Fic - Adrift in the Wreckage (1/1, Twelfth Night)

[redfiona99]

Title: Adrift in the Wreckage
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: Twelfth Night
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you recognise, they're all Shakespeare's.
Characters: Antonio, Sebastian, Sebastian's crew
Pairings: Antonio/Sebastian
Rating: PG-12 (upper end of PG, canonical levels of violence)
Notes: Written to a prompt from LGBTfest 2009. The original prompt was, "The laws of every land condemn sodomy--but they're at sea." Physical descriptions from a version I saw in Manchester once (which was most excellent). The more piratical parts were influenced by this - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pirate_code. A couple of bits of dialogue pinched from Shakespeare.

There is some very 16th century medicine in here and some highly inaccurate sailing vernacular.

Summary: The law of the sea was that you look for survivors when you pass a wreck, and you save them if you find them. Antonio has followed the sea's laws all his life, and knows how they differ from the laws of the land. When he and his crew rescue a half-drowned survivor from a wreck, Antonio finds himself caught between the sea's laws and the land's laws.



Antonio had always lived off the sea. It had given him everything he'd ever needed, and most of what he'd wanted. There was a rumour he'd been born of the sea, but as his first mate said, "no, he'd been born twixt the legs of some dockside whore like the rest of us." His first mate was the best sailor Antonio had ever sailed with, but he was never more than six words from being made to swim to shore.

The long and the short of it though, was that the sea provided.

On this occasion, it provided a wreckage.

The law of the sea was that you looked for survivors when you passed a wreck, and you fished them out if you saw them. Even pirates held to that, because you'd want someone to do the same for you. Wrecks happened to even the best sailors, and sea was unforgiving.

It was the gunner's boy who saw the survivor first. The gunner’s boy was a sharp-eyed water rat who'd make a fine gunner's mate in five years, if the cannons didn't kill him first. He shouted as he saw the body, a pale figure barely lying on some planks of wood.

Five of them hauled the floating body in. Truth be told, they'd thought the man dead and were planning to throw him back overboard once they'd checked his pockets for anything to identify him, and any coin going spare. The first because it meant they could send word to the man's family, which is the least anyone deserved, and the coin because it wasn't like a dead man would need it. The body would be returned to the sea with as much ceremony as the score of them without a priest could provide. You can't have a corpse aboard, it's a bad omen.

As the gunner went to pick up their burden, what they'd thought a corpse gave a loud heave, and spat out a full one seventh of the world's seas. Or so it seemed to them whose feet he was covering.

"Well, he's not dead," said the carpenter, a fine man with a lathe, "yet," and just as sharp with his words. The carpenter was worried that an ague would take what the sea hadn't.

The company decided they could stand their guest a ration of grog, and helped him to sit up on deck. He was not altogether with them, the shock of it all having caught up with him as he sat there shivering in the early evening heat. The carpenter had fetched some measure of warm cloth to wrap around him as they sought to dry him out as best they could.

He spoke enough to say his name was Roderigo and that he was very grateful, but that was about it. They could see him sinking into sleep, justified by his exertions in staying alive. Which raised a difficult question, for the sleeping arrangements aboard were a matter of much heated debate, and ran to a full half page in the company articles. On account of the bo'sun's snoring, no one much enjoyed being within half a ship of him. The gunner's boy was the only person undisturbed by the roar from the bo'sun's gaping mouth and so was the only other person sleeping in the fore, but the gunner's boy could sleep through storms. As evinced by his sleeping right through the one that sank their catch's ship. Which was for the best, the wind had blown so hard he'd like have been swept overboard if he had come up. No, storm sailing would wait till he'd put on five inches and twenty pounds. So, there was space in the forecastle but the bo'sun was loud enough that sharing space with him would be no good for an ill man, if the carpenter’s woeful predictions were correct. Because everyone else slept in the aft, there was no space for any other sleeper there so that was out too.

As captain, Antonio had his own cabin, a space he jealously guarded, and yet, installing their guest therein seemed to be the only option. The carpenter had helped Roderigo up to his feet, and was looking at Antonio for an answer to the question. Antonio indicated his cabin with a nod of his head.

It was only later, when Antonio was turning in for the night himself, having handed over to his first mate for the middle watch, that he realised he hadn't told the carpenter to sling a hammock up for the man, and the carpenter, being as he hadn't thought to ask, had put him to sleep in Antonio's bed. Cursing, Antonio took a spare hammock from the stores and slung it up as best he could in the near dark. He'd tell the quartermaster in the morning.

~~~~

The ague the carpenter had feared came on during the night, and by afternoon watch the man Roderigo had fallen into a fever. While they had no such luxury aboard, the carpenter had served his apprenticeship on a ship with a physician, and being a likely lad, had paid attention. The carpenter served as doctor, or as close as they had, with application of heat from the gunner and his mate should need for amputation arise. As it was, he was moving at nautical speed round Antonio's cabin, muttering to himself about the lack of fever tree bark, and having to hope his brew of willow and weeds would be enough. It normally was, when the bo'sun was roaring about his teeth, or one of the crew had caught themselves up on the ropes, but this was something else.

The fever raged, and all Antonio could do was mop the man's brow and hope it eased his suffering. He had the time, there was little sea-captaincy to do, the storm which had wrecked the other man's ship had taken all the strength out of the sea and air. They weren't quite halcyon days, and the crew had enough fresh water that Antonio was not yet worried. The winds would pick up, they would reach land and be able to sell their bounty. But right now, Antonio had nothing pressing. He was lucky in his crew - in everyday sailing, they needed very little instruction, and with barely a ripple, this sea was so calm even the gunner's boy could handle the ship. No, he'd next be needed if they hadn't moved at all three days hence.

As a nursemaid, Antonio made a good sea captain. But he did his work honestly and dutifully. He had no greater liking of a man dying in his bed than any other fellow.
For two days the fever hadn't abated, no matter what Antonio did. Roderigo tossed and turned and was racked. When Roderigo spoke, it was mostly babble. Antonio was no spy, so paid it no attention, or as little as he could. But the deaf would have heard Roderigo's cries for Viola, whoever she was. There was despair in the cries, as much as fever.

The cold compresses did little, the only thing that seemed to soothe the lad was Antonio's voice. It calmed him somehow, enough that the rocking of the boat sent him off to sleep, which was probably the best medicine for him now. Antonio had run out of general things to say and was reading through the ship's Bible. Antonio had learnt his letters as a boy, but hadn't had so much use of them for years.

The crisis of the fever came a short while after the wind picked up, and they were both blessed reliefs. Much as the ship couldn't move without wind, even if there was a risk it might be blown astray, though the crisis might kill him, there could be no cure for Roderigo without it. Roderigo's body convulsed like a ship in a gale, shaking stern to bow, and he let out such a cry as would suit a soul in torment. Antonio, returned to his cabin now the ship was set to its right course, ran over to the bed, because no human wouldn't at that sound. Roderigo's eyes opened as he seized and clutched at thin air, grasping till he had hold of Antonio's wrist. His eyes stared unseeing, bloodshot whites highlighting the sea-green jade of Roderigo's eyes.

Antonio held him, rocked him, anything he could to comfort Roderigo even slightly. The noise Roderigo was making sounded worse than when the Gunner had had a bad dose of malaria in the harbour at Durazzo. Of course, then Antonio came down with it too, there being something in the air at that time. He'd been feeling strange, not quite on the beam, and assumed it was hard work and sleepless nights. It wasn't. He remembers the hallucinations and the feeling of dread, and three days that felt like heavy eternity. Antonio would have taken any crumb of human comfort he'd been offered. Not that there was any. Then again, Antonio had been so far gone likely he wouldn't have remembered it even if there were. When his fever broke, Antonio had woken, sore and bewildered. It was already past time to sail, and they'd have missed the tide had he tarried longer but Antonio lit his candle in St Nicholas's next time they passed by.

Roderigo was also confused and shaken when he woke, skin still pale and clammy but sensible at least. He wasn't fit for company yet, but he was sitting up and able to eat without help.

It took another few days before he could move about the ship. Roderigo sat quietly in Antonio's cabin, struck solemn by the accident of his survival. He did but raise his voice once in those few days.

"Captain, good sir," for Antonio had yet to convince him that he had a name, and Roderigo was to use it, "as one who owes you so much, my life twice o'er, without the means to repay, it pains me to ask for another favour. But ask it I must. I understand the natural curiosity for a find such as myself, and promise I will explain myself eventually, but I must ask, nay sir, I must beg, that you not ask about what brought me here."

Antonio agreed readily, and tried to convince the young man of the shared fellowship of the sea, that would allow a man to cast off all he had been on land. "As long as man doesn't lie about his sailing skills, we're not the sort of men who care."

"That truth is easy enough said. I have no skills afloat, for, would you credit it, this was my first time aboard a boat." Roderigo's lips quirked into a smile, or near as, and Antonio smiled with him.

That was the thing with Roderigo, he was a likeable fellow, was obliging and smiled easily. Lacking anything better to do, because the wind had picked up but it was now smooth sailing until near port, Antonio showed him the ropes. Roderigo was a very willing pupil, and quick to learn.

They reached port, and Antonio had the ship pull into harbour so smoothly the barnacles would barely have felt it. Antonio granted all but a skeleton crew shore leave for three days. The skeletons sorted themselves, mostly those men who'd drunk through their wages at the last port, and Antonio himself disembarked to claim payment for the goods they'd brought in.

When he came back that night, he wasn't surprised to find Roderigo still there. What did the boy have but the clothes he stood up in? It wasn't as though he could have paid for passage back to wherever he was from.

Antonio left Roderigo a purse the second day. There was enough gold in it to book a berth back home, wherever home was, and in a decent enough ship, one that wasn't likely to sell him on to slavers.

Both the purse and Roderigo were still aboard when Antonio returned from his business of the second day.

"I did leave it for you."

"I know."

"If it's some scruple or urge to refuse charity, don't let that be the hinderance. Every man aboard this ship wants to be, and I'd keep it that way." Pressed sailors hadn't the quality of it.

"It's neither of those things." Roderigo paused. "I confess myself to be at a loss with what to do with myself." Antonio wanted to ask why, what had happened to lead Roderigo to this place, but he'd given his word that he wouldn't ask about the other man's past. "If I were to sign on, try and make myself useful, for a while at least... would that be possible?"

Of course it was. But Antonio told him that Roderigo would have to decide one way or the other by sunset the next day, because that was when they sailed. He left him the purse again.

Naming sunset was not quite a lie, partly intended to whet Roderigo's decision-making. Antonio always tried to have everyone aboard by sunset, so they could be away with the early tide. If he didn't have them back by sunset, he knew he had to find replacements. If he did have everyone, and then a person stole away in the night, the head of their division had to pay a fee to the rest of the ship's company, for a replacement sailor and the loss of a day's sailing. It helped keep everyone in line.

Antonio was not surprised to find Roderigo still aboard when he returned. He didn't think it was for the best, but he couldn't pretend to be unhappy. He had planned for this, got them a job shipping Bulgur wheat to Azarcanto. There were easier ways for the merchantmen of Azarcanto to obtain the wheat but he wasn't a tradesman and Silento always paid his bills.

They had Roderigo sign ship's articles, even if they weren't quite the same articles as the rest of them. Other people might have noticed, but they held their tongues, even the first mate. Antonio had his reasons. Roderigo was a gentleman, that was clear to see, even if he never said anything. Or every time he said anything, from his soft voice and his long words. Gentlemen and piracy did not mix, so it was best to keep him in the dark.

The first mate had the gravest of misgiving about having Roderigo aboard, because Roderigo's standing as a gentleman hadn’t been lost on him either. Antonio granted all his misgivings, he shared half of them, but he explained that he had a plan, or something like.

"And there's to be no favouritism," said the first mate. Antonio knew full well what his first mate was insinuating, and objected. But he granted that the first mate was supposed to remind him of things like that, and Salvatore'd know Antonio long enough that he knew Antonio had his weaknesses.

"There'll be none."

"Just mind there isn't."

They rated Roderigo a seaman, and set him down for the half the one-twentieth of the half of prize money that every able seaman got as a basic salary. Roderigo didn't comment, probably because he didn't know any better, but the first mate did, in privacy because, apparently, he could be taught to behave like a biddable fellow, eventually.

"If you'd ranked him able, no-one would have said anything."

"He's not done enough sailing to be an able anything. No favouritism, you said."

"Aye Captain I did. And this'll do."

Antonio can't pretend that he treats Roderigo like the other sailors, able or otherwise, not least of all because he still hasn't been moved out of Antonio's cabin. But sailors care more about the watches and the shares than they do about the captain's smiles and no one much minded, or maybe they hadn't noticed.

There were a fair few things that Antonio himself was desperately trying not to notice.

By the end of two weeks's sailing, Roderigo was swinging from the rigging like a bird through the air. And that made it harder not to notice.

Roderigo, blond hair, green eyes, fair like a maiden, had taken up the sun. I'faith his skin dealt with it better than most of his description, but his shoulder were still red and sore. It was obvious that whatever he'd been before this, it hadn't involved good, sometimes honest, outdoor labour like life aboard ship. Antonio was naturally swarthy, and couldn't recall a time before he'd been out in all weathers. He'd been a cabin boy, a powder monkey, ran up and down the ship's riggings like the sea rat he was. He'd grown in the sun, and loved it, and hadn't needed those potions that the Bo’sun, even with twenty years at sea, required to ease his skin, and most particularly his bald head.

Antonio was thinking about those potions when he looked at Roderigo's shoulders. It wasn't the only thing he was thinking, but it was the most profitable, reasonable thought. He wondered how he could convince the Bo’sun to let him have some, and how much he was willing to give for it.

That part had been easier than expected, the Bo’sun willing to settle for a few coins now, and the promise of more when they had delivered their cargo. Which suggested the Bo’sun was robbing him blind, but the Bo’sun knew how to negotiate, and he knew when he was dealing from a position of strength. Antonio had no way of objecting.

That night Antonio has Roderigo astride a chair, or rather, he has him sit astride a chair, and Antonio knows he must be careful how he phrases it, even within his own mind. Antonio sits behind him and has Roderigo remove his shirt. Or the threadbare material that is left of it. The shirt is soft now, and carries the heat from Roderigo's skin. He really will need another at the next port.

Antonio carefully doesn't notice the strength of Roderigo's shoulders underneath his hands as he applied the ointment to the red patches on them, sore and flaking. He doesn't catalogue the freckles or wonder at the softness of Roderigo's skin. He is allowed to marvel at the lack of scars on Roderigo's back. There's nary a sailor 'scapes the cat, and Antonio still carries the marks of his youth.

The cat hasn't got its claws into either of the boys aboard, yet, but then again, the cat is a different beast aboard a ship like theirs. Punishment was a communal decision, not at the whim of the captain.

"I'm sure my tutor would have if he could. I know he wanted to. I probably deserved it." Roderigo spoke as though tutors were commonplace, and that most men didn't learn the few letters they had at churchdoors.

Antonio is allowed to notice that, to mock and cajole, and Roderigo doesn't blush that he's revealed too much. What Roderigo does do is demand that Antonio remove the leather jerkin he habitually wears, so he can see Antonio's much vaunted scars for himself. Antonio doesn't blush, by force of will, because this is a pirate ship and he has been naked here more times than he cares to remember, if not naked in close company.

Antonio can't help but notice how soft Roderigo's hands still are, despite the rope-worn callouses beginning to form, as he searches the lines on Antonio's back for their history. One scar makes Roderigo wince, and Antonio has to block a shiver as Roderigo traces along it, enquiringly. It takes some runs of Roderigo's finger across his back for Antonio to realise which of his scars it is, and probably too many after that for him to finally tell Roderigo that it was an errant fishhook that caused it.

"I didn't know you'd been a fisherman."

"I've been a great many things on boat." Which was true. The fishhook in the back was the thing that finally convinced Antonio that fishing was a fool's game. So much work, *so much danger* for so little money.

A fisherman is not the only thing he's been aboard a boat, and he was half the way to cocking his hip and steering this conversation into deeper waters, when he stops himself. Three things lower his sails. He might be aboard a boat at present, but Roderigo is still a gentleman, not a sailor. And not even all sailors did as Antonio did. Beyond that, this gentleman sailor who might not even list to starboard didn't know this was a pirate ship. The fault of the last was on Antonio, who'd kept the ship on merchant duty as long as Roderigo was aboard, but it felt wrong to bed him if Roderigo didn't know who he was. There's those who'd draw a line at piracy, even if they didn't draw one at sodomy.

Antonio spins Roderigo a reel about life as a fisherman instead. Antonio has a thousand tales, and so far, Roderigo has listened devotedly to all of the ones he's been told.

Antonio leaves the cabin a little early the next morning. He wishes to clear his head. It's all foggy in a way the sea isn't except in the worst days of November. He sees the expected bustle as the middle watch clears the way to hand over to the morning watch, and the cook and the galley prepare breakfast. He also sees an awful lot of unsuccessfully secretive handing over of money between his crew.

Antonio is not a tyrant. Sailing is boredom punctuated by periods of near-death and the men like to gamble. Sailors will gamble on anything. He has seen them wager on whether a gull will catch a fish or whether the first sail they see at sea will be white or red - it was yellow in the end. He could no more stop it than stop them breathing, so he doesn't try. He has rules, of course; no dice and no cards, nothing too easy to rig. No sums so large as to hurt, and no fighting over it. And in the spirit of things, he turns a blind eye. He knows Salvatore ensures that it doesn't go too far, not least because Salvatore's yet to see a wager he won't take, and he'd be the one worst affected if Antonio had to stop them.

They're making it very hard to turn a blind eye. He calls Salvatore over, breakfast is Salvatore's night's meal, and normally, their watches cross for a couple of hours before Salvatore slips away to sleep. "I'd ask a favour."

Salvatore spread his hands as if to say, "alright, go on".

"There being a general spirit of agreement, on your habitual vice," he has to clarify, the ship gets by on general agreements more than rules, "I'd rather not see the men exchanging their winnings. I mean, if I'm not to know at all."

"I see your point, guv. I'll have a word."

Despite officially not knowing about the betting, Antonio looked forward to seeing how Salvatore was going to handle this.

Salvatore gathered the six crew Antonio had seen. "Firstly, eyes out, captain's about," which was accompanied by a hand signal, index finger pointed touching the corner of his left eye then the thumb of the same hand moved to point at Antonio. "Secondly, hand yer winning's back." There was a questioning murmur. "Bet is voided." There was a further murmur. "Steward's inquiry, like." That was accompanied by eyebrow wiggles and a look, indecipherable to Antonio. Whatever it meant, although there was still murmuring from the crew, but the money went back to its original owners, probably to be gone again on some similar wager not too long after.

Antonio tried to cool his feeling for Roderigo, and try to keep some distance between them, but the matter was complicated by their sleeping arrangements. A great many things are complicated by that. The other complication was his complete lack of will on this topic - he doesn't wish to maintain his distance from Roderigo. His comely form was not the greatest of Roderigo's attractions, attractive though he was, no, his greatest attraction was his pleasant personality. He was one of those people it was a joy to be around and Antonio so wanted to be around him. Antonio prided himself on his navigation, so he carefully steered between the twin rocks that would dash him, not being close to Roderigo, and being close to him. He kept his company, but above decks, in company, to keep from doing anything that any of them might regret, if not in the morning, then three days hence.

They talked, and Roderigo listened, and Antonio taught him how to sail, and one night, Roderigo saved his life.

There was a sudden squall, as oft time happened on these seas, and Antonio thought himself prepared. He had battened the hatches and cleared the decks, and the reef line was held ready. It would not be smooth sailing, but they'd get through this. Suddenly, the waters broke, and as the ship kipped, and had to be kept from broaching. Antonio knew he had the best crew in these waters, and they proved themselves again. The ship was righted, without incident, except their idiot captain, acting the landlubber, forgot about the flogging sheets, which whipped about and damn near belted him into the sea. His watery fate would have been well-deserved, for having made a mistake even an unrated man fresh off the docks would have blushed at.

Roderigo gripped him by the hand and held him aloft and out of danger. Although he was a wiry young man, it was muscle, now taut and sinewy with work, and stronger than it looked. And Antonio was right glad of him.

Roderigo pulled him back fully aboard when the ship rocked again, having the sense to use the motion of the waves rather than trying to force it.

Antonio barely had enough breath left in him but to clap Roderigo around the shoulder by way of thanks. The bo’sun came to him with a medicinal tot of grog, the carpenter being busy attending to the creaking planks and masts of the ship. Antonio was most glad of the grog, warmed and soothed and alive and grateful.

He finished setting the ship back to harbour-ready, or as close to, before he went to collapse in his hammock.

Roderigo was sitting at the table in the cabin, pale and shaking, when Antonio entered. Antonio had seen this before, men in reaction against what they've just done, so he went to the galley and took his daily share of the grog early instead of heading straight to sleep. He ached to rest, but what decency he had required that he at least try to soothe the man who’d just saved his life.

Antonio sat the tankard down in front of Roderigo.

Roderigo looked at it, with something like dread. "It won't fix this."

"No, but you'll feel better. Warmer at least."

"If I'd been this strong then, I could have saved her. If I'd done a day's work in my life, she would be alive."

"No, she wouldn't," whoever *she* might have been. Antonio was blunt. "Every storm's different, and that one was a bad one. This one was but a tiny tempest, a slight upset." It was not the time for comforting. Antonio had seen too many men lost on the sharp rocks of 'what if' and 'if only'. He would not lose Roderigo to those rocks. "If I hadn't been a fool, the whole thing would have passed like the beat of a bird's wing."

"How can you be so calm? You nearly died!"

"That's the sailor's lot." Antonio thought Roderigo's naivety about the sea was because he wasn't born to it the way Antonio had been. "We do ourselves and the sea a disservice when we pretend it is like us, or like any other animal. It does not want, it does not hunger, it cannot be placated. We do our best to survive it and accept that we might not. We cannot change it, or what it does to us." Antonio didn't think Roderigo heeded him, so he walked over, ruffled his hair, touched his cheek, tried to make sure he knew that Antonio was there for him.

Roderigo put a fair face on his disquiet, something he had a natural advantage in.

Roderigo remained an attentive ear after the event, soaking up all that Antonio told him. Antonio stuck to his previous strictures, most of the time he spent with Roderigo was spent above decks, in a circle of sailors sharing stories, of varying truth. Antonio whispered into Roderigo's ears sometimes, fighting the urge to curl into him, kiss him.

Antonio learns patience, because he does not want to share with someone who he cannot share all of what he is, and Roderigo still doesn’t know this is a pirate ship. It’s not like they’ve been actively thus while he’s been aboard, mostly it’s been smuggling and Roderigo is naïve enough that he wouldn’t be able to tell that from fair trading.

Their temporary withdrawal from piracy has its advantages, Antonio's had the time to make those repairs to the ship he always intends to make and never quite finds the time for in between repairing the damage from piratical engagements, and to run drills so that the ship runs smoother than silk. In future, because he knows, logically and reasonably, and against all the hopes of his heart, Roderigo will leave and they will return to piracy, he may switch the ship to mere trade for a few months every few years in order to instil order.

Although they have moved beyond the crest of the year, the days are still long, and all is summer sun and some indolence. It was nearly a paradise.

All paradises are doomed to end.

This serpent was an external one, but he must admit they all laid the groundwork for it.

They were shipping cargo from one port to another when they were set upon by another vessel. While they were not prepared for it, it wasn't their first engagement at sea, and to be frank, the gunner's mate was starting to strain at the leash for lack of fighting.

They were passing port to port with another vessel of a similar size. And yes, had the situation been other, they would have been tempted to have a bite, but they were in peaceable trim. The other ship had struck no flag and her gunports were closed. But apparently the other captain had recognised their ship from a previous encounter and was out for revenge. The other ship pitched towards them, and would have had a free broadside burst, had the gunner's boy not noticed her gun ports rising quicker than most men would have done.

There wasn't much to be done, except swing hard to starboard to try to reduce the landing area of the canon, and then swing back and hope the gun were ready.

Antonio's ship swung back, and while it wasn't a full peal of canon, it was enough to give the other ship pause before they launched their inevitable attempts at boarding. Sure enough, the grapples flew over and hooked into the sides. There were too many of them to cut all the ropes, though that didn't stop them from trying.

The boarders came along their ropes with a cry of "death to pirates," which laid bare their aim. Antonio had no fear for his crew, his sailors were the finest crew on these waters, and all of them knew how to fight, even the cabin boy who was a menace with the misericorde, but Roderigo was an unknown quantity. How someone would react in battle was unknown till their mettle was tested.

Through the remnants of the canon smoke, above the flames that the gunners would be dousing any moment, Antonio could see Roderigo capably handling the sailors attacking him. Antonio had no time for more than a glance as he too tried to repel the boarders.

It was not an easy fight, whatever else the other ship might have been, its sailors were capable, and determined.

But Antonio's crew were just as determined, and more experienced in this matter. It took time, and no small amount of blood, but they beat the boarders back. The Bo'sun clapped irons on as many intruders as he could and forced them into hold. Quite where the Bo'sun found so many irons was a matter Antonio chose to leave in the dark.

Roderigo still had his sword drawn. He was vibrating with rage and moral indignation, half the probability of piracy and half not having been told. "What sort of ship is this?"

"We're not the largest shark in sea, nor the most deadly, but yea, we are a shark." Antonio supposed that he could have lied, but Roderigo would have known. They were a little too sharp, too well-drilled, professional fighters as much as professional sailors.

Roderigo retreated to their cabin, sword still in hand. Antonio was torn, there was a ship to ransack, payment for the trouble those hot-headed fools had put them all too, but he had to fix Roderigo, because there were 19 men who would kill Roderigo if they thought he'd turn informer.

The first mate nodded in the direction of Antonio's cabin - he'd loot the other ship, and leave Roderigo to Antonio.

He knocked on the cabin door, because he'd no desire to be run through with a sword if he startled Roderigo.

"Let me in!"

"So you can lie to me once more."

"So I can talk."

"I doubt there is much to say," but Roderigo let him in any way. And he was right, there wasn't much Antonio could say.

Antonio locked the door. He supposed that, worst come worst, he could lock Roderigo in here till they made port, and then leave him there. "If you are unwilling to listen to what I have to say, a request instead." Roderigo nodded, telling Antonio to carry on. "I'd ask, we'd all ask, that whatever your feelings on the matter, you'd not inform on us to the authorities when you reach port."

"Because pirates deserve consideration?"

"Because I'll slit your throat, even if my own ghost has to do it." And that's the truth of it. Antonio doesn't want to, but there was a code for a reason.

"It's honest at least." Roderigo returned his sword to its scabbard, and turned to Antonio. He pushed his hair out of his face. "Is that why you made me sign the articles?"

"No, any ship would have done that. And for all that your articles are different to ours, our articles are fairer than those you'd find on most ships."

"Will you kill the men in the hold?"

"No. Where's the profit in that?" Antonio saw the look of shock on Roderigo's face. "We're men of business. We'll pass them on to a salesman of the docks who'll ransom them back home. It's not like your broadside ballads. We look like any other sailor, because we are. There is no distinction between pirate, privateer or other sailor jack. Half the men in the hold will be on a vessel such as this on their next voyage, and those that leave us with no debt to the crew can join up with an honest vessel. We're not born pirates." Which Antonio did hold to be true, even the cabin boy had been taken up from an orphanage. "Most of what we do's not piracy, not in the strictest sense, it's smuggling more, and that's an old profession." Antonio hadn’t told Roderigo that not all the goods they had been transporting while he'd been aboard had been entirely legal, and certainly, there might be reasons why merchants were happy to pay the rates that Antonio charged for carriage, for fear of some other obscure scruple of Roderigo's. No man likes the Revenue, and avoiding them was a way of life for most coastal towns, but he knows nothing of Roderigo’s background.

"And you, captain of this happy band?"

"I was a merchantman long ago, if you'll credit it." And the work had been mostly honest, because his captain had been an honest man. "If you follow this coast and head east, and east again, then a little further than that, you'll find an island. It's not much, it's small and it's barren, but it's home." Antonio had spent perhaps three months there in the last five years, home was his ship, but if any land had claim to him, it was that island. "Duke Orsino, when he was young and newly come into his title, felt he needed to prove himself, as young men often do. He declared war upon my little island. I was the master's mate on a small carraca, sailing between the island and nearby ports. We were of no import." Antonio remembered his first sea battle. It was a massacre. "One of Orsino's ships of the line saw we were easy prey, tried to blow us all to hell, and nigh on succeeded. After the first volley I was the senior man aboard. I wasn't the sailor I am now, but I was good enough to sail us out of there under cover of smoke."

Antonio stood, and took a bottle from his sailing chest. He took a swig and placed it in front of Roderigo. "I wasn't a pirate then, I was revenge. We refitted the ship, replaced every mast, and built up the gunnery. We hunted every ship that flew Orsino's flag." The Illyrian fleet outnumbered the vessels of the little island, but one island sailor was worth twenty other men. "Eventually, there was a peace. But I had my ship, and we'd found that piracy was no difficult matter. We were a good crew, and did the job well. A man likes to do what he's good at."

He'd simplified the tale for Roderigo. He was young enough that the truth would only confuse him. The route to his ship's company's present status had been more round-about than that, but the keel of Antonio's crew had been aboard his old ship. They've filled the crew out around them, but Salvatore and the gunner, he's sailed with for a near score years.

"I make no bones for what we are."

"No, I can't imagine you would."

Antonio shrugged, and Roderigo mirrored the action in reply. "Where do we go from here?" asked Roderigo.

"I don't know." Antonio paused. "Rest here for the night. We'll reach port tomorrow or the day after, and decide then."

Roderigo didn't leave the cabin the next day, which worried the men. They might not have trusted Roderigo, him not being one of them, but they didn't wish him harm, provided he wouldn't squeal.

"I haven't killed him, if that's what you mean," said Antonio when Salvatore asked after Roderigo. "He's said he won't talk."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes." Antonio did, despite everything. "I said we'll give him passage to the island, and he can sort himself from there." In the time he'd been with them, Roderigo had saved enough money to buy passage back to wherever he was from, and he no longer looked like an easy mark so their consciences would be clear of leaving him vulnerable if they left him.

"Fair enough."

Antonio had the Bo'sun pay Roderigo out. He could quite bring himself to face him in the matter. He saw Roderigo scuttle off ship, early with those of his crew on shore leave. Antonio himself, and the gunner's mate, were making for the ransom house on the quay to pass on their recently acquired merchandise.

The ransom house master paid them fairly. Antonio might have wanted more but given this was unexpected money, he decided to leave it be. He wanted to be done quickly with this island, sail away and think no more on anything to do with the island, why they were travelling here, what they were travelling with and who.

Although he hurried back hence to the ship to place the bounty in the trunk in his cabin, the gold in his purse started to weigh on his mind. It wasn't his whole savings, it wasn't even all he'd earned these past few months, but it would be enough to make the rest of the day ... bearable. He knew Salvatore would be aboard the vessel for the duration, he had once again gambled away all his pay in advance.

Antonio returned to the ship some hours later feeling wretched. He'd fed his hunger for the things that ports sell that aren't fish. The boy was blond, fair enough, and willing. If Antonio was rougher than warranted, it was frustration, at the boy, at Roderigo, at himself. Himself for wanting Roderigo so much that he was reduced to this, it's not as though he hadn't before, but that was desire not want and the way he wanted Roderigo wore on him like a lathe on wood. The boy was not Roderigo, he laughed too easily, he did everything too easily, and Antonio hated him for it and hated himself for hating it. And he hated Roderigo, for not doing things easily, for believing romantic notions about sailors, for all that Antonio admits he encouraged him in those.

Antonio felt so wretched afterward, his sadness coming on quickly after his pleasure's end, that he stayed for a drink or six at the tavern downstairs, so he was miserable, tired and the worse for drink when he returned. The world had begun to spin in a most displeasing way, and mostly, he just wanted to get his head down and sleep the worst of it off.

He boarded the ship without error, he'd been doing it so long he could probably do it blindfolded. The first mate didn't pipe him aboard, tormenting him for his excesses, he didn't clap him on the shoulder, encouraging his excesses. No, Salvatore was sombre. He didn't say anything he just looked, and looked hard. The ship was afloat, and if anyone had died, surely he would have said something. So Antonio continued on to his cabin.

Roderigo was in his cabin.

Of all the thrice damned things. Antonio probably let out a curse, or a groan. Roderigo looked at him, spoke with shining honesty. "I have nowhere else to go." It was that openness, that disarming countenance, that sense of morals utterly out of place on a ship like this.

It was everything that Antonio wanted and what he hadn't had that day, and not what he wanted because what could he do with a man like Roderigo and ... and ... and. That time he did curse. "Oh fie on it all." And then he raced out of the cabin and was violently ill over the side of the boat, because actions have sequels and so did violent emotion on a stomach filled with tavern booze.

Antonio woke, head still spinning, before the dawn. Someone, probably Salvatore, had covered him over with a blanket during the night. They were still at anchor so there was no fear of falling overboard, else they'd have shoved him in the hold. Embarrassment joined the headache, he tried not to appear in front of the men thus, it set not the note of captain.

They made Roderigo sign new articles, these ones holding him to his solemn vow that he would tell no one of the pirates, that if he by word or action he did endanger them, his mortal life and his immortal soul would be forfeit.

It was a strange time, as the crew and Roderigo sounded each other out again. For he wasn't a stranger, he'd sailed with them for some time by then, long enough to be competent enough to be rated able, and yet, they weren't quite the men he thought he knew, and they weren't sure of his reaction to their true selves.

It was a slow process, charting the depths of their acquaintance and plotting a course, as delicate as into the shallowest of ports.

Despite some clashes, and the occasionally misstep, the crew learnt to like Roderigo again, for he was a likable fellow. He'd sit with them in the long twilights and the telling of tales. Some stories Roderigo had heard before, but were now given their proper context and conclusion, and others he'd never been told because there was no way to make them fit for company outside their own.

Antonio would sit at the helm with Salvatore, hearing all and adding the occasionally interjection - Salvatore more than Antonio, for he never could let anything lie, and like a biting insect enjoyed the annoyance of sailors. There'd be an annoyed response and Salvatore stirring the pot some more. It was a comfortable situation, and smuggling was almost as remunerative as piracy.

As the evening wore on, Antonio, his watch over, had taken to joining the men. He used to take his meals up near the helm with Salvatore, making use of their overlapping time, but this pattern had changed. No one made mention of it, or suggested why, except Salvatore with a wink now and then, but it wasn't as though Antonio only paid attention to Roderigo.

But oh how Roderigo looked as the firelight played along the side of his face. He was more than handsome, too solid to be a sea-sprite, but siren-like nonetheless.

One night, Antonio forgot himself. He'd blame the grog, or the firelight, or the way the corner of Roderigo's mouth looked when he smiled, but really, the responsibility was his. He was a captain; the responsibility was always his. Nevertheless, in full view of the crew, he'd curled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Roderigo's neck as he stood up to say good night for the evening.

Looking back on it in as he lay in his hammock, Antonio tried to comfort himself that what he'd done hadn't been too obvious. It didn't help, he still felt all a tanto. And yet, some part of him grasped at the memory. When, inevitably, Roderigo left them, at least Antonio would still have this. That touch. The image of Roderigo, leant back on outstretched arms, silhouetted against the firelight, watching him leave. It wasn't much, it was less than he wanted, but he was a sailor, he could make do on enough.

He swung in the hammock, frustrated. He wished he'd brought cards, or jacks, or anything. The fuss had settled in his bones and he chafed at it. He'd have gone out, joined back in the general merriment if he'd thought it would answer, but he doubted it would and felt such indecisiveness might wear at what little captainly dignity he had left after tonight's misadventures.

He cursed himself for a love-sick fool, and accepted a night's tossing and turning as payment for such idiocy.

He wasn't asleep when Roderigo turned in, not anywhere close, but lying still and letting the ship rock him had at least soothed him slightly. He was startled, therefore, when Roderigo walked over to him instead of walking straight to the bed. His eyes opened and he stared up at Roderigo.

"Why aren't you in our bed?" Antonio had no idea how to answer, wouldn't have, except spluttering, had Roderigo not kissed him then.

It was not a delicate kiss. Too firm, and too much teeth, not that Antonio helped matters, pulling Roderigo down towards him, hands wrapped round long, loosened curls.

No part of this was simple in a hammock.

They both seemed to have come independently to that conclusion, and Roderigo stepped away to allow Antonio some air, and so he could come down out of the hammock.

Antonio landed firm on the floor despite the suddenness of his movements. It's years of practise of being shaken out of hammocks by storms, by battles, by people who needed him at either one. He's had ruder awakenings than this.

Antonio took a moment to steady himself, and then he was back to it.

It wasn't drowning, because it was pleasant, but it left Antonio breathless. Antonio moved Roderigo back onto the bed, as they rutted against each other. Roderigo had youth as his excuse. At his age, Antonio would hope that he had a little more dignity, but he had been aching for this, with no outlet but that one boy on the docks who wasn't Roderigo, for months.

When Roderigo looked up at him, green eyes wide and wanting, oh it was nearly enough to send any man wild.

Antonio pressed Roderigo's hands above his head, and took a breath to steady himself. There were laws about this, on the land that Roderigo was born to. There are laws about this at sea, but there's a difference, and there's difference between crews on where they draw the line. Antonio needed to know Roderigo knew that there was a difference. It wasn't like he's going to ruin the lad, it's not like it is with maids, and no matter how fair Roderigo is, Antonio had the evidence that Sebastian's not a maid pressing hard against him. But still ...

Roderigo was young, though the hair on his chin told that he's not a boy, and Antonio'd done enough regretful things as a youth that he'd rather not be listed there for Roderigo.

Antonio enquired, though he doesn't know how he managed it, with Roderigo trying to curl around him, against him, pressing near bow to stern, stubble rubbing against Antonio.

Roderigo laughed at him, a delightful, aggravating noise, right against his ear. "I grew up on a farm, I think I know the principles." Antonio supposed that not everyone could grow up within a stone's throw of a whorehouse.

"There is slightly more to it than that," and Antonio set out to show Roderigo how much more. His tongue was a whirlpool at the join of Roderigo's jaw and ear. He kissed him and such noise as Roderigo made would have tempted an angel.

Heaving in air, Roderigo laughed. "I'll grant cows don't do that." Antonio released his hold on Roderigo's arms and kissed him. Roderigo's hands landed on his shoulders, and slipped under the collar of Antonio's jerkin. As they kissed, Roderigo's hands held Antonio close, one hand in his hair and one hand resting in the broad of his back.

Antonio's jerkin sloughed off easy enough, but Roderigo's shirt was another matter. Antonio gave frustrated pause to allow Roderigo to sit up and remove the damned garment.

Antonio could look, at the soft skin unmarred by ship's cats, but hardened by ship's work. At freckles, and fair soft downy hair. It wasn't that he hadn't looked, oh the efforts and injuries he'd taken not to be seen looking, but this. Now he could look, and touch, and did.

He went softly to begin, that first hesitant touch. Long time desiring led to such nervousness when the time came, sheer disbelief as Roderigo sighed and moaned and breathed, "yes". He touched the curve of Roderigo's chest, wiped his thumb down and along it.

This treasure was worth the wait.

Roderigo wasn't some standing stone, being touched but not touching, he was an equal partner in this fight, meeting Antonio blow for blow, or maybe dancing was more fitting with the circumstance, as Roderigo matched him step for step. He explored Antonio's tattoos. Antonio's body was an atlas, animals that had harmed him, and ones he admired.

The scorpion on his hip had been a spiteful thanks for a sting that hadn't killed him, yea though it had tried. Roderigo's fingers had been making a close study of it for some moments, time Antonio was spending making closer acquaintance with the long line of Roderigo's neck as it sloped down into his shoulder.

Thankfully, Roderigo's hands were warm, but not yet sweaty with desire, when he reached under the waistband of Antonio's breeches, else he would have yelped to be thus breached. "I have often wondered what lay at the head of the scorpion."

It was easy enough to shuck his breeches and braies, harder to kneel naked in front of Roderigo. This was the dangerous part of this voyage, where all of Antonio's hopes could founder. There's enough men think, lacking women, that any port in a storm would do, but when they come to the fact of it, they falter, wind taken out of their sails. Antonio holds no grudge to these men, thinking a thing and doing a thing are different matters.

Roderigo may have flinched, but he didn't back down, and took the matter in his hand.

"Forgive," Roderigo spoke in a halting whisper now, "forgive any," there was a deep breath, half an 'oh', as Antonio reciprocated. Roderigo's thoughts were scattered as if by a storm, his eyes fascinated by the play of Antonio's hand. They were balanced, each kneeling with an arm slung over the other man's shoulder, and a hand in the narrow space between them.

"I forgive you anything." Antonio kissed him again.

~~~~

Despite his unusual exertions, Antonio woke with the bell the next morning. He left Roderigo asleep in the bed, he was only due on next watch and he'd never missed his turn yet.

Salvatore was perched on a barrel, eating an apple. He took one look at Antonio, heaved a sigh of relief, raised his eyes unto the heavens and said, "finally!" Shame and embarrassment flooded Antonio, along with the feeling that he and Salvatore had known each other for far too long for him to have guessed all that with a look.

There was a flurry of activity about the prow, as the men once again made very poor work of hiding that they were passing gambling winnings amongst themselves. Antonio wondered what in the series of events that had just happened could have been wagered on. He'd done nothing out of the ordinary, ship's captain coming from his cabin for his turn on deck. It happened every day. There was no timing, beyond the usual, for his arrival to be compared against, and he wasn't often tardy, not often enough to make a game of it, he wouldn't have deserved captaincy if he was. That much could be said for pirates, they expected their captains to be competent.

No, the only difference to the usual routine had been Salvatore's shout. Antonio made some realisations. "I will knock you off that barrel, empty it, and hang you over the side in it." Salvatore continued to eat his apple. "I will hang you from the crow's nest in it." Salvatore didn't seem the slightest bit abashed. "I will lock you in it and you shan't see shore leave for five years."

"That's a little harsh, Captain. Five months I could stand." Which was about all the apology Antonio was going to get.

"Was this the matter of the last wager I caught you all at?"

Salvatore nodded. "Well, with you asking the Bo'sun for ointment, we sort of presumed." Antonio could follow what they presumed without further explanation. He hadn't considered the other applications of the Bo'sun's ointment, not at the time, not even now in these wonderous new circumstances until Salvatore's accidental aggravating suggestion. After the suggestion, it was a wonder he could keep his mind off the idea for more than five minutes at a time.

After that first night, Antonio woke bone-weary more often than not, but content, content in ways he hadn't expected. The men had tweaked Roderigo about all of it, of course they had, but Salvatore had seen to it no lines were crossed. As Salvatore had it, they all had their vices and if the Captain's was pretty young men, it could be worse.

This was their autumn idyll.

It had been an Indian summer, sunlight streaming warmer for longer than any of them expected, but now as the first fingers of winter came nipping at them, only the hardest hearted of the men, so mostly Salvatore, rolled their eyes at Antonio maybe using that as an excuse to hold Roderigo closer more often. Roderigo'd used some of his share to buy some warmer gear because he might still be mostly green to the sea but he knew to plan for winter. It was further proof he had been a farmer, in the before that Roderigo still wouldn't talk about. A few hints had slipped through in general talk, such as man can't avoid except by exceptional silence, and while the occasional surly man wasn't rare aboard ship, silent men were unusual.

Roderigo was so warm that his reticence about his past went unnoticed, or uncared about, since he never once, after the shock of their true trade had worn off, seemed stand-offish or aloof.

Maybe it should have made Antonio more watchful, more careful, both of Roderigo and of his own hopes.

Illyria was the cause of all his woes, as the damned country always would be, Roderigo had become unsettled the moment its shore came into sight. He wasn't the only sailor thus affected, Antonio was by no way the only man aboard who would be killed if caught by Illyrian forces, so Sebastian's fright was not remarked upon amidst the others who were checking the horizon for any sign of a boat with more than usual caution.

Well, Antonio thought it fright until Roderigo asked to be put ashore there.

Antonio knows he should tender his dignity more dearly, than follow Roderigo from his ship, more like a mother hen than a captain. And yet, he'd not leave anyone on Illyrian shores undefended, even Roderigo who he now knew could handle himself in a fight. There's worse things than a brawl can meet a man ashore.

"Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?" Roderigo withdrew from him, babbling about fate.

"You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo." On land he chose to unburden himself." My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of." Of course Antonio had, Sebastian of Messaline was a large landowner, honest, the way the world spoke of him, rich enough to not worry, not so rich that he was worth dukes and princes fighting over him. Antonio had even spoken his name one night, after the pirate revelation, as an example of a man of business who he hadn't transacted business with. It was so early after Sebastian, as Antonio now knew him, found them out that Antonio had assumed Sebastian's quietness that night was some more of his conscience trying to disquieten him. "He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned."

"Alas the day!"

"A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that," in so far as Antonio was concerned, any woman so closely reflecting his Sebastian could not help but be beautiful, "yet thus far I will boldly publish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more." Sebastian wiped his face with his palms, doing nothing but spreading the wetness.

Antonio carried no kerchief, he had only the sleeves of his shirt to try to wipe away Sebastian's tears. He muttered what words of comfort he could.

"O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble."

"If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant." Antonio would protect Sebastian from the Illyrian curs, no matter the cost.

"If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not." Sebastian knew that, if caught, there'd be a noose round Antonio's neck, quicker than a wink. "Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell."

Antonio called after him. "The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!" Sebastian had taken but five steps away, yet Antonio regretted it already. "I have many enemies in Orsino's court, else would I very shortly see thee there." There were so many reasons he shouldn't go, and yet, "But, come what may, I do adore thee so, that danger shall seem sport, and I will go."

Others have told the tale of the Illyrian court in the following days; a tale of love, madness, and mistaken identity, and we will leave that tale with them.

Instead, let us return to Antonio's ship. There, Salvatore, the gunner, the gunner's mate, and the gunner's boy, the bosun, the ship's carpenter, the cabin boy, the whole eighteen remaining members of the ship's company in fact, stood around the main mast deciding what to do. Everyone had a different opinion, and every one thought he was the only sensible man aboard. One of them might even have been right.

Their ideas coalesced into three main plans. The first was to stay where they were, so that Antonio could more easily find his way back to them, or more quickly if the Duke's men were on his tail.

The second option was to move the ship slightly further away, out of Illyrian territory but close enough that it might be the second or third place Antonio thought of to check when he came back. It wasn't that being further away would necessarily stop the Illyrian navy trying to attack them, but it gave them a little longer to get away, their ship could fly before the winds faster than any ship in the Illyrian navy with that sort of start.

The third option was to sail off, and hope Antonio would catch up when he could. Antonio was by no means the only sailor with a price on his head in Illyria, and the danger grew with every moment they stayed. It would have been the sensible course, and pirates were practical people. There was no malice in the suggestion, and Antonio would hear none in it, when he got back. If he got back, as others amongst them would have it.

It was becoming rapidly apparent why a ship needed a captain, but until Antonio returned ("if" will be said on behalf of the carpenter, who remained as optimistic as ever), Salvatore would have to make the decision, which was not, he would be willing to admit, his strongest point.

He knew leadership was more than steering the middle course, and in trying not to anger anyone he was going to anger everyone, and he was biased in that the second option was his suggestion, but that was the one he would take. He'd give Antonio two weeks, then they'd sail away, because the men needed food to eat and money to live. Two weeks should be long enough for Antonio to sort whatever twitterpated idea sent him off after the boy.

Salvatore hoped Antonio would return, without taking too much damage from the guards, or bringing further Illyrian wrath down upon them. It was entirely selfish and he knew it. He didn't want to be Captain, it was even less a joyful thing than it looked, but he was also too old and set in his ways to find a new captain and break him in. As a man, he's known Antonio far, far too long, and he's a good mate, better than Salvatore deserves, who knows him well enough, and cares enough, to keep half his money back so he can't spend it all. He knows the Bosun has taken the key for the gold chest, and he's glad of it, because he can feel the fit on him, and the worry is making it worse. It's three days in, and it's got to the point where the gunner's mate won't even take his bets, although he thinks they're more or less even in terms of who's won and lost money.

The man they were all waiting for did manage to get himself into as much trouble as the carpenter suspected he could, because the carpenter was an accurate pessimist, but he'd got himself out of it, or fate had, taking care of him in exchange for the havoc it had wrought on his heart.

Orsino was so swept up in his love that he could deny her nothing, and she was as fair as her brother, and as fair as Antonio had thought Sebastian, she wanted no cloud on her wedding day, and begged, bended knee and hands clasped, for Antonio's pardon. Orsino granted it.

A wise man would have taken what he'd been unexpectedly given, and gone. Orsino, as all tyrants, was changeable like the wind. Antonio should have run.

Antonio couldn't stand to. His head was a wasp's nest.

He secretes himself in the trees in the gardens of Sebastian's new wife. The lady had lands and money, and was a far better catch than a fish o' the sea. He should be practical about Sebastian's choice.

He was not feeling practical.

Sebastian, looking the picture of the lord of manor, was doing the rounds of his new neighbours and vassals, arm in arm with his lady wife. He fits as well here as he ever did on ship.

Sebastian disengaged himself from the crowd, he didn't even look towards Antonio but headed towards the bushes where Antonio had put himself either by luck or some second sight.

"A wiser man would have gone while he had the chance."

"I never said I was a wise man." Antonio is still not sure why he came, but what he sees now helps him. Those green eyes of Sebastian, they're not the green of sea jade, but of fields.

He steps towards Sebastian, but he had no idea what he'll do next. He's not sure if he wants to kiss the man or strike him.

"Why Illyria of all the damned places?" It was a minor point but the only thing Antonio could think of to say. Of course it's all gone to hell since he set foot in Illyria.

"I knew I would get a warm welcome here." Antonio's expression was astonished. "A wife is an unexpected surprise. I meant friends of my father's. I would have left if it had been Korinth or Kos also, they, along with Illyria, are the homes of men I have been told to look on as reliable. If I was to be reborn, I would need their help to reclaim my lands and goods." Sebastian had more than worked his passage, and Antonio did not believe in pressing men to stay, on his ship or in his bed, who did not want to stay, but that did not mean he was cheered to be set aside thus. Sebastian continued, "as you know now, this is what I was born and trained for. A sailor's life would have meant none of this. No crops turning with the season, turning the earth for next year. Much as your life is the rhythms of the tide and the watch, mine is the seasons, the rain and the sun. I missed it, as you would miss the sea if I asked you to stay ashore for more than needed for supplies and sundries. Roderigo with his lack of past or future would have made you happy, but Sebastian with his head in an almanac ..." Sebastian smiled one of those half-defeated smiles that broke your heart for him. "If I could have given you everything I had I would have done. But farming would have bored you, and I could feel the lack of harvest time. Now's the time to plant new seeds, and I want to do that."

Antonio wanted to kiss him, but didn't. If he did, one of them was bound to tears, and normally, he would have said it would have been Sebastian, for his youth and his wealth allowed him softness a sailor's life did not, but this time … He clapped Sebastian in a Roman handshake instead.

The way his head felt now, the unconsidered rage somehow soothed, had been worth the risk of returning. It wasn't that he wasn't hurt, but at least now, he'd heard Sebastian's reason, and rage against it though he did and would, he had a seaman's understanding that some things cannot be changed.

"Forgive me, Antonio," Sebastian said.

Stupidly, Antonio did.

"Promise me you'll not let him have you on their boats." Orsino might well do that, knowing that Antonio would do anything but hurt Sebastian. "Illyrian ships might find the waters more dangerous that expected."

"I promise." Sebastian might have said something else, but then someone shouted for him from the party. He returned to them, and Antonio slipped away into the night.

~~~~

The ship's company were relieved their captain was back. They'd feared the worst when word filtered through that he'd been taken in Illyria, and cheered when Antonio himself carried word back of his escape.

They'd noticed he was not his usual self. One of the things they liked about him as a captain was that he was even, even-tempered, even-handed. Several of them had sailed under captains who weren't either of those things, and they preferred it this way.

They all assumed it had something to do with young Roderigo not coming back, but none of them had come up with a good way of offering Antonio any comfort, beyond giving him some of their grog ration and hoping it would cheer him.

It was Salvatore, and his lack of tact, that dared broach the subject. "You know what I say?"

Antonio was sitting at the ship's rail, staring distracted at the sea. "What?"

"We catch another fish such as that, we throw him straight back." The sailors nearby held their breaths, no other would have dared. But Salvatore's luck held, better than it did at betting, and Antonio laughed. It was the first such laugh they'd heard from him since his return, and it cheered them. Like leading the ship carefully and gently out of rocky inland shores to safer, deeper waters, they could steer this course, till Antonio could steer himself.

~~~~

The end

End notes: I recommend the following as a soundtrack. It was certainly helpful during the writing process

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Dreamwidth end notes: Yup, I did write this with Sebastian's name being Sebastian all the way through. And then realised that the parts I had to quote from the play included the "Sebastian called himself Roderigo on the boat" parts. I thought that it would be fine, and some retrospective rewriting of memory on Antonio's part could be blamed. And then I realised I needed the Sebastian = Roderigo bit for the ending. Cue re-write.