Chapter 35

D o something!” Fira squeezed Achard’s arm. “You must!”

Pity shone out of mismatched eyes, then he glanced at the ship whose underside Amaury would travel if Gert’s revenge was not averted. “Though soon we shall be near enough to fly arrows, I would not give false hope it will be the difference between De Chanson keeping his head above water and not. By then the keelhauling will have begun, and if any working the pulleys is put through, he might not be drawn up on the other side soon enough to prevent drowning.”

When he shifted his jaw hard, Fira realized how angry he was over a warrior being so helpless. Too, he could not like the battlefield being the ever-shifting sea that needed no shovel to render it a grave.

“We shall do what we can, Fira,” he eschewed her title as if to soothe fear and desperation that made her demand the impossible made possible.

Momentarily, she closed her eyes, then removed her hand. “I know I ask much, but do we not for those we love, Achard? ”

“Aye, and in doing so, I fear more often we fail than succeed.” A warning there—better she expect the worst than be more pained by unwarranted hope.

Despite defeat weighting her shoulders, she raised them and said, “Do what you can,” then descended to the deck and strode past Pietro who conversed with a sailor midship.

Reaching the railing, she looked to Gert’s ship again and nearly sobbed. Though Amaury remained suspended and keelhauling could commence any moment, she sped her thoughts through what felt a maze in search of a way to save him. And hit a wall when a glimpse of something promising misted over.

She did not know how much time passed before she came back to herself, but having remained upright and seeing Amaury was still above the plank, it could have been no more than a minute.

Blessedly, it was only The Fading. More blessedly, as she stared at the distant contraption, what had misted over became clear—something that would not occur to the king’s man for how fantastic it was.

“Do what you can, Achard,” she repeated, “as shall I.” Then she hastened from the railing.

She was grateful Pietro asked few questions when she told what she needed. After a glance at the king’s man who was occupied with the captain and helmsman, he told her to follow.

Fira would never know if she could have done the improbable for Rémy emerging from the cabin and disliking what he saw pass between her, Pietro, and the sailor to whom she was led. Now, despite her protest over his injury, he held the bow she had barely grasped before he appeared and demanded an explanation that delivered Achard to them. Fortunately, few words were needed to explain how Amaury might be saved, even if only from keelhauling .

Dear Rémy understood. Dearer yet, he said he would do it, and when Achard said it was not possible due to his injury, he pronounced that even were he doubly injured, he could make his mark better than any aboard.

“Trust me,” he said, then set his teeth and hooked the bow over his head and shoulder. He started to turn away, but paused and, expression softening, held out the quiver. “Aid me, Fira.”

Ignoring Achard’s protest, she took it. When it settled on her back as she thought one would never again, she plucked up her skirts.

As she tucked the excess beneath her belt, exposing the chausses beneath, Rémy said, “Sir Achard, since this will be to no avail if we are seen, do not move the ship broadside until we exhaust the cover of the sail and are in the nest. By then we should be in range of my draw and still appear of little threat.

A draw few could match—unless his injury hindered.

Achard eyed Gert’s ship whose scant crew remained at their stations though they should be seeking cover rather than indulging their leader who wished an audience to witness well what she would do to Amaury. Looking back at Rémy and Fira, he growled, “God help me if I err and earn your brother’s wrath. Go!”

Fira following, Rémy strode toward the forward mast, a hitch in his stride evidencing discomfort. Even so, he ascended the back side of the mast faster than she who delighted in climbing trees.

Once both were in the nest and the lookout on his way down, Orion’s Song tacked sharply, letting the wind out of its sails and moving the hull broadside. A glance around revealed The Pleiades did the same. Its crew unaware of the plan that could go tragically awry, they could only act on hand and arm signals as done since night became day .

“For this to w-work, you must keep your head down,” Rémy said where he sat his haunches alongside her in the thickly woven basket.

Hearing him pant over the strain on his injured body, Fira sent up a prayer he would not pay a greater price than already he had.

He drew a slow breath. “They will expect to see a lookout here and believe I am that unless they catch s-sight of the hair of a lady who should not be here.”

“I understand.”

He drew the bow off and passed it to her. “Nock an arrow, and each time I pass it back, fit another.”

Each time? she mulled, and thought him less certain of hitting his mark than professed until she realized it would require more than keeping Amaury out of the sea to save him. Even if Rémy’s first arrow landed well, others must be flown to prevent him being slain by other means lest even that pleasure was denied Gert. Thus, Rémy would not merely spare him a heinous death. He hoped to keep him alive, even if only to see him reunited with his son.

“Ready!” she said, and stiffly he rose, showing himself above the basket’s rim.

“Is he still above the plank?” Fira asked.

“Aye, but the hag is moving, and the third man has joined the other two near the pulley.” He reached behind and, as she passed the bow, said, “If I can stop them from swinging him out over the water?—”

“King’s man!” Gert called with strength of voice beyond most women. “As this betrayer of France shall suffer, so shall all of England. Then this island kingdom will be eaten by the mother it has wronged.”

It was not Anglo-Saxon England to which she referred but the England conquered by France’s Duke William of Normandy three hundred years gone. Little did she know Rémy would make use of the extra time provided by her taunting—raising his bow, drawing its string, sighting, and loosing. But no sooner did he reach the bow back to Fira than he stammered, “G-God’s wounds, I missed, and they see what I do! Hurry!”

“Please, Lord!” she rasped and nocked another arrow.

Then the bow was in his hand, string drawn with a groan, and arrow loosed. Now a shout so terrible she feared he missed again. Or struck what he did not mean to…

Though blood had rushed to Amaury’s head, intensifying its ache, he was sensible enough that the first arrow passing near and landing in a deck box was heard and its shivering shaft seen.

It was the second arrow that changed all an instant after Gert ordered him swung out over the water. Before it could be done, Amaury heard the iron head strike what could be its target only if flown by an archer of great skill and felt its impact from feet to scalp. As he peered up his body, Carl’s widow screamed for the arrow’s head to be freed from where it was embedded in the upper pulley between the wheel’s casing and the rope threaded through it. Until removed, he could not be dropped in the water—that is, the greater portion of him. The rope attached to his wrists could be worked by the pulley opposite, also causing death when his arms were wrenched from his resistant body.

The largest of Gert’s sea brigands sprang onto the plank, and believing the prisoner helpless, drew too near. As he reached to the arrow, Amaury engaged his stomach muscles to sharply raise his upper body. When his head struck the man’s hip, his pain intensified, but it unbalanced his prey who cried out as he fell from the plank. Whether or not he could swim, there would be no saving him, Gert’s time better spent avenging her husband’s death.

“Cut the rope!” she called as Amaury swayed from the force of his defense.

Though much was blurred, he saw one of her two remaining men this side unsheathe his sword to swing at the rope overhead, which would drop Amaury and allow those handling the pulley opposite to keelhaul the whole of him by the wrists alone.

But now another cry, and the one doing Gert’s bidding collapsed by way of an arrow—and the third man moments later.

“Curse you, De Chanson!” Gert drew her dagger and ran at him.

Once more he tightened his abdomen, intending to put her in the sea before she could bring the blade down on him. What happened next was too swift to impress a clear image on Amaury’s darkening mind, but he glimpsed a feathered shaft between her collarbone and underside of her jaw. Then with wheezing and gurgling, she went sideways and flailed all the way to her watery grave.

Is it finally over, Lord? he silently entreated. In Your time? Ever your time?

Rémy had done what would be barely possible for most archers who were not bleeding through bandages and tunic. After releasing the last arrow, shakily he had lowered beside Fira and told Amaury was out of immediate danger at the cost of four lives, including Gert’s .

There had been satisfaction in his voice, but also regret. This was not the first time that heart-wrenching deed was delivered by his hand, but ending men’s lives was still new to him as it would not be in years to come. And less so if he went to war for King Edward.

When she thanked him and apologized for burdening his conscience, he had repeated a lesson given by Hector who was given it by their sire— To save the lives of good men, at times the lives of those gone bad must be taken—or those born bad, meaning come into this world in desperate circumstances and lacking opportunity and strength to overcome hardships.

Then Rémy had descended the mast ahead of her, the effort causing perspiration to dilute blood coming through his tunic. Still, he had refused the support of those awaiting them on deck and assisted her down beside him.

She had feared he would insist on boarding Gert’s ship to subdue her remaining crew. Instead, he had accompanied her to the cabin where she tended his injury while those of Orion’s Song accepted the surrender of the pirates who, hopeful of mercy, brought Amaury down off the pulley and handed him over when boarded.

Meanwhile, Pietro was given command of The Pleiades to set after Hugh and Islay’s ship. Capture them, and likely the greatest threat to England’s coastal towns and shipping would end. God willing, soon word of their victory.

“Fira.”

Amaury was awake! She backed down the steps she had ascended when someone announced Ravenser’s harbor was in sight. In the paling of day, she had seen the busy docks and guessed a large number of those on it were Achard’s forces. And hoped her eldest brother and his party were present as well.

Turning into the cabin, she looked to Amaury who had been transferred to Orion’s Song barely conscious. Up on his elbows on the pallet across from her brother’s hammock, the silver in his lengthening hair was visible beneath the cloth bandaging another head injury.

As she approached, she shifted her gaze to Rémy and, seeing her protective brother was watchful, smiled. He did not himself, but then he was hurting though he told he was merely uncomfortable.

She lowered to her knees and, thinking Amaury might not recall her words when he was brought here, set a hand on his arm and said, “Our prayers answered. This no happenstance nor all the work of man. God was—and is—with you.”

Whether to appease her or in honest agreement, he nodded.

“You do believe it—that despite all the times He did naught to alleviate your great miseries and my lesser ones, He interceded?”

“I believe it, Fira, and if His answers to what I ask of Him ends here, I shall strive to remain grateful Gert can do no more evil and you are safe, even if soon we part and never again I see you nor my son.”

She wanted to voice what wound through a heart that made too much room for him should his make no room for her, but it was best to speak of other things until they were alone. “With day nearing its end, we approach Ravenser’s harbor.”

“Gert’s ship?” he asked.

“Vengeur, now belonging to King Edward, follows.”

He nearly smiled. “What of The Pleiades?”

“Sir Achard made Pietro its captain and sent it after Hugh and Islay. I understand Donal insisted on accompanying him.”

His brow furrowed, then he said, “Pietro is a worthy choice,” and looked to Rémy. “You are well, Squire?”

“Well enough, Mason ,” her brother bit .

Amaury’s mouth curved. “Just as I am no longer a privateer nor sea brigand, I have cast off the miner who toiled at Wulfen Castle to be near his son. Thus, once more I am Chevalier Amaury, and more recently proprietor of The Great Mercia Shipping Company.”

“Then it is Sir Amaury as knights are titled in England—unless you plan to return to France to serve your sovereign.”

As Fira looked between the two, it was difficult to keep quiet, but she did.

“I will not return to France and could not even if I wished since it will be known I aided in the downfall of King Jean’s prized privateer,” Amaury said.

Rémy nodded thoughtfully. “So now the matter of what King Edward will do with our D’Argent kin who earned well the n-name Le Fléau de l’Anglais. Are you prepared?”

“As I will not bequeath Mace to England, nor take another name the same as my ancestor who sought to escape the wrath of William the Conqueror, I shall answer to your king descended from that king.”

Though Fira wanted to beseech him to take her with him from England as Ma?l D’Argent had done Lady Mercia, she resisted. Not only would she sound a fearful child, but elevate herself to the status of a beloved which was for him to do.

At last Rémy said, “If your repentance is genuine, for aiding in ridding England of the leader of those who took your byname, you may be pardoned.” He glanced at Fira. “And greater the chance if our family vouches for your reformed character.”

Amaury returned to his back. “I believe it no guess your arrows slew all who sought to keelhaul me. Hence, you rid England—and me—of Gert. I thank you.”

Rémy shifted in his hammock. “You gave yourself over to save my sister. Of course, never would she have been in d-danger were you not upon Wulfenshire under false pretenses.”

“This I accept and regret. For that, the trade made—your sister for me.”

“You sacrificed avenging all Gert stole from you,” Fira said, more for Rémy than him.

Amaury looked back at her. “I promised to safely restore you to your family.”

An honorable thing, she silently acceded and hoped it went beyond honor to feelings that could become a match for hers. “You did, and of no surprise to me.”

Smile taut, he lowered his lids.

When they did not rise, she leaned in and touched her lips to his. Then sitting back on her heels, she looked to her brother whose brow evidenced disapproval. “I love him as I pray one day you will love a woman, Rémy.”

“Of no event unless the one who loves is loved in return,” he said with some bitterness.

She reflected on the truth of that with regard to what he had felt for the woman he wed who made no secret of her love for the sire of her misbegotten child, then she crossed to him. “Heartache, aye, but how wondrous to at least experience what comes before the ache and know what one ought to seek with another capable of loving in return.”

Momentarily, he averted his gaze, then said, “Better than any, my little sister can cleave the dark to let in the light.”

She smiled. “I shall go above and return anon to report our progress.”

He inclined his head, and shortly she had much to report. Hector had come as told by his standard seen on the dock amid the king’s forces. Once Orion’s Song dropped anchor, a boat would be sent for him and a physician to tend Rémy and examine Amaury .

I will not dread our reunion, Fira told herself. As he loves me, he will cool over what my disobedience wrought. And is sensible enough to come around to Amaury’s reasons for doing what he did.

The great chain rattled loudly, and as the anchor was lowered to the harbor floor, Fira whispered, “Dread best reserved for King Edward who may lock Amaury in the tower from which he might not emerge…”