After the cheers and whoops of victory, the wraith of grief stretched his hand over the men, reminding them that once again, they had lost friends and brothers. I knew the feeling all too well, and like us Cossacks, the Royal Marines banished their sorrows in the same way – by drowning the devil in drink.

I could hear the men’s uproarious laughter from the officer’s mess, where I sat with Eirene, Lieutenant Riley, and the other officers, who, although they were quite proud of our victory, were much more reserved in their celebration. Even though I enjoyed Eirene’s company and I was glad to see that she was relatively unharmed, I would have been much happier smashing bottles with the crew down below. It was only the manners of rank that kept me from mingling with the men, since I had been told that officers could never mingle with the enlisted, and oh how I longed to cut myself from those bonds.

I had sent Aidar to deal with the French prisoners, and the polacre, which was apparently named the “Merveilleuse” was tethered to the Peregrine, all ready for the voyage home. Now it came down to the small matter of Aidar explaining the situation to the prisoners, in the hope that they would join us of their own volition.

A few minutes after the officers and I had sat down for our celebratory victuals, Aidar burst into the officer’s mess with a grin and made his announcement with great enthusiasm.

“The Franks have joined us!”

Riley raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “I find that quite hard to believe. Even though the French suffer from the crime of being French, they are not known to turn traitor quite so easily.”

“Oh, you would think that, but many of these sailors consider themselves révolutionnaires. ‘Fuck the king,’ they say. When I told them that we were pirates and ‘free men,’ aman Allah'ım! You should have seen their faces!”

“Revolutionaries,” muttered Riley. “Detestable men, upsetting the natural order of things to turn the world upside down. I say we should have them all hanged.”

“Yes,” interrupted Eirene, “but fortunately that is not your call. Our captain will decide what to do with them.”

“Acting captain,” corrected Riley with a sneer.

All eyes were now on me. This would have made me uneasy had the choice not been clear as spring water.

“If they want to join us, then let them join us.”

“Aye,” said Aidar, “nothing to unite men like their hatred of a king.”

The Tatar’s offhand statement made me think. “You know, Aidar, they might be united amongst themselves but you, my Greek companion, and myself are not viewed as equals by this crew.”

“No,” scoffed Riley, “Just you and the musulman. Lieutenant Morse has proved himself quite resourceful in the short time that he has been with us.”

I was impressed.

“How did you manage that?” I asked Eirene, wondering how she had been able to both maintain her secret and garner the crew’s respect in the short time she had been serving.

She pursed her lips and leaned forward in her seat, in the manner a teacher does when she is about to explain something simple to a child.

“There was a bishop of Winchester whose personal motto was ‘manners maketh man.’ It was his belief that if all society was well-mannered and polite, the more civilized we would be. The officers and I, as a general rule, agree with this maxim.”

“That is why officers lead the enlisted, you see,” said Riley. “We cannot trust the baser members of society to act on their own whims. They must be governed by gentlemen, or else all will come to ruin. It is for this same reason that I detest revolutionaries and their… ideas. There is hierarchy in this world, sir, and if I may say so, some fit their station better than others.”

I smiled at him, then leaned back in my seat. “Lieutenant, do you know why pirates rove the seas of your colonies and why Cossacks reign over the wild open fields of my nation? It is the natural instinct of all men to be free. Free from tyranny, free to do as they please, free to roam wherever they wish. It is why men like you aspire to be captain. You want the freedom to do more than just follow orders and the freedom to run your ship however you choose.”

Riley shrunk in his seat and could say nothing in reply. Satisfied, I reached for a nearby pitcher and drank straight from its spout, much to the shock of the rest of the officers, and to Eirene’s embarrassment. Aidar had a quiet laugh behind me.

“Gentlemen, I am about to tell you a secret. I am only telling you now because as far as I see it, there will be nothing you can do about it once I tell all of you, so listen in very closely.”

Eirene’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to stop me, but I raised my hand to silence her.

“My name truly is Rodion Ivanovich Kazansky, but I am not Lord Krym. That illustrious title belongs to Prince Grigori Potemkin, God save him. I, however, am in actuality a humble Cossack, sent all the way to your part of the world to learn how to sail ‘in the European manner’ by my empress.” I paused, awaiting some form of violent reaction. I only received wide eyed silence, so I continued. “I do not share your views of order because my own go against them. I do not like the idea of separating the officers from the men – there is no bond, no brotherhood. The men look up at you the same way the peasants look up at their lords, with awe, envy, and fear. Do you really expect the man who cleans your shit out of the head to willingly come between you and a bullet, if you won't even sit down and drink with him? I think not.”

Still, the British officers said nothing. Whether it was out of shock or shame I will never know, but I did hear Aidar suppress a chortle behind me.

“I say, you lot have grown rather dull with your silence. I should like to continue my drink with the men down below. They seem to be enjoying themselves far more than we are anyway.”

As I rose from my seat, Eirene rose as well. “I shall come with you. After all, they are my men as well. It would be good for me to know my men as you knew your brothers.”

As we stepped out of the officer’s mess, I gave Eirene a friendly elbow to the rib. “That was very bold, what you did. You’re breaching the veil between the officers and the common enlisted, are you not aware?”

“I am aware. I have also come to realize that a lack of military discipline is to be expected amongst the czarina’s buccaneers.”

“Oh? So, you and I are pirates now?” I said with a chuckle. “My, what a romantic life we live.”

The crew’s quarters below were filled with just as much music and laughter as before. It was evident from the smell that someone had ordered triple rum rations for everyone.

“Was this your idea?” I asked Eirene.

“Yes – drink is a powerful salve for broken hearts. I don’t see why the men shouldn’t enjoy themselves.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Right you are,” I nodded with a smile.

We descended the stairs unnoticed, our presence ignored amidst the mirthful tunes of the company drummer and a chorus of drunken marines, flailing their mugs of rum and singing a joyful but yet melancholy tune:

Of all the comrades that e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They'd wish me one more day to stay

But since it falls unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

As I looked around, I saw smiling men with tears in their eyes, others locked arm in arm with their friends swaying to the melody, and a few sobbing with the grief of widows.

The music was moving, and indeed, I found myself humming to the melody. Eirene’s eyes welled up with tears, and she gripped my hand tight, in a subtle display of condolence.

When the last lyric faded into the belly of the ship, Private Debenham raised his mug up high and, with a cracking voice, said,

“Another toast to the memory of our dear departed brother marines, and especially to Sergeant John MacRae, that lion of a man. If he is in heaven, may God and the angels welcome him with open arms – but if he is in hell, may Satan piss himself at his coming!”

The room erupted with laughter, but a young sailor turned to me and quickly cut it short.

“Officer on deck!”

The men shot to the position of attention, knocking over mugs and each other as they did so. Although I appreciated the respect, I did not think it was warranted for a time like this, and dismissed them with a lazy wave of my hand.

“Save the formalities for the ‘gentlemen’ up top. Now, it is time for drinking and forgetting, comrades – but don’t forget to drink.”

Although they were hesitant at first, the marines slowly resumed their drinking. The tension in the room was palpable. As I walked down the galley, I could feel the men’s eyes turn away from me.

I found a seat next to Debenham and Howarth, who apparently had long since put their differences aside. The two said nothing to me, and nursed their drinks in silence.

“You know,” I said, “Sergeant MacRae was a fine marine. A true father to the company he was.”

My comment garnered no response.

“I want you to know this – Captain Barrett may have given me the power to make decisions aboard this ship, but I cannot do it without you. You are the bones and muscle that give this beast its form and strength, and I am but a man that has been given a carrot on a stick to lead you.”

“I don’t reckon we’s a carrot-eating beast sir,” said Debenham. “We’s more like a lion, with teeth and claws and the like. Seems more appropriate.”

I chuckled, “A lion might be the king of beasts, but since he has no one to care for him but himself, he frequently goes hungry. No, the pirates are like lions. You lot are like a prize stallion – disciplined, groomed, well taken care of, but expected to give your all to a task you might not understand.”

After thinking on it for a moment, Debenham shrugged and returned to his drink. I continued,

“But I’d prefer to be the lion too. Not penned up like a horse, working on the whim of my master. I would choose an empty belly over the yoke of a master any day.”

“And that’s why you became an officer then?” Howarth said, gesturing at my now blood-soaked red coat.

“Oh no, you misunderstand – I just revealed my great secret to the officers up top. Now, all of you are about to hear from me. You see, the officers don’t see themselves as such, but they are horses too – royal thoroughbreds in the service of the king. I, however, have always been a lion.”

The marines squinted, not understanding my meaning.

“Private Howarth, how did you grow up?” I asked.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You did not emerge from your mother’s belly wearing that uniform, with a little musket in your hand ready to serve crown and country, now did you? Tell me, what were you like before you donned the red coat?”

“Well, sir,” said Howarth, averting his gaze from me, “I was a foundling, see.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know that word yet.”

“Ah, sir this is a bit difficult to speak about…”

I leaned closer, “Then I shall have to listen ever more intently.”

“I was abandoned as a child, sir,” he said softly. “And I was found on the streets by Poor Clare nuns. They gave me lodgings in their orphanage. It was a cozy place – the children were a rough bunch, much like we are right now. There, they fed me, raised me, taught me good, but I wanted more than that little world. One day, I was out fetching eatables for the sisters, and suddenly I heard the delightful sound of drumming coming from the town square. It was a marine recruiting sergeant with his band. They told me that in His Majesty’s Royal Marines, we would be given the best beef, along with tea, sugar, and the strongest spirits procurable. All that on top of a salary and prize money. Signed right up, I did. The sisters heard not a word from me until I wrote to them. I was sixteen at the time, I believe.”

I rubbed my hands together and said, “Well, you certainly had a better childhood than I.”

“I doubt that very much, sir,” Howarth scoffed. “With all due respect, you are the one wearing the wig. I and my fellows are but humble commonfolk.”

Without a second thought, I doffed my hat and threw my wig onto the floor, letting my now overgrown hair fall to my shoulders.

“Gentlemen, I am the exact opposite of a noble. The stench of horse sweat and pig shit brings me fond childhood memories.”

Slowly, I began to gather their attention as I told them of my old life – of my Cossack heritage, of my home, of how the Tatars had me in bondage and robbed me of my youth, and of how I came to arrive on their ship. By the time I had finished, all eyes were on me, and the marines beheld me with a mix of admiration and sympathy.

“So, now that you know that I am a far cry from a gentleman with a powdered wig and silk stockings, I would like you to know that on this day, as your appointed leader, I will be breaking convention.”

“Oh, we’re great at breaking all sorts of things, sir,” said Debenham, drawing a laugh from the other marines.

“I have realized that in a gathering of fellows such as this, you need an older brother figure, someone who can keep you in line and hold you accountable for your actions.”

My eyes scanned the room slowly, going from marine to marine. Everyone seemed to know that I was talking about replacing Sergeant MacRae.

“I would be honored if you would let me be that brother.”

Eirene slowly turned her head to me and regarded me with a shocked grimace.

“Sir, that goes against Royal Navy doctrine!”

I smiled at her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and said to her in Russian,

“My dear, sweet Eirene. You and I both know that we are no more beholden to the Royal Navy than we are to Burned Beck. Do you want to continue being this toy soldier?”

“… No.”

“Then tell them.”

“Gentlemen,” she said as she doffed her hat to reveal her long black hair, “You have all been living under a false assumption. My name is not Renatus Morse. I am Eirene Mouruzi, daughter of the exiled Count Mourozis. All this time, you have been under the command of a woman.”

The entire mess sat in silence, some with their mouths agape.

“Admit it,” I said, “Was she not one of the finest commanders you lot have served under?”

The whole mess clamored with agreement.

“Aye, Lieutenant Morse feared nothing!” said one marine.

“I would have followed her to the streets of Paris itself,” said another, “damn the fact that she’s a woman!”

Beside me, Eirene was trying hard not to blush, and covered her mouth with her hat in a rare display of her femininity.

“And yet your navy would prohibit her from doing her duty simply because of how she was born,” I said as I my way to the center of the mess so the whole room could hear me. Eirene followed close behind.

“My fine fellows, in my world, a person was judged by the strength of their arm and the cunning of their thoughts. Here, you are but servants to your master – a king who has ordered men to snatch you from the streets and make you fight an enemy for reasons you cannot fathom. What sort of men does that make you?” I picked up a piece of infested cheese from a nearby table and raised it high, so that all the men could see the worms wriggling in it, “Do you wish to live inside this giant wooden house on the sea, waiting to get blown to bits while eating its worm-filled food, while complaining about it to your bo’sun will earn you a lashing?”

The men began murmuring around me in agreement. I saw in the eyes of every tired, neglected marine that they were sick of living under the navy’s boot.

“On the steppe,” I continued, “Every man was his own master, and every strike had to be avenged. Burned Beck is of the same mind as I – she desires freedom for her people, and after we aid her, as a woman of principle, she will break our chains as well. No more regulations, no more servility, and complete freedom.”

The men’s murmuring grew louder, and the words “mutiny” and “sedition” flew about the room.

“Damn it all!” cried a marine from the back of the room. I turned to find that Private Appleton, of all people, was on his feet and red-faced from the rum that had given him this sudden burst of courage.

“We’re likely wanted men already!” he continued. “I cannot speak for the rest of you, but I have a family to sustain at home, and I myself cannot live on a single shilling a day! I would much rather take up piracy!”

Shouts of agreement erupted from the men. Piracy was not what I had promised, but it might as well have been, for many of the marines had begun to throw off their red coats in a symbolic rejection of their British masters. They were very quickly starting to embrace the ideals that made Cossacks like me a brotherhood on the steppe.