THE SCENERY ON the cockloft stage comprised a large, roughly painted backdrop with two side flats at each end. From the front they formed a good setting for any play but, at the back, the construction provided a small, concealed space. Unless there was a search, anyone hidden backstage would go unnoticed. As soon as a distressed Joe had appeared, Habs had brought him here.
‘We got punishments, too, y’know. King Dick can be brutal to his own as well,’ said Habs. They were both sitting on the floor, backs to the backdrop. ‘You seen a bastinado?’
Joe shook his head. ‘No, but I’ve heard of it. Used for foot-whipping.’
‘Or ass-whipping. Tha’s what we use it for. One poor bastard got twelve last week. ’Nother chef who was stealin’ the food and sellin’ it round. The King didn’t like it. And that was it.’
They sat in the dark, the only light coming from the lamp on the landing and some moonlight through the tiny windows high on the wall. The silence of the cockloft contrasted sharply with the noise coming from the two floors below them.
‘A thousand men not sleepin’,’ said Habs. ‘Tha’s a lotta noise.’
They sat a while listening to the sounds of the block, both suddenly aware of every breath.
‘I’ve changed my mind about moving to Four.’ Joe’s voice was barely a whisper, but Habs detected a new determination. ‘If you think the King’s offer is still open, I’d like to say yes. I know my crew are in Seven, but I don’t want to stay there any more.’
Habs stayed silent. These weren’t questions, they were statements, and he sensed Joe had more to say. The pine box beneath them creaked as Joe shifted his weight.
‘The first captain of the Eagle was a savage.’ Joe’s voice was the smallest Habs had heard it and he held his breath to make sure he didn’t miss a word. ‘Jenson was his name.’ Joe paused. ‘He was a monster. Always whipping someone, sometimes every day if the mood took him. He would get to us all in turn. For whatever reason took his fancy – insolence, laziness, drunkenness. I took three beatings.’
‘You had the lash three times?’ Habs was incredulous. ‘What was the count?’
‘Three the first time – wasn’t so bad. Six the second,’ Joe wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘Then it was supposed to be twelve …’
‘Twelve? Jesus Christ.’
‘But I fainted after nine, and the master-at-arms took pity on me, so …’
‘How old were you?’
‘Just turned fourteen.’
‘Why’d it stop? How’d it stop?’ He felt Joe shift against him and squinted into the dark. ‘Joe, what you doin’?’ In the dark and shadows, Joe was taking his clothes off. ‘Joe?’
‘Something to show you.’
Last to go was the prison vest.
‘Sweet Mother of God.’ Habs’s whisper was brittle with shock. Even in the backstage quarter-light he could make out the huge tattooed cross that covered the breadth of Joe’s back.
‘What have you done?’ Habs’s fingers slowly traced the outlines of the cross on Joe’s shoulders and down his spine. He felt the scar tissue like raised stripes across Joe’s skin and held his palm flat against them, like a preacher with a healing touch.
Joe shivered. ‘It was all I could think of,’ he whispered. ‘Jenson was a religious man. Someone had told me a cross would ward off a flogging, that even Jenson wouldn’t dare abuse a cross. It would be like whipping Christ himself. So after that third beating had healed, I got this.’
‘And did it work?’ Habs sounded breathless.
‘In a manner of speaking.’ Joe pulled his shirt and jacket back on. ‘Jenson dropped dead a week later.’
Habs snorted with laughter, then started to cough as he tried to control himself. ‘Tha’s ’bout the funniest, nastiest story I ever heard. And you ended up with the best damn tattoo I ever saw. Maybe I’m gonna find one of them tattoo boys here and get me a cross done, too.’
‘Don’t,’ said Joe, now back on the floor. ‘They’re drunk most of the time, they’d mess you up for certain.’
‘Like your eagle? Back o’ your neck?’ said Habs. ‘Not the neatest I seen.’
Joe was silent for a moment. Then: ‘I suppose not,’ he muttered.
‘In truth, I barely knew it was an eagle,’ said Habs. ‘Could be an albatross.’
‘I guess.’
‘Or a penguin.’
‘I did it myself,’ said Joe. ‘That’s why it’s shit.’
Habs was lost for words. ‘But why … how d’you …’
‘I wanted to make myself ugly,’ said Joe. He swallowed hard. ‘No: I needed to make myself ugly.’
‘When was this?’ Habs’s question was barely more than a whisper.
‘On the prison ship. Before Plymouth, couple of months back. There were some men, they … thought I’d be their fancy boy.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ groaned Habs.
Joe kept his voice flat and emotionless. He had steeled himself for this moment and he didn’t want to stop now. ‘They kept telling me they loved my hair. How I looked “unspoilt”. Then they told me all the ways they wanted to “spoil” me.’ He paused and breathed deeply.
‘And did they?’ In the near-dark Habs caught the smallest, briefest of nods. He felt his stomach turn. ‘Oh my Lord,’ he said from behind his hands.
‘So I bribed my way to the sharpest knife on the ship,’ said Joe, ‘which wasn’t very sharp at all. And instead of cutting their cocks off, which I should’ve done, I cut my hair off. Then, after about a hogshead of rum, I cut myself an eagle, too.’
‘Those gashes on your head!’ exclaimed Habs. ‘’Course.’
‘As you saw, I didn’t make a very good job of it. But that was kind of the point.’
Habs rubbed a hand over Joe’s scalp, tousled the new growth. ‘Growin’ it again now?’
‘Growing it again now. Got a play coming up, you know. Longer is better.’
Habs jumped to his feet. ‘I jus’ thought o’ somethin’. Stay here.’
‘Right now I haven’t got anywhere to go,’ said Joe, ‘so I’m not planning to leave any time soon.’
Habs climbed over the flat and Joe was alone. He listened to the sound of his friend disappearing, footsteps on wood, on stone, a swinging door, then nothing. He pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare move in case it all changed, the spell broke and everything went back to normal.
For six weeks, he hadn’t talked about the scars, hadn’t needed to. Everyone on his ship knew the story, everyone on his ship had one of their own. But he had told Habs and it had felt good; he wondered why it had taken so long.