Chapter 34

I am here again, Amaury acknowledged and not for the first time since his mind firmed enough to think straighter than it had seven years ago. Then he had been nearly emaciated, head seriously injured, and thoughts so disjointed that had he known half of who he was it would have been much. Now, sunlight warming his pained head where he lay face down on the deck, just as it was not night, Pietro was not here to make passage beneath the keel less ruinous.

“The rope is up starboard and port, pulleys threaded!” a sea brigand called.

These past hours, often Gert came to stand over Amaury, taunting him with her presence alone except for the one time she slammed a boot in his ribs. Regardless of whether the bones were cracked or merely bruised, he could fight were he not trussed. However, unless God intervened mightily, this day he would die, his greatest revenge that of depriving Les Fléaux of many men and setting the king’s forces fast on their heels.

“We are ready!” Carl’s widow called as she came around him. When she halted, one of her scuffed boots was in line with a kick between chin and shoulders that could collapse his throat—if a relatively painless and swift death would satisfy. It would not.

As Amaury considered footwear of a quality a wealthy merchant could afford, he mused revenge against him and the English had transformed Gertrude from the common and light of purse into a thief of means.

“Are you ready, De Chanson?”

Further turning his chin toward his shoulder, he peered up her masculine length and met her gaze.

When he gave no answer, she said, “It is time we finish this, and should it prove my end as well…” She looked toward his ships he knew stalked hers from the curses of her remaining crew, next port side where he guessed her other ship sailed. “I will have to trust those I leave behind will continue taking riches and blood from the English.”

She peered down her nose. “It will suffice that what I began with Carl’s murderer is finally finished.” She sighed. “Poor Hugh. He will think he is my successor. Though the Scottish woman I instructed toward that end still has some soft about her, she has a better chance of completing what this scourge cannot since that lass is a great hater of all things English.” She angled her head. “I confess I was disappointed the crew of La Bonne Mort sent north of Ravenser did not capture Orion’s Song, but since she and Hugh made it aboard and gained your lady for a trade, redemption enough.”

She could not know failure of those under the Scotswoman and her brother’s command was likely caused by local Les Fléaux acting ahead of the arrival of forces greater than their own. But she need not.

“Though negligent in their leadership, not as negligent as you were with yours, which saw my husband dead.” She bared ugly teeth. “Of course, you are thinking my leadership is lacking since I had the crew of La Bonne Mort to take Orion’s Song at Ravenser as well as those in the town who look out for my interests.” She bent forward, gripped her knees to brace herself. “Though they should have prevailed, even with the arrival of the king’s men, I accept some portion of the failure is mine.”

For having no direct contact with her brother since their ships attacked his after departing Boston, did she suspect he knew something she did not? Likely, but he had no reason to confirm it.

“Much you have surprised since a year past when Hugh and others of Les Fléaux were arrested in English-occupied Calais,” she said. “Before my brother escaped imprisonment, a Wulfrith interrogator said something that made him suspect you lived.”

He spoke of Fira’s middle brother, Sir Warin, who aided in defending Calais against French forces seeking to recover the port town. Since the knight could not have known Amaury lived, he had bluffed or Hugh misunderstood. Regardless, it had to be that which led to Gert uncovering the connection between Amaury and The Great Mercia Shipping Company.

“It was you who reported Hugh and the others to the English, oui?”

His mouth was dry, but he managed to move his tongue. “It was.”

Seeing her hand come toward him, he did not flinch. And was surprised when she pressed a calloused finger to his lips as if to quiet him. “Traitor.”

He had betrayed men born French, but only those of Les Fléaux who would pirate their own countrymen when attacks on the English became unprofitable.

Gert straightened. “At first, I did not think it possible you lived—not after keelhauling that halfway broke you and quarrying that was to break what remained. Did you escape shortly after arriving and none dared tell me, or much later for being too productive to smash your skull?”

At his silence, she harrumphed. “What matters is I not repeat the mistake of relying on others to finish what you began when you cast my husband in the sea.”

As it was useless to correct her truth, Amaury kept silent.

“No nipping at the bait, eh?” Her voice was sickly sweet. “But then, you are no fish, as soon we shall see. Again.”

They would, the rope and pulleys awaiting him soon to become instruments of torture as they moved him the long, watery way from one side of the ship to the other.

“Worry not, De Chanson, I will not allow you to drown on the first drag, nor the second, even if you must be revived.” Leaving him to imagine the number of times he would be bloodied by barnacles and drowned, she disappeared around his backside.

Shortly, her footsteps halted, and she commanded three men to move him to the short plank set in the opening of the railing to project out over the water. Above it was a pulley with a rope threaded through its track as would be done on the opposite side.

Hearing men advance, Amaury told himself, Soon your lungs will be deprived of air and so near collapse you will fill them with water. Breathe.

He managed a deep draw that satisfied despite aching ribs and was halfway through another when two sets of boots appeared on his left and he heard the third behind.

A moment later, one said, “Non, cut only the rope between wrists and ankles!”

“But his arms are tied behind his back,” said another. “They should be bound in front so he is fully extended when he passes beneath. Otherwise, when he is hauled up the other side, the force will?—”

“—pull his arms from their sockets,” snapped the first. “Gert will not think that a bad thing.”

Lord in Your heavens! Amaury silently entreated. His arms would be all but torn from his torso, and possibly before he was brought up. He would know excruciating pain atop panic and struggle as water forced its way down his throat, the horrendous dreams come of it nothing compared to the reality of?—

Severing that last thought that was assumption he would survive further keelhauling, Amaury counseled, Wait on the Lord, whether He shows Himself this day or when you answer for your wrongs weighed against your rights. Be oak, be stone, be iron…

The rope was cut, easing strain in his shoulders and arms that would have been worse were those places not mostly numb and had the rope been drawn tight enough to arch his body backward. But now a boot hooked on his sore ribs, making him groan as it flipped him onto his back. He gnashed his teeth, one moment for the glare of sunlight, the next for his throbbing head striking the deck.

Would he bleed again, this time onto planks rather than into his hair and down his neck as when he awakened hours past? Not that it would be of much account compared to further blows and greater bleeding to come.

“On your feet, traitor!” snarled one of two gripping him under the arms.

When he was yanked up, his head went light. Though it came right, for his limbs being bound, he could not aid in getting nearer the pulley even if he wished. They knew it as well, angling his body so his feet dragged as he was moved forward .

Amaury raised his head to look upon the vessels of The Great Mercia Shipping Company. They had slowed and would soon be near enough that those aboard could see what Gert wished them to see. And be unable to do anything but watch as he was subjected to one of the most inhumane forms of punishment.

Were God going to intervene this time, it must be soon. Otherwise, Amaury’s greatest hope—ahead of the first battering being so injurious he came up dead—was Fira not witness this.

Near the railing, he was dropped so suddenly to the deck he would have landed on his face had he not lurched to the side and given his shoulder the brunt of the fall. Still pain, but his nose remained intact and no further injuries were done his head.

“Feet first!” Gert commanded, coming to stand near, her arms and legs akimbo.

He who had been behind Amaury stepped onto the plank and caught up the rope hung from the pulley that was fit with a large clasp hooked into another on the rope’s opposite end. The upper clasp would be attached to the ankles and the lower to the wrists, then a hood placed over Amaury’s head, this time without Pietro’s padding. Next, he would be drawn up by his feet onto the plank and raised above it, then swung out over the water. His descent into the sea would be swift, the rope attached to his wrists tautening as men at the opposite railing hauled him beneath the ship as if to cut a path through the barnacles with his body. Cruelly, it would be the barnacles cutting paths through his skin and muscle, even bone were he not weighted.

“Fit them well,” Gert said as the man came off the plank holding both ends of the rope. “I will not lose him to the depths before he suffers tenfold what my husband did. ”

When the rope’s upper end was fastened to Amaury’s ankles and the lower to his wrists, the man called, “Secure!”

Gert’s sigh was reminiscent of one sinking into a hot bath after a long journey. As for her smile, it softened her hard face, though it could never be beautiful to any who did not love her as she believed her husband had. And Carl might have, though at least once he strayed when, following the capture of a cargo of English wool, a storm forced their ship into a port north of Calais. He had paid a joy woman to dispense favors at the inn where the crew satisfied their thirst. If Gert knew of his infidelity, it was not from Amaury.

Her next sigh carried her down to her haunches. “I know my soul is cracked—that the good of it leaked out when I was widowed, but as God forsook me the same as He forsakes you, I have no wish to exalt Him in heaven. Thus, I do on earth what pleases me, foremost making the English and their coffers groan. And now your death shall please, though more had I your red-headed demoniac to keelhaul before your eyes.” Her lips curled. “Should this day prove better for me than you, a merry game it will be seeking out that Wulfrith to reunite you in death.”

She wanted cursing and struggling, but though it teemed within, reason dictated it would benefit her alone and stubbornness demanded he yield no more than what she already took from him.

“Now a show for our enemies!” she boomed, straightening and shading her eyes to peer south. “Since your ships will soon be close enough to enjoy the spectacle, we shall position you so there is no delay during which they might interfere.” She looked down. “You did not beg that night. Will you this day?” When he gave no answer, she commanded, “Hoist him!”

A heave on the rope took up the slack and dropped him onto his arms bound at his back. A second whipped him sideways, pointing his feet toward the plank.

This horror revisited, Amaury’s chest constricted painfully as he felt, heard, and saw again the night he refused to beg for mercy. Though it seemed the Lord would forsake him as before, it was His mercy Amaury sought, silently beseeching Him not to allow this to happen. Were death had by way of the warrior of him, such fear he would not know, being occupied with defensively and offensively swinging his sword and fists, but this…

The men heaved again, and he slid toward the plank. Another heave and he was fully on it. With his head bent back due to his arms bulked under him, he looked left and right to fairly calm waves across which sunlight shimmered. Turning his eyes up, against the cloud-streaked sky he saw the mechanism through which rope strained ahead of another pull that would suspend him like a fish on a line, albeit tail first.

Look, he told himself. Look, for soon you will be swinging and twisting. He raised his head and saw Orion’s Song straight ahead and The Pleiades to her left. The ships closed in, and though it would not be soon enough to even attempt to prevent the keelhauling, it improved the chance of Gert’s capture ahead of setting after Hugh and the Scotswoman’s ship.

Lord, let that be Your revenge rather than mine, as it should be, he sent heavenward. Above all, do not let my boy fare ill without me, the Wulfriths raising him into a godly man. And may he know ? —

Abruptly, his legs, torso, and head came up off the plank, setting him in motion. In a blur he saw his ships, this one and its crew, and distantly the one on which Hugh escaped. Were his belly not devoid of all but bile, its contents would be cast all sides.

Certain he was seconds from being swung out over the water and dropped beneath the waves, silently he commanded, Be oak, be stone, be iron.

But then Gert shouted, “Hold! A better view is required for our audience.” Meaning she would endanger her crew further so her enemy see her show well.

Let not Fira, he beseeched as he untwisted more slowly than he had twisted.

“Best done with it now!” one of her men called. “Soon we will be in range of their archers who are as likely to put us through as put him out of his misery.”

The helmsman, Amaury guessed, his position important enough he dared disagree with their leader.

“Do it now, Gert! If he survives, you can finish him once we are far from here.”

“I command this ship,” she shouted. “I say sail east, you sail east. I say stop, you stop.”

Were Amaury not upside down with pain streaking his reeling head, he might have laughed over an argument that permitted his ships to advance nearer as seen when he turned their direction again and glimpsed figures on them. Though they could see well what transpired here, Gert wished them to see more.

The helmsman having quieted, the woman to whom he surely did not wish to answer in this instance called, “Be grateful I make allowances for your insolence.” Then to the three here, she said, “Another minute and they shall have a very clear view of what befalls those who do me wrong. Be ready.”