Bys Vyken, page 4
"And I do mean sleep, baban."
"Yes, ow gour,” chirped Nehemiah, scaring Jack into thinking he knew what it meant, and then fell asleep.
Jack stripped to just his shirt and lay down. He'd not slept in a bed for years. His mam and da had one, but it had been stolen by the time he got home after Clem's death. As a child, he'd always slept on a pallet by the fire. He'd only ever been in a bed on childhood visits to Cassiopeia or when he was ill and bundled in with his mam.
A bed with a man beside him. He never thought this would come to be.
His usual dream came. He was reaching for Clem and their fingertips brushed. His cry woke Nehemiah from his own feverish sleep.
"Put on my ring,” mumbled Nehemiah. “You do still have it? It protects from night terrors."
He'd rolled over and gone back to sleep, so Jack didn't tease him about superstitions. He rummaged in his coat pocket and took a good look at Nehemiah's ring. A gold ring with a green stone. The best jewel Jack had ever had his hands on for sure, but he was certain it wasn't an emerald. The squire's wife had an emerald pendant that she flaunted. Jack rolled the ring in his palm and then slid it on his finger. It was a snug fit, and an experimental tug proved he'd need soap to remove it.
His sleep was deep and dreamless, and Nehemiah was smug in the morning. He was less pleased to see the ring was stuck, but conceded it was safer on Jack's finger than loose in his pocket.
"And you said you'd return it when we parted, so now I know when you're planning to leave."
Jack had no answer, except to lead the way down to Cousin Cassiopeia's breakfast. Her husband was already in the shop, and she was in no big hurry for them to go. So long as they were gone by lunch and she didn't have to supply another meal, she was glad for some company. Her worldly eye spotted the ring.
"Olivine bysow, heh, Jack?"
Jack held out the ring so Nehemiah could guess the topic, and frowned at his inadequately suppressed eye roll and huff at more Cornish.
"It's peridot, ma'am. My brother told me sailors wore it to protect them from evil."
Cassiopeia chortled. “Sailors! ‘Tis a pirate tale, lad. We call it olivine, but peridot is a pirate's good luck charm."
Nehemiah gave Jack a sharp look. “Your cousin doesn't seem bothered about implying my family members are pirates, but then I suppose pirates are a step up from wreckers and smugglers."
Cassiopeia was answering a query called down the corridor from the shop and didn't hear, but Jack still kicked him under the table.
"What's wrong with you? She's only making chatter. She didn't mean to insult your family. There's no call to sneer."
Nehemiah rubbed his forehead. “I'm sorry. I can hardly think. My head aches and I still feel ill from the snake bite."
Jack shrugged. “Aye, but be a man about it. We've only a few hours walk, and we'll be in Falmouth before the day is over."
Nehemiah took his leave of Cassiopeia politely enough, and Jack bade his cousin farewell with no qualm over never seeing her again. She was blood, but a stranger, as far as he was concerned.
Nehemiah plodded silently beside him, and when asked if he was sulking snapped, “No, I'm being a man about suffering. Stoic. If you murdering savages know what that means."
Jack growled and, inside his pocket, started twisting and working at the ring to see if it would clear his knuckle. Nehemiah had been fun, but now he was becoming a burden. Jack could seek his fortune alone after he'd dumped this annoying colonial rebel at his consul.
His skin was raw by the time they reached the hinterlands of Falmouth.
"Jack?” said Nehemiah weakly. “I think..."
"Ah, bugger,” said Jack looking at Nehemiah lying passed out at his feet. His anger was tempered by how defenseless Nehemiah looked, but he was dispirited at the idea that they'd never find the consul today. He'd had enough.
He hauled Nehemiah to his feet and looked around. There was an inn at the end of the street. He managed to get the half-conscious Nehemiah to walk with support to the inn and into a small, dirty, but private, room. He looked despondently at his dwindling shillings, but ordered hot water and rum to be sent up along with a meat pie to share.
Nehemiah looked terrible: chalky green and trembling. His hand was red and swollen with black around the bites.
"I couldn't get my ring back on anyway, could I?” he mumbled.
Jack coaxed him to eat and drink, and then set about soaking his hand and draining the wound. Nehemiah moaned like a little boy.
"Don't scold me, Jack. Don't tell me to be a man. It hurts so. My mam would give me a sugar lump. Mam!"
Jack anxiously lay Nehemiah down on the grubby bed and watched him through the night as his fever grew and his delirium passed into tears and arguments with his father and pleas to his mam. There was little to do except bathe his head, drain his hand, and feed him sips of willow wood tea that he'd begged the serving maid to make.
Toward dawn, Nehemiah called out and begged for help. Jack worked frantically at the ring, but this time trying to return it to Nehemiah to help him. Surely it would help a fever-dream too? Nehemiah's distress grew.
"I can't lose you,” said Jack. “Nehemiah, wait, baban. Your ring will help."
Jack wrenched and smothered a yell as he ripped the skin from his knuckle. He slipped the bloodstreaked ring straight on to Nehemiah's unswollen hand.
"There, ow gour, bysow olivine, back on your hand."
To his relief, Nehemiah lay still and a small smile appeared on his unconscious face.
"Hamaliel!"
Jack lost his own dawning smile.
"Hamaliel! You know I love you."
Jack clenched his bleeding hand into a fist. No!
How could he have found another like him, who he could cherish, who he'd dared to break free for, only to have him be another man's?
Nehemiah was quiet now. His color was normal, and he pressed his ring up against his cheek, a small smear of Jack's blood on his jaw.
An unholy urge to smother Nehemiah where he lay and to then drown himself in the harbor rushed over Jack, and mercifully passed on. Jack fell to his knees by the bed and buried his face against Nehemiah's belly and wept.
Nehemiah's hand ruffled his hair. “Be a man about it, Jack."
Jack snapped up and glared. “Don't you throw that back at me!"
Nehemiah smiled palely. “Sorry. But I'm alive and we're in Falmouth. All is well. I only meant to tease."
"All is well,” repeated Jack coldly. “I'll walk you to the consul, and be on my way."
Nehemiah sat up too fast and fell back onto the bed holding his head.
"What?"
"I'll get you safely to your consul's offices, and then travel on,” repeated Jack. “You have your ring back. We'll part."
"But—"
"What? Had we agreed to more?"
"No, but I thought..."
Nehemiah looked like an ill child and Jack's resolve wavered. He was ashamed of himself, but he let loose. “You can go home to Hamaliel. He'll look after you."
Nehemiah blinked. “Aye, no doubt, but how did you know?"
"Oh, you called for your precious as I tended to you,” snarled Jack. “I've ruined my life for you! Saved you, sheltered you, lost my job and home, spend my last money caring for you, and all to get you back to Hamaliel!"
"Jack, wait, listen—"
"'Tis true that saving a drowning man ruins you. I lost Clem and, well, more fool me to think I ever had you.” Jack's anger blazed at Nehemiah.
"Listen,” he repeated weakly. “Jack, Hamaliel is my brother."
"Faugh! You lie to use me more. You filthy, sea spawned piskie."
"Jack! He's my twin brother. He's ten minutes my younger. We love each other. We're like one, and we traded rings when I set sail. I took his peridot for protection on the sea, and he has my sardonyx. Father had them made for us for when we turned twenty-one. Jack, truly."
Jack paced the room. “I believe you, but I'm turning into an abomination! I'm become jealous and wild. Since I met you I've—damn, Nehemiah—I've broken free of all that made me a decent man."
Nehemiah laughed until he coughed. Jack anxiously fed him some cooled willow tea.
"Jack Tregarthen, how can you say that? You've become free from a wicked town of drunken murderers and thieves and a whited selpulchre of a Chapel. Did ye not tell me the preacher is the main rum runner? And you've set off with the man whose life you saved to a country where squires and mine owners and admiralties don't ruin lives. You'll come to America with me, won't you, Jack? How are you not a decent man? To save a life? To yearn for liberty? To love another? Isn't that decent?"
"You shame me, Nehemiah, but I'm born and bred to think differently of freedom. Is there not duty and obedience in your land of Cockaigne? Do all do as they wish and still live in plenty?"
Nehemiah grinned. “Oh, Jack, we have evils aplenty, and want aplenty too, but there's wide open spaces. There are mountains and plains to rival your cliffs and moors. Room enough to live as we wish."
Jack frowned. “And how will they take to a Kernowyon amidst them? They'll take me for a Sawsnek no doubt and what then? What when our countries dispute? And surely you'll want to return to your mam and Hamaliel? And how will we even get to America?"
Nehemiah grinned. “Do ye always look for trouble, Jack? Can ye not let it find ye in its own time? ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ A good Chapel boy should know that."
"The devil can cite scripture for his purpose,” snapped Jack. “See, I can quote the Bible too. And how do you know so much Bible when you're a heathen?"
Nehemiah was snorting with laughter. “Oh, Jack, oh my man. I'm not a heathen. You can be a Christian without yielding your mind to a preacher and their rules. Oh and Jack, that was Shakespeare you quoted. I'm sorry, I cannot help but laugh. Do smile, my man, please."
Jack scowled, but bit by bit, Nehemiah's mirth wore him down and he finally smiled.
"If you're well to wheedle, you're well enough to—"
"To go to the consul!” interrupted Nehemiah pertly. “Help me dress!"
Jack sighed, and in truth, he'd feel wrong to have Nehemiah pleasure him while he still looked so frail.
"We must take care. Falmouth is full of navy men. No doubt it's why you have a consul here. But either of us could be pressed and you could be arrested."
Nehemiah smiled. “Ah, Jack, we've not come so close to fail now. If we look sober and walk through town with confidence none will bother us. I'll not let my accent be heard until we reach the consul."
They set off bickering in whispers. Jack wanted to approach carefully through alleyways and Nehemiah held firm on a direct approach being less noticeable. They were still debating the point when Nehemiah pointed out they'd arrived. Jack shook his head in exasperation. “I foresee a life of losing battles to you."
"So long as you foresee a life with me, my man."
Although they were left to wait sometime, Jack was surprised by the courtesy with which he and Nehemiah were shown into the consul.
"Nehemiah Gillis?"
"Yes."
"Of Norristown?"
"Yes."
"We've been looking for you! The Captain of your ship raised Cain over your impressment. All the consuls, even the Dublin one, have been on the alert for you."
Nehemiah nodded politely, not seeming surprised at all Jack noticed.
"Captain Whetterly is my mother's sister's godson. No doubt he was terrified to return home without me."
"The admiralty denied having you."
Nehemiah had a steely look in his eye that Jack decided he should be wary of were it ever provoked by his actions. “They added me to the ship's list under a false name. A common enough tactic, I'm told."
Jack was getting increasingly nervous. Was Nehemiah rich or powerful at home? He was talking to the consul as if he were an equal. Surely Americans were not so lost to propriety? But Nehemiah had mentioned his father had bought a share in the ship. Being used to seafarers, Jack had thought nothing of a man owning part of a boat or a cargo, but he suddenly realized that Nehemiah meant an ocean-going merchantman, not a Channel-hopping fishing smack.
Nehemiah and the consul were completing their business, and Jack felt shabby and provincial in his Sunday best. The consul signed something with a flourish and said that Captain Whetterly had left a letter of credit sufficient for Nehemiah's passage home.
"Ah,” said Nehemiah. “And will it cover my traveling companion? Jack Tregarthan is the man who saved me from drowning, and in exchange, I have undertaken to assist in his emigration."
Jack, for all his own caution and desire to hide, felt a bubble of anger at Nehemiah's calm cover story. It was erased in a moment as the consul shook his head.
"No, I'm afraid not. It will cover only your accommodations. But once you are home, you can arrange his passage then."
Jack felt that cold wave of doubt again. Nehemiah would forget him during the voyage, or he'd seem too much trouble once he was home, or his family would convince him that the reward was too generous for a simple miner.
Nehemiah's steel was back.
"Will your office stand me the ticket if I leave my ring as security?"
"Nehemiah, no!” Jack was about to say he forbade it, but bit back the words in time. The consul was already protesting, genially enough, that alas he had no pawnbroker's license nor funds to provide.
"But no doubt, my cabin accommodation can be traded for two cheaper passages?"
Jack and the consul both protested. Nehemiah gathered up his papers and made ready to leave.
Another debate ensued. The consul told him that recently the admiralty had been claiming consul issued papers were simply bought fakes, and thus he had expected Nehemiah, as a citizen, would be his guest until the next ship left Falmouth.
Jack heartily endorsed the idea. “I can't be your guard all the time, Nehemiah."
"Can he stay here too?” asked Nehemiah.
"You'll not need a guard here,” said the consul smoothly. “I'll arrange with my housekeeper while you two, uh, gentlemen, make your arrangements for Mr. Tregarthen's later travel."
Alone, Jack grabbed Nehemiah tight. “Don't be a fool, Nehemiah. Stay here where it's safe and you'll be well fed. My money will go far enough for one at the inn, and I'll visit every day until you leave."
Nehemiah gave him a hurt look. “I saw that doubt on your face, Jack. You think—again!—that this is the end. Will you stop doing that? I can't stand the pain of all those perpetual goodbyes in your heart. You lost Clem. You won't lose me. I will send for you if we can't travel together."
Jack stole a kiss, trusting they would hear the consul's heels on the stone tiles. “Nehemiah, I'm sorry. It's so hard to believe that I found you."
Nehemiah twisted off his ring and slid it on to Jack's little finger where it fit just right. “Wear that my man. No ripping off your flesh this time. Put it back on my hand when we're on American soil together."
Jack left the consul's house grinning like a moonstruck fool. He hurried back to the inn and collected his bundle. He had an idea that, now he'd been given reason to hope, suddenly seemed obvious. Gambling on it working, he moved to a better inn for the night so he could present himself clean and shaven to the lawyer the next day. With Nehemiah's ring on his finger, he slept undisturbed even without Nehemiah's comforting presence beside him.
The attorney hemmed and hawed, but Jack stood firm, and by noon, he was hurrying to see Nehemiah.
The consul was out and Nehemiah brazenly invited Jack into his bedchamber. Kissing hungrily, they tumbled to the bed, but Jack pulled back.
"Nehemiah, listen, I can come with you. And in the cabin too! No cramming into the hold or anything foul. I can pay my own way."
Nehemiah's chin went up, and he eyed Jack in horror.
"What have you done, Jack Tregarthern?"
"Ah, now who is lacking in trust? I've not murdered, nor stolen. I traded the cottage deed for my passage to America, and my hostelry bill until I sail. Ah-ah! Before you quibble with me: what good is a cottage in that village to me? The attorney thinks he is the winner, and mebbe he is in pure coin measure, but, ow gour, we have our new life, free and clear."
"Quibble,” said Nehemiah almost hysterically. “Jack, my man, never. I'd never let a quibble stand in the way of our passion and our life. Let me show you.” He reached his hand into Jack's breeches, sank to his knees, and began to express his appreciation in that ungodly, wicked, delightful manner.
Jack hissed in rage when Nehemiah stopped just as his balls began to roll.
"Tell me, my man, what does ow gour mean?"
Jack bit his lip. “I'll not be taunted nor made a plaything of! Finish me, Nehemiah. Finish me and I'll tell you."
"Truly? I don't want you hiding yourself in other language or in pride or manliness. We need to be open for each other when so much else is against us."
"Damn, Nehemiah! Finish me, and I'll promise to be open if you promise not to be a pricktease."
"Deal!"
Nehemiah's mouth re-enclosed Jack's cock and wasted no time finishing Jack's pleasure. His come was still on Nehemiah's lips as he bent down, kissed Nehemiah and said: “Ow gour. My husband.” He kissed him harder, and added “Bys vyken. Forever."
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Syd McGinley, Bys Vyken
