Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter Sixteen: Within These Walls

The following day, Eleanore has taken to Jay's side once Maurice is called for the watch. Jay is sleeping, and now his fevers are around twice a day. Maurice thanks her profusely. "It is nothing," she murmurs. "The least I can do for you."

Maurice sighs. "If only I have more hours in my day."

Eleanore makes a note to mention it to the Captain...Perhaps the deck can make use for one less set of hands just so another sailor can get well?

She leaves the two sailors for supper where she works with Mikey together, side-by-side to prepare dinner. She is cutting up the salted meat and placing them on bowls along with the hardened bread. Old Mikey is preparing another fish broth with ginger and other herbs from the supplies. "That smells wonderful."

The old man nods and lifts the ladle. He blows on it and gives it to her. "Would you care to tell if it is tasty enough?"

Eleanore takes it and sips. She nods enthusiastically. "The best!"

Old Mikey smiles and uses the ladle to stir the broth again. He sighs...deeply. Eleanore notices it, but does not remark. She has had enough with talking and nosing around the crew. Perhaps it is better to keep her mouth shut and her head low, as Moody would have always preferred.

Locked in a cabin, away from creating trouble.

Her thoughts wander to the ornament on the bow of the ship. The Belladonna. Eleanore sighs and shakes her head. These sailors. For their acceptance of men who fell in love within themselves, they are still reluctant to accept a woman...Refusing to see her as nothing more than an ornament, a toy.

Old Mikey's voice brings her back to the present. "You know why Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships?"

Eleanore smiles wearily, cutting up a piece of salted meat with her scissors. "She ran away with Paris. Left her husband."

"No," Old Mikey grins, swirling the broth. "Well, yes. That is what happened. Yet...you see...It is Paris and the King at the heart of it all - they command the ships and armies. Helen had nothing to do with sending any ship or any man to his death."

She looks up at the old man. Old Mikey shrugs. She frowns. "You do not blame Helen?"

"Ay, yes. She is an adulteress...But not a murderer. Not like the warriors who wanted her."

Eleanore pauses in her task. "What do you mean by that?"

"Men..." Old Mikey shakes his head, "Their wrath and greed and lust...and who suffers for them?"

She turns back to the plate before her. Eleanore cuts up another piece and raises a brow. "This world is run by men, Mikey." She sighs and smiles, "How I wish to see it change, but how long has it been since? A thousand years after the fall of Troy? And still...people remember that it is Helen's face at fault."

Old Mikey sighs, letting the broth simmer. "I want you to know, that it is all a lie we tell to comfort ourselves. Justify our wars and murder. You must learn to discern it. The truth." His forehead crinkles as he smiles. "That is wisdom."

"Thank you, but-" she nods and then shakes her head. "But I understand now is not the time and place to."

"Nonsense, child," Old Mikey chastises gently, his hand on his hip and his hook in the air. Eleanore looks up at him, confused. "Here, out on the high seas, the laws of the land do not apply to us." He winks and adds, "You can be your own woman."

She smiles. "Playing a man's game."

"There is no game the men can play if you change the rules."