Chapter 27

B eing a much-loved son of the De Chansons who branched from the Norman D’Argents, and not inclined to enter the Church, I received a chevalier’s training equal to my eldest brother’s,” Amaury began, arms folded atop the railing. “Though I trained hard, surpassing the skill of other squires fostered by a baron with a reputation for making warriors of boys, there were times unbecoming behavior dishonored my name.”

Fira arched an eyebrow. “Immoral behavior.”

“Oui, though rarely as immoral as that to which the De Chanson heir succumbed during his training. Thus, I was relatively upright—until I was not.”

“What turned you the wrong direction?” she said as the raucous laughter of men departing a dockside tavern and stumbling toward another shot across the water.

“The foolishness of youth inflated by pride for earning my spurs early, impatience to gain wealth and position that would be my eldest brother’s for being firstborn, and selfishness that made me give much weight to what I perceived as my needs and less weight to the needs of others.” His smile was regretful. “Thus, when I arrived in Calais to sell my sword arm, I yielded to the influence of men my conscience warned would draw me farther from God and family.”

“You speak of piracy.”

“Oui. I knew my family would not countenance it, but I excused my participation by embracing it in the same spirit as the King of France.”

“As privateering,” she named it what governments approved of during war providing thievery was exclusive to the enemy. “Attacking England’s merchant ships and seizing their cargo.”

“Often with much injury and death,” he acceded, “whether by the sword or casting crew overboard.”

“To drown.”

He could not begrudge her tone of accusation. “To drown, unless land was near, as was rare. And were it, still no guarantee of survival since many sailors cannot swim. Fortunately, of those who courted my swordskill, I chose to serve a captain with a reputation scorned by others. Though less efficient in culling wealth, it was not for lack of prowess. Rather, he left plundered ships in the hands of their crews rather than put men overboard to profit from the vessel as well.”

“Why?”

“He said though his conscience was small, he would sleep poorly were he to end the lives of those rendered defenseless. Of course, any who sought to cut down him or his men…”

“He justified, and more so were they the enemy.”

“That was the way of it.”

“Your way as well.”

“I profited much for bettering his crew’s skill at arms and leading the charge from the deck of our ship onto our prey’s. To the displeasure of some who were much older and experienced, the captain came to rely on me above all. Still, it surprised that after I saved his life during an encounter that left him gravely injured, he entrusted the captaincy to me. When he did not fully recover, the position became permanent.”

“Ah.” The misty plume Fira exhaled evidenced a further drop in temperature. “From that came Le Fléau de l’Anglais.”

“The true beginning. Though I was paid well, it did not compare to the cut given me when we doubled our take of English cargo.”

“Bringing you to King Edward’s notice.”

Recalling the prideful exhilaration of drawing that monarch’s attention and his own king’s, he said, “A sizable bounty was offered—and more were I taken alive so an example could be made of a French pirate.”

“What of the crew displeased by your advancement?”

There the seed that became a life-choking weed , he thought. “I underestimated their discontent, thinking it but…simmered. For some it boiled, the strength of which I did not sense due to pride and being distracted by a woman named Alainne. Wed to a fairly prosperous merchant’s son, she was widowed when he was slain while transporting goods from the Mediterranean.”

“She must have been heartbroken. Had she born him children?”

“Non, but since her father-in-law had no other family and loved her as a daughter, she remained in his household and he instructed her in his business. I met her when I accompanied my employer to his warehouse to arrange for the sale of English goods formerly bound for Flanders.”

He filled his lungs with sea air. “She was beautiful, and at our first meeting and others I arranged under mostly false pretenses, little else mattered beyond what pleased the eye and stirred the body. Fortunately, there was more good to her than that, and my heart became engaged despite her using her wiles to gain what might be denied her. However, though our king approved of the means by which I earned a generous living, her father-in-law did not welcome my suit. For that and my family’s disapproval, I turned my mind to other forms of support that would allow me to provide for a wife and children.”

“And so became a merchant,” she murmured.

“I did, though only after upheaval I thought could be God’s doing for Him disapproving of the path I was on.” Seeing the upheaval again, he wished it need not be told.

“Amaury?” She turned toward him.

He knew he should do the same to watch for her reaction, but he settled his regard on the moonlit sea beyond the estuary’s mouth—the same sea on which not one dark, life-altering event happened, but two spaced years apart.

“Just as I continued my pursuit of Alainne though she told nothing would come of it until I forsook my profession, I continued privateering. Thus, for ignoring her concern and my conscience, I lost my son and wasted years of my life on toil that would have broken me were I not fortified by imaginings of revenge against those who took the name given me.”

“Scourge of the English,” she said, setting a hand on his forearm. “Providing you do not allow the cart of your quest to be drawn by vengeance, good can come of it, ending the worst attacks on our ships and coastal towns.”

As he knew, and with which he sought to justify his pursuit of Les Fléaux. Wishing regret had not jumped his tale ahead of itself, he said, “If my men and I succeed, good will come of it beyond what benefits me and mine.”

“And providing vengeance does not wrest the reins from you, overturning the cart.”

She was right. “The simmering that had become a boil in those who resented my captaincy spilled over the day we captured an elusive ship,” he continued. “It began with Carl who believed he should have replaced our injured captain. Near the end of the fighting when it was certain we would prevail, I assured the English if they yielded, we would take the cargo and leave them with their ship. When some refused, it was for me to disarm them since my training enabled me to exercise restraint that might draw blood but not sever life.”

He saw again the sun lower toward the horizon, smelled the scent of the sea and heavily perspiring men, heard the rustle of sails whose cut lines had dropped them to the deck, felt blood spray his face.

“After I disarmed one of three and granted him mercy, the other two worked together to put me down. I injured one who surely limps to this day and turned my efforts on the last. I was confident I could disarm him and was near to doing so when I sidestepped and something grazed my shoulder. Then my opponent staggered back and, throat put through with a dagger, dropped.”

Fira gasped. “Had you not moved, it would have been you.”

“As intended. But how to prove Carl, who swore on his soul he only meant to protect me, sought the opposite?” He shook his head. “Having the authority to make it his final voyage with us, I ordered him to transfer cargo to our ship though he and others protested it belittled one of senior rank.” He breathed deep. “Being captain and with most of the crew content to serve under me, my command stood.”

He paused to prepare for her reaction to what was not murder though enemies perceiving it as such had bided their time to serve up more than an eye for an eye.

“With night and a storm approaching, we left the crew of the merchant ship to make their way to England while we took their cargo opposite. As I walked the deck distant from most, Carl appeared. Even had I not seen satisfaction in his eyes, I would have known it was no chance meeting. However, as he kept his hand from the dagger taken from the slain Englishman, I left my blade sheathed. When he told I was due a reckoning, I said his would be delivered in port—or sooner if he chose. We drew our daggers, and as we traded swipes, cuts, and stabs, I commanded the gathering crew to stand down.”

Seeing Fira press teeth into her lower lip, he nearly set a hand over hers on his arm. “Though we were well-matched in size, strength, and ability—his pirate’s experience vying with my chevalier’s training—I was confident of victory. But when he put me against the railing and nearly…sliced open my neck, I knew blood loss slowed me at least as much as it did him. Thus, I rallied my strength to finish the contest.”

“When he went for my neck again, I slashed his arm, and his recoil allowed me to get off the railing. Then I had him against it, giving him little space in which to wield a blade—until the sea tossed. I averted his stab, but he scored my ribs, and with swelling waves threatening my footing, I knew death would be mine if he maneuvered me against the railing again. He did not, but neither could I keep him there without sustaining more injuries.” Amaury swallowed loudly. “Twice I could have stuck him, but so fleeting were the opportunities I could not be certain I would merely incapacitate.”

“Unlike he who sought your death, you feared dealing a mortal wound,” Fira said.

Returning his gaze to her, he nearly startled over the difference between that long ago night and this—that tumultuous view and this that was more peaceful for her being with him. “His attack on me justified forfeiting his life, but as if my crew were chevaliers rather than pirates, I held to the code trained into me.” He steeled himself. “Yet in the end, I…took his life.”

She blinked. “You could have had no choice. ”

He wanted to agree, but it was best she know not only who he was but who he had been. “We cut, punched, and stumbled as the deck took on water, but what ended the contest was no fatal blow. When the ship heaved, seeking to spill us into the sea, I grasped the railing and Carl caught my sleeve and begged me to aid him. I confess I hesitated before pulling him in, but no sooner did he get a hand on the railing than he slashed with the other. I jumped back and nearly lost my grip as the ship rolled. When it came halfway right, rather than wait to see if he would try to put his blade in me again, I…slammed my elbow into his face and he went into the merciless sea.”

Her fluttering lashes caught moonlight, evidencing moisture. “Did you…? Could you…?”

“Pull him out? Though not impossible, nearly so for the worsening storm and the danger it would present to crew and ship. All knew it, and not even those who wished I was the one who went overboard suggested we attempt it.”

“And you were injured,” she further excused him.

“I was, but my decision to sail on was colored by those injuries—the red he let making the black of me want an end to his life. Had it been another of the crew, I would have tried to come about and retrieve him, for his sake and that of his family.”

“Family,” she said with some understanding.

“His wife is the reason I am here.”

“Then your vengeance is an answer to hers.”

“Oui. For making a widow of Gertrude, many her threats to harm me, but she was unsuccessful until…” He moved his thoughts to his ship’s return to Calais. “Determined to put that life behind me, I resigned my captaincy the day after reaching port, soon thereafter wed Alainne, and accepted instruction from her father-in-law in the legal sale of goods. ”

Fira smiled. “Your niece, Lady Séverine, told you became a son to him and expanded his business.”

Amaury’s throat tightened. “He became a father to me, and more so absent reconciliation with my family, which I meant to pursue once firmly established in my new profession.”

“Did you reconcile?”

He looked to the thin clouds, bright moon, amused stars. “Too much happened in a short time. Alainne’s father-in-law passed, leaving the business to us, we took wardship of her niece, she birthed our son, England brought the war to France, then a month before your king marched on Calais, a fever stole from me and my son a wife and mother.”

Her nod was sympathetic. “Then the year-long siege.”

Recalling what had been slow to humble the proud inside the town’s walls, Amaury said, “The first months, with supplies easily smuggled into Calais and confident King Philip would bring an army to relieve us, we carried on almost as if our world were unaltered. But then your king’s encampment outside our walls grew massive, he gained control of our waterways and intercepted life-sustaining supplies, and we were forced to ration and ration again.”

“Starvation.”

“Nearly so. Though we remained determined to hold the town, fewer and fewer believed our king would appear to rout our besiegers. Had we not trained and organized foraging parties, King Edward would have taken his coastal prize sooner.” Now to tell of the night that was one of many in which he led such parties—and the last time.

Fira stepped nearer and settled her shoulder against his forearm. “You do not have to speak of it now.”

But he did lest no other opportunity presented before he finish what Gert believed he began. “I must,” he said and looked to the sailors who had drawn mantles and blankets close against a brisk, cool breeze, next the dockside taverns into and out of which men spilled. “On what would be my final night inside Calais, I summoned foragers I believed trustworthy and hale enough to go over the seaside wall.”

Fira’s gasp making him pause, she said, “I should tell I know some of what happened from Sir Sinjin who was on the shore that night and later wed my sister, Ondine.”

That returned Amaury to the encounter on Wulfenshire between the patrol and sea brigands into which he inserted himself. The voice of the warrior commanding the squires had been familiar though he shouted rather than spoke low as on that night long ago. Too, though Amaury had previously seen him at Wulfen, up close his nearly beautiful face had seemed familiar.

Though he wanted to probe what Fira told, he continued, “We were destined for the farthermost English encampment where discipline was so lax seizure of supplies would be fairly easy and more so for the likelihood losses would go unreported to avoid punishment dealt those negligent in keeping watch.”

Before he could relate his next memory, a gust rippled her hair, sweeping a tress against her throat and making him long to kiss her there.

“I should have worked a braid,” she said, gathering her hair at the nape and tucking it down the back of her gown. Still, unless they returned belowdeck soon, the sea would once more have its way with those glorious tresses. And he could not fault his rival for being as bold as he would like to be.

“As the English regularly patrolled the shoreline, we advanced cautiously,” he resumed his tale. “Thus, we had not gone far when I saw small boats and men farther along the shore. Their stealth obvious, guessing they brought supplies to Calais’ defenders, we showed ourselves and discovered those offloading sacks were of Scotland, our king’s ally.”

“Not entirely of Scotland,” Fira said. “Sir Sinjin’s mother was born of that country, but his sire was English and held lands near the border. Though he is now loyal to my country, at that time he was divided for being raised both sides of the border and better loved by Scottish kin.”

The world is not as big as it believes, Amaury mused, then said, “For such an accent, I know of whom you speak. He was the leader, and much to his tale, I am sure.”

Her eyes lit and lips parted as if to tell it, but she said, “It can save as your tale ought not. Pray, continue.”

“Each of us carried as many sacks to the wall as our wasting bodies could bear and returned for more. With a patrol expected soon, I took the last we dared gather in and fell behind for being overburdened.” A muscle spasmed in his jaw. “Beneath that peaceful night sky and with the surf sounding at my back, I was set upon, though not by the patrol. Gertrude having determined it was time to…wreak vengeance had knocked Richarde senseless and taken his place among the foragers. Being cloaked and hooded like the rest of us and of similar height and breadth, I did not suspect foul play, nor that her brother, Hugh, who years earlier served under me and openly despised her husband, had turned on me as well.”

When he paused, Fira said, “Sir Sinjin told that when he and some of the Scots came to give aid for what they believed an attack by the English, they saw the three who put you down were your own men. They tried to fight them off, but a patrol raised the hue and cry.” As predicted, the brisk air had begun freeing her hair, causing tendrils to dance before her face. “My brother-in-law regretted having to withdraw, but was hopeful that since one of your attackers put you over his shoulder, your disagreement would be resolved once you were back inside Calais.” She moistened her lips. “You were not taken there, were you? ”

For how much it disturbed to see and feel again what followed, he nearly did not speak of it. “Not there, though neither far from Calais.”

“Where?”

“Upon my return to consciousness, I found myself bound on the deck of a ship anchored off Calais’ coast, the first of Gert’s which she named La Bonne Mort —the good death.”

She swallowed loudly. “I am afeared, but I would know the rest.”

He raised her hand, kissed her knuckles, and set it on his forearm. “There is a cruel, often fatal punishment dealt men of the sea who seriously offend, harm, or betray shipmates. You have heard of keelhauling?”

Her eyes widened. “That is what was done you?” Before he could answer, she said, “Of course—the scars on your face and hands.” She frowned. “I would expect them to be worse. They are…” She leaned in, but even were she to don spectacles, night would prevent her from looking nearer upon them.

“They should be worse, perhaps enough to render me unrecognizable,” he said.

She eased to her heels. “If Gertrude hated you so much, why spare you that? And why not drown you, as is the usual fate of those keelhauled?”

“In answer to your first question, I was spared horrendous scarring for her belief those gathered to her, including some who had served under me, were as depraved as she. Mostly she was correct, but Pietro was an exception. He had grievances against me, and not all I could argue since I made mistakes early in my command for thinking as a nobleman who holds to the tenets of chivalry rather than a commoner who cannot afford to embrace such principles if he wishes to live beyond a score and ten years.”

“He aided you. ”

“Unbeknownst to Gert.”

“How?”

Amaury knew the answer, having collected the pieces and fit—sometimes forced—them together. But though he would tell of the mercy shown him, the finer details of what he suffered that could have been far worse were best confined to his head. And lived out in his darkest dreams…

“Amaury?”

Alerted to tension that made it feel he shouldered Calais’ supplies again, he eased his muscles. “Gertrude, who claimed henceforth she would be known as Captain Gert, ordered me held upright, then landed punches and kicks. When I was nearly senseless, she…pronounced me guilty of murdering her husband and told keelhauling was the first of my sentence.” Those memories nearly made him groan. “I retained enough sense to understand it was to be forgettable compared to the suffering that came after.”

“But it was not.”

“Non, unless one has been subjected to the cruelest punishment on the sea and survived well enough to come halfway right of mind, they cannot know how terrible that torture—even with the consideration shown me.”

“Pietro,” she said, hooking a tress behind an ear.

“Oui, he who was more youth than man was commanded to prepare me. When he drew near my bruised and bloodied body, I saw regret in eyes that told he did not like what was done me. But lest my fate become his for being…marked as a sympathizer, he sealed his lips. If not for a sighting of lantern-lit English patrol boats, likely he would have done what was expected of him. Blessedly, the distraction that drew the others away allowed him to lessen the damage Gert intended.”

“How?”

“When he whispered an apology for what lay ahead, I believed I had nothing to lose by asking certain favors of him. For how distorted my words past swollen and cut lips, he should have understood little, but he did as bid and more. Rather than secure one hood over my head, he used two so the extra padding reduced damage to my skull and face. Though my arms were to be bound at my sides, he worked the rope so it only…appeared that way, allowing me to free them and shield the most vulnerable parts of my body. Lastly, he fixed heavier weights to my feet so I would not closely drag the hull which would have rendered the extra hood mostly ineffective.”

“Clever,” she said.

“And of great risk to him. Were even one of the alterations discovered, he would have been punished for the mistake, but two or three? Death.”

“He cast his lot with Gert, but his heart was not the black of the others.”

Amaury inclined his head. “Once the vessels altered course, she and her men returned and…” Beset by memories that caused the stars in the blue-black expanse to streak and blur, he trailed off to regain control of his emotions. But they prevailed, images brightening like a dim cavern into which a torch is thrust transporting him to another ship beneath a different night sky.

He saw himself supported by the railing where Pietro, muttering apologies, attached one end of a rope to him whose other end had been passed beneath the keel and brought over the opposite side and threaded through a pulley.

Sailors laughed as they lifted him and dropped him over the side.

He dragged air through the hoods to fill his lungs ahead of going under.

Next the sea’s cold embrace and water shooting up his nose .

Sinking and instinctive kicking impeded by the weights.

Tension in the rope as those on the pulley side of the deck prepared to haul him against the hull whose planks might knock him senseless—as could barnacles cutting through to his flesh, the depth of the cuts dependent on how weighted he was and the speed with which he traveled.

The rope wrenched, whipping him from vertical to horizontal, and as his chill, suffocating journey began, the voice within commanding him to shield his most vulnerable places.

Stuffing down panic and freeing his arms, tucking his head and drawing his knees to his chest before he hit the hull that would have cracked his skull had he not hooked an arm over it ahead of getting his other arm around his knees.

Though pain stabbed the elbow protecting his head, rousing a shout none could hear that deprived him of precious air, that encounter was not with barnacles. At least, he did not think he came into contact with the cruel stowaways that could shred a man’s flesh along with his clothing. But he would, and if hauled too quickly, the weights seeking to straighten his legs would be less effective in preventing him from being closely dragged over the sharp parasites.

Lord, I need air! he beseeched, though greater damage would be done him were he hauled quickly from one side to the other.

His body twisted when his shoulder then back came into contact with barnacles, and though it felt only deep scratches, for the dimming of his senses, they might be gouges.

And now he was sinking.

As if I lose consciousness, was his first thought vying with his body’s demand to replenish air.

As if the rope has been cut, was his next thought grinding against the realization the weights would pull him to the bottom of the sea .

Then he was so forcefully jerked upward his shielding arms loosened. Before he could tuck and cover again, his head hit barnacles. Pain resounding through his skull, only distantly was he aware of taking in salt water through the hoods as he rolled, sank, and was jerked again.

When his back was raked by barnacles, fire coursing his flesh cleared his head enough that he realized he was being bounced—a moment of relative relief followed by such pain the weak of his mind urged him to drink in the sea, release his hold on the world and, were the Lord merciful, be forgiven his sins.

Your son! roared the strong of his mind. Do not let the weak of you fail him!

Though death had to be near with water in his lungs and lights flashing before his eyes, once more he made shields of his arms.

Then he broke the surface. As no air awaited lungs choked with water, he had sense enough for one thought ahead of darkness— For Pietro’s sake, it must appear your arms remain bound by rope.