Jed’s low hum of arousal had subsided, but now it flared to life again.He shifted, looking away.
“London, the Capital of the World,” Solomon said musingly.“Ever been there yourself?”
“No, no.I’ve never been further nor Bristol.”He laughed, realising how daft that sounded.“On land, I mean.”
Solomon rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow to see Jed better.“You must have been halfway round the world.”
“I have, yes.”He’d seen more than he’d ever expected to in a lifetime.It was one of the few things he didn’t regret about those five lost years.“Most of the time, though, we weren’t allowed to leave the ship in case we should run.I was never one of the Captain’s ‘trusted men,’ as they say.I did my damnedest to become one—thought it would be easier to run that way.”
“Maybe he saw right through you.”
“Mm, I reckon so.”
It was quiet in the barn, with only the scratch of some small animal—mouse or vole—scuttling across the floor below them.
“Did you always plan to run?”Solomon asked.
“Yes, always, from the moment they got me.”Jed lay back, closing his eyes.“It weren’t the going to sea that I minded.I grew up by the sea.But I minded being yoked like oxen to a cart.I thought I should die of it.”Bits of hay had crept into his blanket, and he tugged hard at a stalk of it, breaking it between his fingers.“That’s not to say that I spent five years bucking against the yoke.At first I thought I would.I’d refuse to do anything they ordered.But everyone submits in the end.”
“Each for reasons of his own?”Solomon said quietly.
“That’s it.Fear of the lash.Dreams of prize money and glory.And some men, I make no doubt, are truly there to fight the good fight agin the King’s enemies and all that.At first I thought the officers were all there for King, Country, and Gold.But it’s more complicated nor that.Ofttimes, they’re afraid too… not of the lash, of course, but of other things.Being cast ashore as a penniless half-pay officer, for instance.”His voice trailed off.“Sorry.You didn’t want to hear all my half-baked thoughts.But I’ve had a gurt deal of time for thinking, and I couldn’t open my mouth when I was aboard ship—not without being labelled a troublemaker.Or leastways, more nor I already was.”
He turned his head to see Solomon watching him with an expression that Jed couldn’t quite read.“So what was your reason?”Solomon asked.
“Oh, I was in the first group.Fear of the lash.‘Course you don’t have to go to sea for that.”
He had seen the scars—white, faded welts—on Solomon’s back.Much older than those which Jed knew must crisscross his own back, from the three times he’d been seized to a grating and flogged on captain’s orders.Of course, he’d never asked where Solomon’s scars were from.Such things were not uncommon.Maybe his father had had a heavy hand, or maybe he’d been whipped for petty theft or vagrancy in his youth, or something of that sort.
“Seems to me…” Solomon said slowly.“That there’s another group.Those that submit—only for the now.Biding their time.Until they can escape.”
Escape!It was the word that dreams were made of.Jed made a noise of agreement.
A comfortable silence fell between them.The ale jug was almost empty now, and Jed’s eyes were growing heavy.But he didn’t want to turn in; he wanted to prolong this moment.
Solomon still lay sprawled in the hay, the blanket slipping off his bent knee.The fabric of his breeches stretched tight across his thighs.His gaze was on Jed.
“You’ve no tattoos, have you?”he said.“I noticed.”
When had he noticed that?While they were stripped to the waist and washing at the pump, no doubt.A pleased shiver ran down Jed’s spine.
“No, I don’t.There’s no quicker way to identify someone as a seaman, and I always intended to run.”
Solomon’s half-smile glinted in the darkness.“And now you have.”
“Yes.”
They both fell silent.Jed shifted position so that the folds of the blanket better hid his stiffening prick.
Only the lantern and a few feet of hay-strew wooden boards lay between them.The air seemed heavy with the promise of an unasked question—or was it only Jed who felt it?
Then Solomon leaned forward to pick up the jug, breaking the tension.“Here’s to escape, then,” he said, lifting it into the air.He took a swallow and passed the last of the ale to Jed.
“To escape,” Jed echoed.
By the following afternoon, the ditch was three feet deep, water flowing down into the main rhyne, and the land all around was firm enough to walk on.
Jed tossed aside a final shovelful of mud, then threw down his shovel, straightening up.He met Solomon’s gaze and saw his own satisfaction reflected there.
