Read Online Assassin's Creed: Black Flag by Oliver Bowden - Free Book Online
Authors: Oliver Bowden
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now, it is ludicrous to me to have expected her simply to remain at the farm.
One night, I returned home, to find her dressed up.
“Where are you going?” I slurred, having spent most of the evening in a tavern.
She was unable to meet my gaze. By her feet was a bedsheet tied into a bulging parcel, somehow at odds with her attire, which, as I focused on her, I realized was more smart than usual.
“I . . .” Finally her eyes met mine. “My parents have asked me to go and live with them. And I’d like to.”
“What do you mean, ‘live with them’? You live here. With me.”
She told me that I shouldn’t have given up work with Father. It was a decent wage and I should have been happy with what I had.
I should have been happy with her.
Through a fog of ale I tried to tell her that I
was
happy with her. That everything I was doing, I was doing for her. She had been talking to her parents while she was away, of course, and while I had expected her father to begin poisoning her against me, that muckworm, I hadn’t expected him to start quite so soon.
“Decent wage?” I raged. “That job was near to robbery. You want to be married to a peasant the whole of your life?”
I had spoken too loudly. A look passed between us and I cringed to think of my father hearing. And then she was leaving, and I was calling after her, still trying to persuade her to stay.
To no avail, and the next morning, when I’d sobered up and recalled the events of the night before, Mother and Father were brooding, staring at me with recriminatory looks. They liked—I’d go as far as saying
loved
—Caroline. Not only was she a help around the farm, but Mother had lost a daughter many years ago, so to her Caroline was the daughter she never had.
Apart from being well-liked and help on the farm, she’d also been helping my mother and myself with our numbers and letters.
Now she was gone—gone because I had not been content with my lot. Gone because I wanted adventure. Because the drink was no longer doing anything to stave off boredom.
Why couldn’t I be happy with her? she’d asked. I
was
happy with her. Why couldn’t I be happy with my life? she’d asked. No, I wasn’t happy with my life.
I went to see her, to try and persuade her to change her mind. As far as I was concerned she was still my wife, I was still her husband, and what I was doing was for the good of the marriage, for the good of
both of us
, not just me.
(I think I kidded myself that that was true. Maybe to some small degree it was true. But I knew, and probably she knew too, that while I wanted to provide for her, I also wanted to see the world outside of Bristol.)
It did no good. She told me she was worried about my being hurt. I replied that I would be careful; that I would return with coin or send for her. I told her I needed her faith but my appeals fell on deaf ears.
It was the day I was due to leave, and I went home and packed my bags, slung them over my horse and left, with those very same recriminatory looks boring into my back, stabbing at me like arrows. As evening fell I rode to the dock with a heavy heart, and there found the
Emperor
. But instead of the expected industry, I found it near deserted. The only people present were a group of six men who I took to be deck-hands, who sat gambling with leather flasks of rum close at hand, casks for chairs, a crate for a dice table.
I looked from them to the
Emperor
. A refitted merchant ship, she was riding high in the water. The decks were empty, none of the lamps were lit, and the railings shone in the moonlight. A sleeping giant, she was, and despite feeling perplexed at the lack of activity I was still in awe of her size and stature. On those decks I would serve. On hammocks in quarters below decks I would sleep. The masts I would climb. I was looking at my new home.
One of the men eyed me carefully.
“Now, what can I do for you?” he said.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling very young and
One night, I returned home, to find her dressed up.
“Where are you going?” I slurred, having spent most of the evening in a tavern.
She was unable to meet my gaze. By her feet was a bedsheet tied into a bulging parcel, somehow at odds with her attire, which, as I focused on her, I realized was more smart than usual.
“I . . .” Finally her eyes met mine. “My parents have asked me to go and live with them. And I’d like to.”
“What do you mean, ‘live with them’? You live here. With me.”
She told me that I shouldn’t have given up work with Father. It was a decent wage and I should have been happy with what I had.
I should have been happy with her.
Through a fog of ale I tried to tell her that I
was
happy with her. That everything I was doing, I was doing for her. She had been talking to her parents while she was away, of course, and while I had expected her father to begin poisoning her against me, that muckworm, I hadn’t expected him to start quite so soon.
“Decent wage?” I raged. “That job was near to robbery. You want to be married to a peasant the whole of your life?”
I had spoken too loudly. A look passed between us and I cringed to think of my father hearing. And then she was leaving, and I was calling after her, still trying to persuade her to stay.
To no avail, and the next morning, when I’d sobered up and recalled the events of the night before, Mother and Father were brooding, staring at me with recriminatory looks. They liked—I’d go as far as saying
loved
—Caroline. Not only was she a help around the farm, but Mother had lost a daughter many years ago, so to her Caroline was the daughter she never had.
Apart from being well-liked and help on the farm, she’d also been helping my mother and myself with our numbers and letters.
Now she was gone—gone because I had not been content with my lot. Gone because I wanted adventure. Because the drink was no longer doing anything to stave off boredom.
Why couldn’t I be happy with her? she’d asked. I
was
happy with her. Why couldn’t I be happy with my life? she’d asked. No, I wasn’t happy with my life.
I went to see her, to try and persuade her to change her mind. As far as I was concerned she was still my wife, I was still her husband, and what I was doing was for the good of the marriage, for the good of
both of us
, not just me.
(I think I kidded myself that that was true. Maybe to some small degree it was true. But I knew, and probably she knew too, that while I wanted to provide for her, I also wanted to see the world outside of Bristol.)
It did no good. She told me she was worried about my being hurt. I replied that I would be careful; that I would return with coin or send for her. I told her I needed her faith but my appeals fell on deaf ears.
It was the day I was due to leave, and I went home and packed my bags, slung them over my horse and left, with those very same recriminatory looks boring into my back, stabbing at me like arrows. As evening fell I rode to the dock with a heavy heart, and there found the
Emperor
. But instead of the expected industry, I found it near deserted. The only people present were a group of six men who I took to be deck-hands, who sat gambling with leather flasks of rum close at hand, casks for chairs, a crate for a dice table.
I looked from them to the
Emperor
. A refitted merchant ship, she was riding high in the water. The decks were empty, none of the lamps were lit, and the railings shone in the moonlight. A sleeping giant, she was, and despite feeling perplexed at the lack of activity I was still in awe of her size and stature. On those decks I would serve. On hammocks in quarters below decks I would sleep. The masts I would climb. I was looking at my new home.
One of the men eyed me carefully.
“Now, what can I do for you?” he said.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling very young and
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