The Reckoning - 3 (27 page)

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came slithering down the mast at breakneck speed. "A sail," he panted, flinging up an arm toward the sun.
"Tell the master," Brian ordered. Amaury soon joined him at the larboard rail, and they watched the horizon intently, silently, until a sail rose above the swells, triangular, as bright as blood. Brian said softly, "A gaUeY'" no more tnan that, but Amaury felt a sudden chill.
"Brian? Are we in peril?"
"I'm not yet sure." Brian's eyes, sun-creased, were narrowed on that bobbing lateen sail. "It may come to nothing. But I'd say we have three reasons to worry. That it's a galley, for these days merchants favor cogs or nefs. That it's coming from those unholy isles. And that it's not flying any banners."
"I see." Amaury's voice did not betray him, revealed nothing of the fear churning his stomach, flooding his veins. He dared not look back at his sister. "I want the truth. If the worst comes, can we hope to fend them off?"
Brian's shoulders twitched, a half-shrug. "We might," he said slowly, "if those Welsh lads of yours are the bowmen they claim to be."
"They are." They'd not heard Morgan's approach. Aside from that laconic assurance, he asked no questions, offered no counsel. But Amaury had encountered such reticence before, recognized it for what it was, the single-minded absorption of the soldier, the focused intensity of a man about to do battle. He gave the Welshman an approving look, thankful that Llewelyn had chosen so well, and as their eyes met, Morgan said quietly, "We'll keep her safe, my lord, that I swear."
The ship's master had emerged from his fore-castle cabin, joining their vigil.
Both of Llewelyn's Dominican friars were on deck now, too, jostling for space at the rail with the sailors and Welsh soldiers and French-born knights. Ellen had to push her way through to her brother's side, pulling Juliana along behind her.
"Can we keep them from boarding us?"
None but Amaury would know what that composed question cost her. Grateful that they'd not have to deal with womanly hysterics, the men hastened to assure her that she need not fear, that there was no danger to speak of, that even if it was a pirate galley, they'd be able to stave it off easily enough.
"God willing," Ellen said softly, never taking her eyes from her rother's face. He alone had not spoken, he alone had not lied. Reaching OVer, he caught her hand in his, squeezing her fingers so tightly that *e had to suppress a gasp.
I think," he said, "that you'd best wait in your cabin, Ellen."
"No," she said, "not yet."
Bran had once told her that when he'd been captured at the battle

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of Northampton, a prisoner who'd just heard his own death sentence passed upon him, it had all seemed very unreal, as if it were happening to someone else.
Ellen felt like that now, as she watched the galley rise above the waves, sink down, rise again. It rode very low in the water The hull was painted a garish red, the prow tipped in iron, like the battering rams her father had used in castle sieges. After a moment, she realized it served the same purpose, was meant to stave in the sides of I its quarry. She had no doubts as to its evil intent, for its very appearance f was predatory. Just as a rabbit froze instinctively when a falcon fle\v overhead, she knew that she was looking at a hawk of the seas, on the prowl for prey.
The galley was tacking, a navigational technique Brian had explained to Ellen in exhaustive if incomprehensible detail; she'd understood only that it somehow enabled a ship to sail against the wind. She would have expected it to plot a course to intercept them; when it did not, she felt a sudden flicker of hope. But Brian had begun to swear, in Breton and French.
"The whoresons are trying to get to windward of us!" Spinning away from the rail, he headed for the ship's stern. "Ivo, hard on the helm!"
With that, the deck erupted into chaotic activity. Amaury disappeared in search of a weapon. At Morgan's command, the Welsh bowmen clambered up into the fore- and aft-castles. Sir William Dulay took charge of the knights, who began to position themselves along the rail, while Alain emerged from the hold with an armful of long staves. They would, he explained to Ellen, be useful for fending off grappling hooks, or for breaking heads. Not that he thought it would come to that, God's blessed truth! Her ladyship must not fret. These pirate scum would rue the day they'd taken on the Holy Cross. Why, the Welsh lads would turn them into pin-cushions, see if they did not!
Ellen found herself agreeing with him, and not just because she so wanted to believe. Morgan's men had a superior vantage point from the heights of the fore- and aft-castles. Once the low-slung galley drew alongside and its crew sought to scramble up the cog's steep freeboard, they'd be facing a murderous fire, arrows raining down faster than the eye could follow. She knew about longbows, for her father had been most impressed with this Welsh weapon, even predicting it would eventually supplant the crossbow. How could the pirates overcome such formidable odds?
And then, Diego, the lookout, shouted down from his skyward perch, "Oh, Jesus, sail ho!"
As the second pirate galley hove into view, Ellen felt a hand upon her shoulder. "Madame." She turned, looked into the somber, ashen

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face of Friar Anian, the older of the two Dominicans. "I think we'd best eo aft," he said.
Once they reached the cabin, Friar Teilo tried to barricade the door with the sturdy oaken table, forgetting, in his agitation, that it was bolted to the floor. No one knew what to say. It seemed to take forever before he realized his mistake. He flushed bright red, looked suddenly so young and vulnerable that Ellen's breath stopped. How many men would die ere this day was done?
Blessed Lady, spare Amaury and Hugh and Morgan and Brian. Mary, ever Virgin, save our honor, keep us from sin. By thy goodness, deliver us from evil.
Please do not let my brother die.
The cabin had but a single, small porthole; it was deep in shadow. Ellen sought to light a candle in one of the horn lanterns, but her hands were shaking too badly, and after she'd failed in several tries, Anian took the flint and tinder, struck a few, faint sparks.
Teilo was slumped down on a coffer, clenching and unclenching his hands, rubbing his palms repeatedly against his worn wool habit. He fidgeted, then blurted out, "Is it true that . . . that when a ship is taken at sea, those captured are thrown overboard?"
Anian frowned, jerked his head warningly toward the women. Juliana had perched precariously upon the very edge of the bed, like a bird about to take flight at any moment. She said nothing but flinched away from Teilo's words, and
Ellen hastily shook her head.
"No, Brother Teilo. Whilst that might well happen during a sea battle, pirates care for naught but profit. They would much rather ransom their prisoners than drown them." She swallowed dryly, hoping that her voice sounded more convincing to them than it had to her own ears, then sat down beside Juliana.
The waiting began.
Their cabin was located under the aft-castle; they could hear men moving about above their heads, hear occasional muffled shouts. Teilo climbed onto a.
coffer, peered out the porthole. Because of the cog's pitching, he could get only a glimpse of sea or sky. But then he tumbled backward, crying, "They have overtaken us, are manning their oars now!"
The noise on deck intensified. Occasionally they heard a scream, knew they were listening as men died. Juliana had closed her eyes, but tears were trickling through her lashes. Anian bowed his head, began to pray. The words made no sense to Ellen, sounded so garbled and slurred that she feared her wits were wandering. When she finally realized that Anian was entreating the
Almighty in Welsh, she gave a sudden, shaken laugh. Their instant alarm was almost comical, but " was sobering, too. "Forgive me for interrupting, Brother
Anian. Please . . . pray for us all."

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The screams, shouts, and curses seemed much louder now. It was all too easy for Ellen to envision what was occurring beyond that bolted cabin door. The pirates were circling the cog, much like she'd seen mastiffs worrying a chained, baited bear, swinging their grappling hooks, awaiting the moment when the bear would drop its guard, allow them to leap for the jugular. The
Welshmen's hail of arrows would keep them at bay for a time, just as the bear's claws held off the dogs. There
4 were always bloodied bodies crumpled in the arena, savaged by those mighty jaws. But the dogs kept on the attack, and the outcome was not in doubt. Like
Evesham, Papa riding out to die. Sooner or later, the bear would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Rising inconspicuously, Ellen crossed to the coffer that held her silver-plate and cutlery. Selecting a slender-bladed eating knife, she tested its edge for sharpness. It traced a thin, white line across her finger. She felt no pain, but blood soon welled up, and she watched it drip down her hand. For so slight a wound, it took a surprisingly long time before the bleeding stopped.
Teilo had remained, frozen, at the porthole. "Christ pity us," he gasped, "for we are truly doomed! There are four galleys!"
They knew when the cog was taken, could tell by the changed, triumphant tone of the shouting. When the axe first thudded into the door, Ellen thought it was a demand for entry. So did Anian. He was reaching for the bolt when the wood splintered and a steel blade just missed his outstretched hand. I
It took only three or four more blows to reduce the door to kindling. , There was no sudden surge of sun, for the man filling the doorway* blotted out the light, so huge was he. Towering above the friar, boasting! shoulders as wide as planks and a wild black beard, he lacked only an! eye patch to be the pirate of dark legend, the pirate of every seafarer's! nightmare, a man able to terrify by his very appearance. I
Anian, with commendable courage, stood his ground. "These! women are under the protection of Holy Church. They must not be"^
The rest of his words were choked off. A mammoth fist twisted in the neck of his cowl. As if he were a child's rag doll, filled only with straw, he was lifted off his feet, flung across the cabin.
Ellen had concealed the knife in the folds of her skirt. With her free hand, she drew Juliana in behind her. "I must speak to your chieftain," she said, as evenly as she could. "It will be worth his while, I swear it."
He didn't reply, and she felt a new stab of fear. Jesu, what if he spoke no
French? No man had ever dared to look at her with such blatant lust. Having stripped her with his eyes, he reached out, ran the back of his hand along her throat. She jerked free, retreated with Juliana

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the far corner of the cabin, and when he followed, she brought up the dagger.
He blinked, burst out laughing.
"Give me that ere you hurt yourself," he said in accented but understandable
Norman-French. When she shook her head, he grinned, started to turn away, then grabbed for her wrist. But it had been a clumsy feint and he recoiled in surprise, staring at his slashed palm.
So intent was Ellen upon the black-bearded pirate that it was not until she heard the laughter that she became aware of the other man's presence. He was leaning against the shattered door, as if watching a play put on purely for his own amusement, and he laughed again when the giant said indignantly, "The bitch cut me!"
"Just be thankful she aimed at your hand and not your ballocks. I thought you had more sense than to snatch at a naked blade like that."
"So I was careless. But I've never yet known a wench who could tell a dagger from a serving spoon. These highborn milk-tit ladies, they're good only for"
"You just never use your head, do you? The woman had five brothers. You think at least one of them would not have taught her how to defend herself?"
Their exchange meant nothing to Juliana, for it had been in English. But Ellen had once spoken the language. She'd lost a lot of it during her ten years in
French exile, but she was still able to get the gist of what was said. Her first reaction was one of enormous relief, for if they knew her identity, it must mean Amaury had survived the battle. Unless . . . unless Morgan or Brian had spoken out, trying to protect her honor and her life. But at least they seemed to believe it. She'd been so frightened that they might mock her claims. Ransom now seemed within reach again.
Keeping the dagger close against her body, but tilted and at the ready, she transferred her attention to the second pirate. He was also uncommonly tall, but in all other respects, quite unlike his aggrieved companion. In appearance, he was very English, as fair as Hugh. The hair touching his tunic collar was a tawny yellow; it even looked clean.
Surprisingly, so did his clothes. In fact, he had a hard-edged elegance about him that was utterly at odds with his chosen profession. She could not help thinking of all the times she'd teased Amaury about his vanity, so inappropriate in a priest. It would seem that pirates, too, could be
*°ps. It should have reassured her that he was handsome and, judging orn his speech, educated, possibly even a man of her own class; it was n°t unheard-of for knights to turn to piracy. But it did not. To the
Contrary, she found this man even more frightening than the first one.
ever had she seen blue eyes so chilling, so devoid of warmth or pity.
My lady de Montfort? I believe you were asking for me," he said,

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making a mockery of the courteous rituals that structured the upper reaches of their society, but confirming her suspicions that he was indeed, born into her world. "I am Sir Thomas de . . . Well, no matter We tend to be careless of surnames on the high seas. My men know me as Thomas the Archdeacon. Mayhap you've heard of me?"
She shook her head. Had he truly once taken holy orders? How could a man turn from God's Word, embrace the Devil so wholeheart-
\ edly? Could it be a profane jest? And yet she knew the most infamous pirate in her grandfather's reign had been a one-time cleric, Eustace the
Monk.
"I think you ought to give me that dagger," he suggested, sounding polished and urbane and amused by her defiance. "You need have no fears for your safety or your honor. On that, you have my word."
And what was the word of a pirate worth? The words hovered on her lips. Her mother would have flung them out, scornful of consequence. Ellen bit them back. "What of my household? The priest... my chaplain, was he hurt?"
"I think he still lives. Your chaplain, is he? It had occurred to me that he just might be your brother."
"My brother? No, Amaury is in Rome."
Ellen met his eyes steadily, calmly, and rose slightly in his estimation.
"Well, a natural mistake, you'll agree," he said and smiled. "A pity, though.
You see, my men think it is bad luck to have a priest aboard. Conn," glancing back at the bearded giant, "that priest. . . throw him over the side."
"No!" Even as she screamed, Ellen knew she'd been outbluffed. But that was not a bluff she could ever have called. He grinned, and she saw that he'd been playing with her, cat to mouse, had known Amaury's identity all the while.
"Suppose we make a bargain," he said. "You give me that dagger and in turn, I'll let you go up on deck to tend to your brother."
He swaggered forward, as if deliberately daring her to strike, and her fingers tightened on the dagger's ivory handle. He had been quite right about her;
under Bran and Harry's tutelage, she'd not only become familiar with knives, she'd learned to throw one at close range with some accuracy. Now she had a sudden, savage urge to thrust the blade into the pulse at his throat.
Reversing the dagger, she handed it to him/ hilt first.
He was still laughing at her, eyes agleam with such sardonic amusement that she wondered if he'd somehow read her mind. "Thank you/ he said, and bowed mockingly. "Well, Lady Eleanor, shall we go?"
Sprawled in a far corner, Friar Anian had begun to stir, to murnbl6 groggily.
"See to him, Brother Teilo," Ellen said, and reached again tot