The Marsh King's Daughter (20 page)
His hand left her breasts and groped at the hem of her chemise, tugging it free of her legs, bunching the fabric above her thighs to her waist. Gerbert's touch wandered greedily over her body and he began to puff and gasp as if he had just run a mile in lead boots.
'Take it off, sweeting, there's a good lass,' he panted, yanking at the chemise.
When Miriel did not move, he sat her up like a child's rag moppet and pulled the garment over her head himself. Then he grabbed a pillow, placed it beneath her hips and climbed upon her naked body.
'Sweet,' he muttered, sucking at her breasts, rubbing himself upon her. 'Very sweet, ah Jesu, ah Jesu!'
A hard, hot swelling nudged at the juncture of her thighs. Gerbert probed at her pubic triangle, snagging the hairs, making her arch with pain. 'Open your legs for me, lass, let me in.'
It was the last thing Miriel wanted to do, but to save herself from the scrabbling of his fingers, the sharpness of a rough fingernail, she parted her thighs.
'That's it, that's it!' he panted and, cupping her buttocks, raised her to meet the thick rod of his erection. 'It'll hurt only but a moment.'
He stabbed and jabbed at her softness while Miriel clenched her teeth and fought not to scream.
Suddenly Gerbert stiffened above her and his breathing stopped. Then he let out a strangled sob and his hips jerked in spasm. Warm wetness spattered Miriel's belly and Gerbert collapsed on top of her.
Thoroughly frightened and revolted, Miriel fought her way out from beneath his corpulent bulk. The sound of his harsh breathing echoed inside her skull.
'Sorry,' Gerbert gasped without opening his eyes or turning his head. 'Spent myself too soon. Too eager, haven't had a woman in five years. Be better next time, I promise.'
Miriel struggled off the bed and grabbed the towel that Eva had thoughtfully left beside a ewer of water. Almost retching with disgust, she wiped her belly and thighs and changed her chemise. Unable to bear the thought of returning to lie with Gerbert, she swung her cloak around her shoulders and sat in the chair near the empty brazier, tucking her knees up to her chin in a defensive gesture. Then she buried her face against the wool of her cloak and burst into tears.
Oblivious to the small sounds she made, Gerbert turned on his back and began to snore. Miriel wondered bleakly why she was muffling her distress. She wanted him to hear her pain. She wanted him to rise and put his arm around her shoulders in paternal benevolence and comfort her. But Gerbert was nine fathoms deep in a stupor of wine and sated lust. In her heart she knew that even if she wailed like a banshee she would go unheeded.
At last the storm of tears ran its course. Miriel blew her nose, dried her eyes, and tried to think calmly about the situation. Vague though she was about the details of copulation, she knew that she was still a virgin, that Gerbert had not succeeded in penetrating her body. The discharge on her belly contained his seed, and if it had gone inside her, it might have taken root in her womb and grown into a child. But it hadn't and, unpleasant though the experience had been, she had learned a great deal from it. Gerbert said that it would be better next time. She was certain that it wouldn't, but he would expect her to lie with him as her marital duty. She could not bear the thought of him invading her, of being made dependent on him by a burgeoning belly, of expending her efforts and energy on a child when she wanted to give her all to her weaving business.
Tonight, however, all unwittingly, Gerbert had shown her a way to maintain the balance. She chewed her fingernail thoughtfully.
Education was what she needed, and quickly.
'You can't have her, my lord.' Nicholas glared furiously at Hubert de Burgh, Royal Justiciar, Earl of Kent and Governor of Dover Castle. 'I'm due at Boston in two days' time.'
Behind the two men, the great stone keep towered over the harbour. Scarred but undefeated by months of siege during the war with King Louis of
'It is my right,' answered Hubert de Burgh implacably but without raising his voice. He had the red face and the bulk of a man who liked his food but he was also as active as a mastiff. 'I may commandeer any vessel in this port providing I pay you and your men a standard wage for each day of service, and compensation should your cog be damaged. But deny me your vessel and you will be guilty of treason.'
'Treason!' Nicholas choked on the word. It was his good fortune, for it rendered him speechless, whatever his congested expression might say. He had sailed into Dover to offload his cargo of wine and mend a torn sail. Both had been accomplished, but instead of setting out for Boston on the morrow, Hubert de Burgh was demanding he yield up the Pandora and her crew to fight French pirates in the Channel.
De Burgh looked at Nicholas and stroked his beard. He had been one of John's most senior and powerful barons. Now, as one of the lords entrusted to administer the realm during young Henry's minority, that power had increased five fold. Earlier in his career he had been the custodian of the Donjon of Falaise where Prince Arthur had been held in captivity before his transferral to Rouen. There were rumours that de Burgh had had a hand in Arthur's disappearance, rumours that de Burgh, tough and honest, had grimly denied.
'Nicholas de Caen,' he murmured. The great seal ring of his office flashed as he thumbed his chin. 'I seem to remember seeing a despatch somewhere about a dangerous rebel of that name.'
Nicholas flushed. The soldiers of de Burgh's escort tightened rank a little. Mail flexed and threatened. Nicholas drew a deep, steadying breath. 'Like many, my grudge was against King John. I bear his son no ill-will, nor do I give a bean for the claims of Louis of France to this country. I am a merchant now, and I have a living to make.'
'Which you will not do while the French control the Narrow Sea, and Eustace the Monk raids from the ports of the Channel Islands.'
'There are other seas, other ports,' Nicholas said, but knew that the battle had been lost from the beginning. Hubert de Burgh would take the Pandora because he needed her and there was nothing he could do.
De Burgh had never been in any doubt of the outcome. 'Make her ready,' he said brusquely. 'Whether you care a bean for Louis or not, the word is that his wife is sending him seventy ships laden with supplies. If he receives them, then his threat to our young King becomes potent again. If we can stop him in the water, then it is likely he will give up the fight and go home.' He laid a meaty paw on Nicholas's shoulder. 'You will not go unrewarded, I promise. You'll find valuable contracts put your way by grateful men like myself.'
Fortunately the hand lifted before Nicholas could cause insult by shrugging it off, but his expression showed his distaste.
De Burgh's features tightened with controlled irritation. 'There is a meeting for all captains in the great hall yonder an hour from now. Be there.' He swung on his heel, his spur scraping the stone.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Nicholas watched the Justiciar walk away. 'You whoreson,' he said through his teeth with quiet venom. Turning to regard the Pandora, he half contemplated casting off and sailing for Boston on the instant. The knowledge that that was all it would take to turn pirate stayed his hand.
'Sir?' said Martin Wudecoc, his first mate, who had heard most of the conversation. He was a tall man, whipcord-lean with lugubrious features and an air of quiet confidence.
'You heard his lordship; we're to prepare her for war.' Nicholas glanced sidelong at the sailor. 'If you want to abandon ship, go now and as fast as you can. If they don't have enough willing crewmen, they'll press whoever they can find into service by means of club and sword.'
Martin sucked his teeth and contemplated. 'Seventy ships, Lord Hubert said.'
'Carrying supplies to King Louis, although there are bound to be soldiers aboard, and such a large convoy is sure to have an escort of fighting ships.' As he spoke, Nicholas felt a treacherous glimmer of interest, a sense of challenge welling within him. He wondered how the Pandora would perform in a battle. Her height in the water and the wooden lookout 'castles' built fore and aft would give her a tremendous advantage over the sleeker but lower-slung nefs.
Martin looked thoughtful. 'What about Eustace the Monk?'
'What about him?' The second mention of the name in five minutes caused Nicholas's stomach to leap. Eustace the Monk was a notorious pirate with respect for neither God nor man, but a tremendous talent for reading the seas. At one time he had served King John and reaped great rewards. Following an acrimonious quarrel with his erstwhile employer he had changed sides. Now he worked for Louis and terrorised all shipping in the waters of the Narrow
Sea - apart from the French.
As a child, Nicholas had encountered Eustace once or twice, fortunately on dry land where he posed less of a threat. His father had been on nodding terms with the pirate, but tried to avoid him. 'A man who has already sold his soul will not balk at removing anyone else's,' he told Nicholas grimly. 'Eustace is the kind to smile in your face whilst plunging a knife in your back.'
'Will he be with the French?' There was a note of apprehension in Martin's voice. Such was Eustace's reputation that ordinary sailors had imbued him with demonic powers rather than the good fortune and expert seamanship that were the truth.
'God knows. He changes sides more often than a whore lifts her skirts for business.' Nicholas shrugged at his anxious mate. 'Which would you rather? Put to sea, or face a prison cell and the chance that you might be hanged?'
Martin scowled. 'Not much of a choice, is it?'
'No,' said Nicholas. 'It isn't, but it is all we have.'
By the following dawn, the Pandora had been laden with weapons. The floorboards of her fore and aft castles were edged with stones of varying sizes, some that would fit neatly into a hand-held sling, others which would have to be heaved two-handed. Large clay containers of pulverised lime were stored ready in the dry hold together with sheaf upon sheaf of arrows for the archers who were pouring steadily on board. Spears and grapnels were added to the arsenal, and a pile of old-fashioned round shields and smaller bucklers.
Nicholas looked at his merchant cog, now bristling with a host of weapons and warriors, and hid his misgivings behind a stony countenance. Martin crossed himself, a mingling of pride and unease on his face. 'God be with us,' he said, 'because the Devil is likely with the French.'
Nicholas grunted but said nothing. At the captains' meeting yester eve, Hubert de Burgh had told them he had intelligence that Eustace the Monk was leading the French force. Such was the man's reputation that several of the captains had refused to put to sea until de Burgh had offered to cut off their heads and declare their vessels forfeit to the crown. 'You think it dreadful to face Eustace the Monk!' he roared, the veins bulging in his neck like blue worms. 'How much more dreadful will you think Louis of
Through sheer force of character and the loudest voice, Hubert de Burgh had won, but it had been a close-run thing.
'We have a task to perform,' Nicholas said to his mate, 'one that I relish no better than you, but if we are to emerge unscathed, we have to put our hearts into the effort. Show a yellow tail to "the Devil" and like as not he will bite it off.' He slapped Wudecoc's bony shoulder. 'If we do well and de Burgh rewards us as promised, I will buy another ship and she will need a good captain. Think on that.'
Martin cleared his throat. 'You need not resort to bribery with me, sir. I'll stand by my duty.'
'It wasn't a bribe and I know you will.'
The wind was blowing southerly as they unreefed the single huge sail and tacked out the safety of Dover harbour. The water was blue and choppy under the keel and a deeper reflection of the breezy sky. Hubert de Burgh's fleet emerged on to the open sea like a herd of frisky horses, banners snapping from masts and castles. There were sixteen large ships, a mixture of cogs and nefs, all armed to the top strake, and twenty smaller vessels, well manned but of less calibre. Thirty-six, facing a convoy of seventy supply ships and ten escorting sea-wolves, armed to ram and destroy any who dared challenge them or the carriers.
