Ergot In Love

By Charlotte Lafargue Henderson

 

“Ergot, what did you mean when you said you were unworthy of love?”

The scarred, frozen face darkened and the expressive eyes watered. “Ah, François, look at me. Women flee when they see this … this–” He waved his meaty hand past his face. Shaking his head sadly, the sailor murmured, “In the whorehouses, they pinch the candles. You see, in the dark, all men are the same.” His countenance seemed to shrink as his chin dropped to his chest.

Uncomprehending, François stared.

Then he looked, really looked. Short and stocky, with thick hands and wrists, large ears, and a seaman’s swagger that balanced him handily during rough waters, Ergot was indeed the last thing a lady would desire wooing her. Battle scars from countless pirate conquests scattered across his face and balding head. A single slash from a merchant’s cutlass once almost removed his scalp, leaving patches of graying hair and curdled skin.

Pressing his lips together, François continued his candid assessment. This rough seaman had blue eyes that could spot land miles from shore or identify the catch in a seabird’s bill. His hearing was so acute, few sailors whispered on the same deck as him. But François knew from experience that Ergot possessed a heart as big as the ocean he crossed every year.

François literally did not notice his scars. No person François had ever met in his long life of eighteen years had the tenderness that Ergot embodied behind his menacing facade. Ergot

had protected him during his first enslavement under pirate rule. He had taught François everything he knew. He hummed ditties, even rhymed words, just for the joy of it. The heart of a poet was tragically trapped inside this travesty of a seaman. François’s heart went out to him. Having lost his own, family was the most important thing to François, and Ergot’s family was also lost, dead or scattered to the far corners of the world. François loved him more fiercely than any other human being who had walked into his life.

He patted his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s continue, anyway, Ergot. Perhaps we can drown our sorrows in some decent ale and still find a willing woman or two, eh? Some happiness is better than no happiness, right?”

With a nod and a grunt, Ergot stepped off the wobbly board that served as their gangplank, and followed François up the hill to the tiny village clinging to the edge of this rocky island. Rough wind ruffled their canvas jackets and teased bits of rubble about their path. At the end of the row of grey disheveled hovels was the inn, ratty and filthy. Pushing back the leather hide that covered the low doorway, François was struck by the pungent smells of alcohol, smoke, and urine filling his nose and mixing with that of a stew cooking over the hearth. His stomach clenched a moment from the combination of odors.

A fat woman with a frown pointed to a crude table in the corner. Turning, she spoke to a young woman, who then made her slow way around the edges of the room. Her face was smooth and guileless, her green eyes clear. François greeted her with a smile, but she ignored him and carefully placed a flagon on the table with two mugs.

Ergot couldn’t take his eyes off of her, François noted. Her dark hair was bound in a careless braid down her back, reaching to a seductive bottom. Ergot seemed transfixed on her face however, his eyes taking in the girl’s softness. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he

swallowed, and he stumbled over his thanks. Nodding absently, she turned away and retraced her steps back to the fat woman. Odd girl, François thought, but he quickly turned his attention to his brew.

As the men drank, they talked about the other patrons. This one was most likely the leader of the town, from the way he preened and laughed loudly. That one farmed, for the dirt was still under his fingernails. One was fat because he was lazy and another thin because of being henpecked. Together, the friends made up stories about each man in the room. When there were only the two women left, Ergot changed the subject. Sensitive to his friend’s ways, François allowed the talk to turn to ropes and knots.

A ruckus on the other side of the room interrupted their conversation. The girl was pushing the loudmouth away, but he held fast to her, laughing raucously, his friends urging him on. She begged him to release her, but he sniggered and pulled her closer, crushing her breasts roughly. She looked terrified, and François was considering whether to intervene when suddenly Ergot launched himself at the ruffian. He peeled the man’s hands off the girl and thrust her toward François. Spinning around faster than a wharf rat, he slammed his huge fist into the side of the man’s face. The man’s companions leaped to his defense.

Shaking his head sadly, François stood and shed his woven vest and silk shirt. Not wanting to get blood on his new boots either, he carefully removed them and handed the pile to the girl.

“Mademoiselle, hold these please, while I rescue my friend. Merci.” She nodded blankly through her tears, and François waded into the mêlée.

François pulled one man off Ergot and boxed him in the ears, then grabbed his nose and yanked. He was rewarded with a yelp and a howl. When the man focused on him, François

punched him in the stomach, and the man collapsed. Satisfied he wasn’t getting up very soon, François peeled off another fighter. After the third man dropped from François’ stomach punches, there left only the loudmouth and Ergot. François thanked the girl, retrieved his clothing, and dressed.

He gently drew the girl over to his table and bade her to sit. She perched on the edge of the stool, timid as a bird, shaking. Nothing he said seemed to calm her tears, and she appeared more interested in the fight still going on than her new companion. Her eyes wandered frantically over the room as she turned her head side to side. François studied her further, but could come to no conclusions to her odd behavior.

With a grunt and a final punch that threw his opponent across another table and onto the floor, Ergot stopped and eyed the rest of the onlookers. After a moment’s hesitation, most of them resettled in their chairs and started up their conversations.

None challenged Ergot. He turned as if looking for someone, and stopped when he saw the girl. Carefully he eased himself onto a stool at the crude table. “Are you hurt, Miss?” he asked. François watched Ergot’s eyes sweep over her, bow to stern.

“I’m alright. Did you hurt Fallo?”

“Who is Fallo, Miss?”

“He be the man with the horrible laugh and fingers that pinch.”

“Well, then, Fallo be the man on the floor, sleeping now with the dogs and their fleas.”

The girl laughed, her voice sweet as a summer breeze and tinkling like a playful brook. François glanced at Ergot. He looked thunderstruck, his entire body as frozen as his face, mouth open in awe as if he’s just found a pirate’s most prized treasure.

“I thank thee, Sir, for removing me from his grip, then. He belongs where he lay.” She beamed her sunshine at Ergot, and the direction of her charm wasn’t lost on François.

François felt invisible, an odd feeling he wasn’t used to. In a final attempt, he poured all his charm into his next words. “Do you have a name, Mademoiselle? Can a poor sailor remember a lovely girl’s name during his lonesome trek on the rough seas?”

But the girl still faced Ergot, her entire body leaning toward him. “Me name be Bess,” she breathed softly “That’s what they calls me, anyways. You be the man what showed Fallo his due.” Her smile lit up the room.

François looked again at Ergot. His Adams apple was waggling up and down, his mouth gaping. He seemed transfixed by her eyes, when suddenly he dropped his head and hunched his shoulders. François was dismayed. Go on, he thought, she likes you, go on now!

“What be your name, sir, him who saved me from the beast?” She looked eagerly at Ergot, her eyes sparkling. But he seemed to shrink even further into his chest. He mumbled something, and she tipped her head.

“Errga? Your name be Errga? What a funny name, more for a girl than a man.” She sprinkled her laughter in between her words, covering her mirth with a shy hand. Ergot tried to stand to leave, but she caught the front of his shirt then, gently pulling him back to sit. “Please sir, I mean ye no shame. Yer name be a fine one, it is. I … I haven’t had reason to laugh in a while, I haven’t. Give a girl a chance to smile, can ye? As your fancy friend says here, can a girl remember a fine man’s name while she’s working in a slummery?”

“Ergot. Me name be Ergot. I mean, my name is Ergot.” Sweat beaded his head and he self-consciously wiped it with his hand.

“Ergot.” She sighed like a soft summer wind. “That be a fine, manly name. A name a Mam would be proud ta give her son who she loves.”

Ergot’s hand trembled at his side. François was fascinated to be a watchful bystander to whatever was happening here. Leaning back, he said “Ergot, take the lady’s hand and give it a kiss. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, you know.”

Bess giggled and offered her hand. Mid-air, she paused. “Me hands be rough, too rough for a kiss from a fine man sich as yerself, sir.” Ergot grasped her hand before she could withdraw it. He lightly blew on the palm then turned her hand over and planted a soft kiss on the back. Her indrawn breath told François how she felt about his tender gesture.

Suddenly both her hands grasped Ergot’s face. He froze, as if uncertain. Carefully and gently she felt across his face, touching his hair, ears, nose, chin, drawing light seams along his scars with her fingerstips. She caressed the side of his neck, then placed her hands on his shoulders. Her face reddened and she withdrew.

“Why did you do that, Bess?” François wanted to know. How odd she behaved.

“I be seeing Ergot.”

“With your hands?”

“Yea. Me hands tell me everything.”

“Ah, well then, Bess, what do your hands tell you about Ergot, here?”

She closed her eyes as if to gather her thoughts. “Here be a man of great strength and strong will. His eyes are soft, as are his lips. He been in fights, too many, methinks. But me Mam always said a sturdy nose and jaw make a man strapping.”

She hesitated, then whispered shyly, “You be a strapping man, Ergot.” Bess suddenly blushed and clasped her hands in her lap, looking down. Ergot cleared his throat, and Bess’ hands flew back to his face. “A tear, sir, ye shed a tear. Why be that?”

Ergot sniffled and shifted his position. “You’re blind, aren’t you, Bess?” he said softly.

Smiling, she nodded. “All me life, ‘cept when I was a wee babe. Me mam flung me aside a tree cause I spewed on her. Hit me head, I did, and ain’t been right since.”

Horrified, François nearly jumped to his feet, but Ergot motioned him down.

“You ain’t angry about that?” Ergot asked.

“Naw, she was tippled too much at the time, told me she was sorry later. I don’t really remember it. T’ain’t a thing to cry over.”

Ergot looked at François, a pained expression in his eyes. Bess dropped her hands and blushed again.

“The only thing I’m good at anyways is rolling in the bed. I’d have gone with Fallo, but he always hurts me. Don’t like him much anymore.”

“Where is your family, Bess?” Francois asked softly.

“Oh, me Mam died when I was a pip. Been living with the missus since then, she take care of me. Well, I works for me living, I do. The men, they like me, usually.”

Ergot cradled her hands in his. Looking at François, he next swung his eyes to take in the rest of their surroundings. On the other side of the room the fat woman scowled at them, her toothless mouth turned down as her tongue tickled dark chewing tobacco dribbling down the side of her jaw. Catching his eye, she advanced toward the two sailors with her hand on her purse, sneering at the damage from the fight. The ruffians were starting to pick themselves off the floor, shaking their heads and looking around, grumbling their discontent.

Raising his eyebrows at François, Ergot nodded toward the entrance. He released one of his hands from Bess to pluck his coin purse from his belt and fling two gold doubloons onto the table. Each man grasped one of Bess’s hands and they quickly led her out of the inn.

Looking behind him to make sure no one surprised them from behind, François asked, “Where do you live, Bess?”

“I lives above the inn. Why? Where are we going?” Ergot looked at François and shook his head no, not returning there.

“If you were to travel, do you need anything from your room?”

“Travel? Nay. Me clothes on me back is all I have. Do I need anything more?” A dimple formed on one cheek.

Ergot stared at it, then stumbled and caught himself. Gently placed his palm against her lower back, Ergot guided her toward the muddy shore and the waiting sloop. “Methinks I know of a place where Bess can be happier,” he said pointedly to François.

“Happier? Me? Happier?” Bess held Ergot’s arm but skipped a little dance in front of him. She grinned and the sun burst the clouds out of the sky like the cannons explode from their chambers.

François looked at his friend and was struck with inspiration. “Bess, Ergot and I would like to invite you to our ship. It is a lovely ship with sails that flap in the breeze and birds that scold us daily. We eat a lot of fish, but we get to travel to exotic places.”

Bess turned toward the ocean, inhaling its fragrant, salty scent. “Oh, Ergot! A ship! I’ve never been anywheres in me life! Oh, please, can I go with you? Would you take me on your ship? I’ll be good. I can give you a good roll in the hay, I can.”

She held onto Ergot’s arm tightly and leaned against him, her entire focus on him. Ergot swallowed hard and cast a look François thought he’d never forget.

Ergot was in love.