The Reckoning - 3 (26 page)

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ere Bretons, for Brittany bred the world's best sailors. They'd not been thrilled to learn that their ship had been engaged by a highborn lady; they knew from sour experience that no passengers were more demanding or difficult than the gentry.
Nor were they pleased that the trip would be such a long and rduous one, for the de Montforts dared not put in at an English port. They'd have to sail through the Channel, around the Cornish Peninsula, and up the Welsh coast to the small port of Pwllheli. It was true that they could then make a quick run over to Ireland, unload their cargo of honey, almonds, and wine for a goodly profit. But they could have made several Channel crossings in the time it would take them to convey this pampered English bride and her princeling priest brother to the Welsh lord at Pwllheli. And so it only confirmed all their qualms when they were trapped in Harfleur for a fortnight, awaiting favorable winds. This was not going to be a voyage they'd remember fondly, no, by God!
It had taken them almost five days to reach the western tip of Cornwall, for the weather was raw and blustery, and for hours on end the cog seemed to make no headway at all, bobbing and tossing in the heavy swells like a child's spinning top. Most of Ellen's Welsh escort were soon violently ill, for they were a mountain race, deaf to the siren songs of the sea. The Holy Cross crew usually took malicious pleasure in the comic queasiness of landlubber passengers. But upon discovering that the stricken Welshmen spoke a language closely allied to their own Breton, they quickly thawed toward these Celtic kinsmen of theirs, and magnanimously forswore any rude gibes about feeding the fish.
If the crew was surprised by their unexpected camaraderie with Ellen's
Welshmen, they were even more surprised by Ellen herself. The aloof, haughty, spoiled Princess turned out to be a blissfully happy young woman, and, as her excitement manifested itself in a cheerful indifference to hardship and a flattering, heartfelt curiosity about the Holy Cross and the men who'd chosen such a high-risk life, she soon had the crew vying with one another to answer her questions, to show off their sea-faring skills, to see her smile.
Amaury was amused that the sailors were so smitten by Ellen, but Ws amusement was not shared by the Welshman to whom Llewelyn nad entrusted his bride.
Morgan ap Madog was so concerned lest Ellen subjected to improper advances that he insisted upon dragging himself from his sickbed whenever Ellen left her cabin.
Amaury had long ago observed that his sister had a remarkable ent for evoking protective urges in the most unlikely of men. He
^asn't sure exactly how she did it, but he'd seen the results too often doubt her witchery. Amaury could look upon his sister, see what ers saw. He supposed that her delicate features, very fair skin, and

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slender, small-busted figure did convey a fragile image, conjuring up visions of Spanish lace and Venetian crystal, snowflakes and pasqueflowers. But Amaury knew what the others did not, that Ellen was much tougher, much more resilient than her would-be champions ever suspected.
He'd tried to enlighten the overly anxious Morgan, but the
Welshman was very young and very conscientious and not immune
| himself to Ellen's appeal. It was no surprise to Amaury now to see him clinging to the rail, resolutely ignoring the surging waves and his own surging stomach, bleary eyes fixed intently upon Ellen and Brian, the
Breton helmsman.
Brian was not as young as Morgan. Lean and weathered, he looked to be a man in his middle years, most of them spent at sea. He was the one indispensable member of the crew, for it was his navigational skills that would get the Holy
Cross into a safe harbor. Taking advantage of his privileged status as helmsman, he'd appointed himself Ellen's personal paladin. Unfazed by Morgan's baleful stare, he was gallantly escorting Ellen toward the ship's stern.
Whatever he meant to show her was apparently bolted to the deck near the tiller. As Ellen leaned over to take a closer look, Morgan squared his shoulders, prepared to abandon his death-grip on the rail.
Amaury grinned, thinking that he ought to commend the lad to Llewelyn; not many men would put duty above seasickness. But he was curious, too, as to what
Brian was about. He'd taken a liking to the cocky little Breton, impressed in spite of himself by the helmsman's wizardry.
If it was true that most men had five senses, Brian had a sixth, a sea sense.
If the wind felt moist, Brian knew at once that it was coming from the southwest, if it was cold, from the north. He tracked the flight of seabirds with a cat's hungry intensity, could tell when they were approaching an estuary by the changing flow and color of the water. He seemed to have memorized the entire coastline of Normandy and Brittany, a necessary skill for men who sailed from "view to view," but one that still struck his passengers as downright miraculous. To Amaury's amazement, Brian could even detect direction by the movement of the swells, and when he threw a sounding lead overboard, he was not only able to tell the depths of the ocean at that point, he could draw the most astonishing conclusions from the scooped-up contents.
Just the day before, he'd explained that those grains of fine, pink' speckled sand meant that the Breton port of Ushant lay cloaked in clouds well off their larboard side.
Amaury knew that the Welsh claimed the legendary King Arthur as their own.
After a few days at sea, though, he was ready to believ«

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that the great sorcerer, Merlin, must have been Breton-born, like Brian.
"Amaury, come and look!" Ellen whirled at sound of her brother's footsteps.
"This is the most wondrous device!"
Amaury dutifully looked as directed into the pail of water, but all he saw was what appeared to be a floating sliver of cork, skewered by a needle. "Well?"
"Watch," Ellen said, and with a flick of her finger, sent the cork spinning.
"There, do you see? The needle always points in the same direction. Brian says that if he rubs the needle against a lodestone, the needle will ever after seek out the polestar."
By now, Amaury was fascinated, too. "Yes, I've heard of such sailing needles whilst I lived in Padua. They've been known for years, but few ships make use of them. They truly do point to the north, Brian?"
"Indeed, my lord. Many helmsmen fear to use them, lest men think they practice the Black Arts. But our master and I care naught for wagging tongues, for the fear of fools," Brian said scornfully. "With yon sailing needle, we can find our way even in fog. By my lights, that is a godsend, not the Devil's work!"
"I would think that" Whatever Amaury meant to say was lost, for at that moment, the deck seemed to fall away from them. Ellen gasped and grabbed for
Amaury, who caught the windlass for support. But Brian merely braced himself, rolled on the balls of his feet, and rode the swell out.
"When she pitches like that, your heart ends up in your throat and your stomach in your feet," he said, sounding almost apologetic, as if he were somehow responsible for the vagaries of the winter weather. "But it is worth a bit of queasiness to keep the God-cursed pirates in port. They are not as likely to leave their lairs when the seas are this rough." He wanted very much to reassure Ellen, but being honest to a compulsive degree, he felt obligated to add, "Of course weather like this does please the wreckers right well."
Ellen's smile was quizzical. "I've heard that when a ship goes aground in
Cornish waters, the local people can strip it bare in just the blink of an eye. But why call them 'wreckers'? That makes it sound so deliberate, as if they did more than take advantage of a ship's misfortune."
"They do, my lady. They've been known to walk a mule along the teach at night with a lantern tied to its saddle. Many a ship has mistaken that bobbing light for the lighthouse, followed it onto the rocks." Ellen paled and made the sign of the cross. "How truly wicked," said, and Brian nodded grimly, for he hated no men on earth as Uc» as he did those who'd lure a ship to its doom.
More wicked than you know, my lady. By the law of the sea, a

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and anticipation had given her a special sparkle. It amused him to discover that the folklore was true, that brides truly were radiant. But he was not so pleased to have his suspicions confirmed. Ellen's polished, poised shell was just that, a shell. She was at heart still a romantic, still his little sister who believed in happy endings, that good must prevail over evil, over Edward.
He could wishfor her sakethat it was otherwise. Yet her innocence might serve her well in Wales. If Ellen was £ already so sure that Llewelyn ap Gruffydd would be to her liking, he 'thought it unlikely that she'd be disappointed;
people usually found what they were looking for, harvested what they sowed. Or so he hoped; Jesu, how he hoped!
"Amaury, look!" Ellen pointed, and as the ship crested a wave, he saw it, too, several birds wheeling toward the horizon.
Brian had turned as she cried out. A quick glance was enough for him to identify the birds as herring gulls. "They were heading for the Isles of
Scilly," he said matter-of-factly, as if recognition of flying, feathered specks was too commonplace to warrant comment. "The Isles lay to the west of us, but we'll not be putting in there." He had returned to the tiller, gave
Ellen a jaunty grin. "I do not like the company the islanders keep. They've got more pirates lurking in their coves than we've got rats down in the hold!"
"That man is a marvel," Ellen murmured to Amaury. "Does nothing scare him?"
She sighed when the birds vanished from sight; it had been comforting to watch them skim the waves, winged proof that land was just over the horizon. It made her feel less lonely somehow.
When she turned back to Amaury, her mood had changed. "Do you believe that gratitude begets love?" she asked, very seriously now. "If it is so, then I
shall cherish Llewelyn ap Gruffydd till the day I die. I do owe him so much, Amaury. He gave Mama what we could not, a peaceful death. She was like a soldier who'd not abandon her post, holding on to life for my sake. I knew how much she feared for my future; I just did not know how to ease her mind. But
Llewelyn did that for her, let her die without regrets, in God's Grace. I do not know how I can ever repay so great a gift, but I mean to try."
Smiling, she slipped her arm through his. "I only wish I could have convinced you that there was no need to accompany me. I could not have a more devoted bodyguard than Morgan, bless his seasick soul. As much as I enjoy your wicked tongue, Amaury, I'd rather you were not within a hundred miles of the English coast. And you'll be facing another long sea voyage back to France, still in the dead of winter. B any evil should ever befall you"
"I'd come back to haunt you, never fear," he said, making Ell#| laugh in spite of herself. As they talked, they'd moved along the rau

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toward the ship's bow, and as the prow cleaved through the waves, the spray it flung up was spangled by the sun, reflected shimmering arcs of iridescent color. When Amaury pointed this out to Ellen, she was delighted, exclaiming that they were riding a rainbow to Wales, and they both laughed, for rainbows were among the most auspicious omens.
After two days of fog and rain, it was good to see the sun again. It thawed the icy air, brightened the leaden sea to a more cheerful shade of blue, and raised all their spirits. Some of the Welshmen ventured out onto the deck, and
Hugh started a dice game with Alain, the boatswain.
Hugh was the only one of the de Montfort party who had yet to suffer from seasickness. He endured the rolling, pitching waves with admirable aplomb, and shrugged off compliments about his fortitude by explaining that crossing the
Channel was not as scary as crossing the Alps. Amaury was not surprised that by the second day out, the crew was treating Hugh as one of their own, for the affable young Englishman had an enviable knack for turning strangers into friends. In this Christmas season, he was even more obliging and good-humored than usual, for Ellen had arranged for him to be knighted before they left
France, and he was still flying high. Like Ellen, he was drunk on dreams.
Knighthood forv penniless orphan, Camelot for a dead rebel's daughter. Amaury smiled to himself at sound of Hugh's loud, ringing laugh. It was almost enoughalmostfor him to start believing in happy-everafter endings himself.
The wind was picking up again. As the sails began to billow, the cog heeled suddenly to the portside, hung there for a sickening stretch of eternity before finally righting itself. Even the sailors looked shaken, and two of the
Welshmen and one of Amaury's knights dived for the rail.
"Good God," Ellen said faintly. "Will it discomfit you if I kiss the ground once we reach Pwllheli?"
"You say that now, but I'd wager you kiss Llewelyn first," Amaury said, and
Ellen's smile came back.
"I ought to see how Juliana is faring. She had a dreadful night."
That, Amaury didn't doubt. Juliana's suffering had begun as soon as the command had been given to "unfurl the sails." So severe was tar nausea that she'd eaten virtually nothing for days, and could not even keep down the syrup of ginger that Ellen tried to spoon into her m°uth. She rarely left her bed, and they all were surprised now by her udden appearance in the doorway of
Ellen's cabin. She paused, blinking m tr>e glare of sun, and Morgan hastened over to offer his arm.
So did one of Amaury's companions, Sir William Dulay. He'd been solicitous of
Juliana that Ellen suspected he was motivated by more

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than knightly courtesy. If he did have courtship in mind, it was a campaign most likely doomed to failure. Ellen had long ago realized a sad truth, that no man could compete with a ghost. She'd loved her brother Bran dearly, but she'd not deified him in death as Juliana had done. She could only hope that
Juliana, too, would find a new life in Wales. Slipping her arm through
Amaury's again, she started cautiously toward t the aft-castle cabin.
tf Hugh had joined Juliana by the time Ellen and Amaury made their way down the foam-slick deck. Upon hearing Hugh announce that Alain had been telling him the most amazing stories, Ellen frowned. The last time that Alain had been spinning yarns, he'd terrified them all with lurid accounts of sea serpents and whirlpools vast enough to engulf ships and multi-armed remora monsters that attached themselves to a ship's hull, held it motionless in the water until the crew and passengers perished of famine and thirst.
"Hugh," Ellen said warningly, trying to catch his eye. She prided herself upon being less gullible than most people. She did not believe in fire-breathing, flying dragons. She did believe that the earth was round, just as scholars claimed. She understood that the child's fear of the dark was twin to the man's fear of demons. But as she gazed out upon that endless expanse of blue-grey ocean, rational thought was submerged in purely visceral dread. God alone knew what hid in those murky, dark depths.
She needn't have worried, though. Hugh had no horror stories to relate, was interested only in sharing his new-found knowledge of ships. He was sure they knew that King Edward's royal galleys were more dependent upon sails than oars. But Alain said the Mediterranean galleys still relied mainly upon oarsmen for power. The Italian city-states of Genoa and Venice manned fleets with infidel slaves and convicted felons.
"Alain says that the oarsmen are flogged whenever the galley needs a burst of speed. And they are chained to their oarlocks, go down with the ship if it sinks. They even have to bite upon wooden gags when a battle begins, so that if they are wounded, they will not be able to cry out!" Hugh was constantly being surprised by man's inhumanity to his fellow men. But even Amaury found himself agreeing with Hugh's indignant conclusion, that a galley slave need not fear Hell, for he was already there.
Catching sight of Juliana, Brian yielded the tiller to another crewman, came over to tell her how glad he was to see her up and abou The sickness truly was worse for those who stayed penned up in the cabins, he insisted. Juliana could only nod weakly, unconvinced.
A shout from the rigging drew all eyes. Diego, the Spanish lookou <