasy but trying to make it seem as if he did this every day. He slipped the blade into the scabbard at his hip.
Hector accompanied the girl out of the alley, and to his surprise and delight, she slipped her hand under his arm and hung onto him to steady herself. He looked down at her when they stepped into the better lighting of the main street, and realized she had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He hadn't noticed them in the darkened alley, nor had he noticed the fact that her hair was the color of spun gold.
He would have continued to stare mutely at her if it weren't for the fact that he heard his name yelled across the street.
"Barbossa!" Cezar called from where he stood in the doorway of the tavern.
Hector cringed, thinking that Cezar would admonish him in some way for being gone so long, but he watched as the older man merely pointed at the door of the tavern, indicating that he could meet him in there later.
Cezar knew better than to say anything about being worried about Hector once he saw the girl, and he knew that the lad was going to have a very interesting story to tell about how he managed to end up with that petite beauty on his arm in the past twenty minutes. He had the distinct impression at that moment that it was about to be well under a year when the young man discovered the joys and the frustrations of women.
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Two hours later, Hector found his way back to the tavern, and was surprised to find that Cezar was not alone at their table. Jedediah Gray, Judean Reece and Morgan himself had joined his friend while he had been absent.
"Ah, Master Barbossa," Morgan called out jovially, drawing out a chair next to himself for the young man, "how are you this fine evening?"
"I be quite well, sir," Hector said sitting down. He glanced around the table noticing that the others seemed to all be doing their best not to be smiling.
Gray signaled the barkeep for another round of drinks to be brought to the table, and turned back to where Hector had sat down, scrutinizing the young man carefully. He spoke after a minute in a forced even tone.
"Mr. Barbossa, do I want to know why you have blood on your shirt?"
Hector glanced down quickly, and realized that he must have been splattered with blood during the duel, and had been too preoccupied speaking with Christine on the way to her family's home to notice. He knew by the way that Gray was looking at him that his mentor was beginning to suspect that he might have been using his sword for more than show.
The barkeep arrived and passed out the round of drinks, and Hector tried to busy himself with his rum inconspicuously. It didn't work.
Morgan took a swig of his own drink and then spoke again. "I'll wager there's an interesting story here, gentlemen."
Cezar, who had evidently said something to the rest about having seen Hector last in the company of a young woman, spoke up. "Care to share where you've been for the past two hours with us?"
"Not really," Hector said, somewhat sheepishly.
Morgan wouldn't let it drop. "You must share this adventure of yours with us, Barbossa," he said cheerfully.
Hector looked around the table at his four companions, knowing by the way they looked that he wasn't getting out of this any time soon. He sighed, resignedly, and took a fortifying draught of rum before launching into the story of what had taken place since he left Cezar in the tavern.
When Hector had finished telling the story of how he had met Christine, Cezar finally piped up. "That is quite some story," he said in a manner that belied the fact that it was not exactly what he had expected to hear.
Reece snorted and sat back in his chair. "'E's makin' dat up," he said, looking skeptically at Hector, where he sat across the table. He obviously thought Hector was just trying to impress Morgan.
"I've told it as plainly as I can," Hector replied defensively. "If ye don't believe me, then go and have a look in the alley."
All of the others at the table shared a look that said they might just think that was a good idea anyway, and Hector led the group to where he'd encountered the girl's attackers.
He led them well into the alley, and sure enough, there on the ground, was the fore half of an arm; a sword still clutched in its lifeless grip. Cezar let out a low whistle as Gray went over to take a closer look.
Gray squatted down and disengaged the sword from the fingers wrapped around the grip, and carried it back to the entrance to the alley as the others followed, scrutinizing it in the better lighting.
"This is a very fine blade, indeed," he said in an admiring way. "I should highly doubt that the man you defeated was the original owner. More than likely this was stolen, and probably from a wealthy nobleman."
Morgan went to stand next to Gray, looking from the sword to Gray's face. "It would seem to me that she has a new master now, don't you think?"
Gray smiled back at Morgan and then turned to Hector, offering him the sword. "Take this, Barbossa. It will bring you luck to carry the blade from your first victory with a sword."
Hector took the weapon that Gray offered to him and relinquished his own as he inspected the sword. It was expertly crafted of the finest steel, and a guard that spread out in the form of an ornate shell protected the hilt.
He turned at last and hung it at his left hip, not knowing at that moment he would never lose a duel as long as he carried it for well over twenty years.
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