The drink came. Tarran poured the man a big measure of it, but his hands were trembling as he poured and he struggled not to show it. “Foolish, indeed,” he said, his mind whirling to his liege, his friends, possibly all now dead. “I was going to go but I decided my life was worth more. Pity the bastards who did not make the same choice.”
The red-nosed man and his bald friend drank deeply. “Pity is the word,” the red-nosed man said sincerely, smacking his lips. “For those men are now dead, drowned by this terrible storm. There were pieces of ships washing up all along the sand, ships that had crashed into the rocks off the shore that cannot be seen. It tore them to shreds.”
“And everyone is dead?”
The red-nosed man shrugged. “I did not see anyone living who had come from the sea, but there could be a few,” he said. “I saw horses being led away, but they are strong and can swim in rough seas. And if you are thinking of going to Le Touquet and scavenging, the locals are very possessive of what comes up on their beach. They may not want an outsider poking around.”
He was pointing at Tarran, who simply nodded. “I was heading in that direction, anyway, on my way to Brest,” he lied. “I have an uncle there. Mayhap I will see what the fuss is about at Le Touquet, but I will not scavenge. You did not see any standards or sails that might tell you who the fleet belonged to?”
The red-nosed man took another healthy swig of wine. “Nay,” he said, drawing out the word almost dismissively. “But I did see a few broken shields. There was so much wood on the shore and the rain was pounding, making it difficult to see. The shields were red on the top with yellow on the bottom, shaped like a point.”
He was making the shape of the letter “V”. Red over yellow. Tarran stared at him a moment as the words sank in.
He knew that standard.
Somerset.
Oh, my dear God, he thought as horror swept him. It took him a moment to catch his breath.
“Well,” he said, pouring the man more wine. “As I said, pity those men. It must be a terrible thing to drown at sea. I hope they receive a proper burial.”
The red-nosed man took his full cup and downed about half of it. “God bless those poor bastards,” he said. “The scavengers got to them first, but more will be washing up for days.”
Tarran was feeling dazed with grief, but the man’s words got to him. “They are men,” he said, his jaw ticking faintly. “They have families. Mothers, fathers, wives… people who will miss them. ’Tis a pity the scavengers cannot think of that before they strip them of their dignity.”
“True,” the red-nosed man said. “Very true. But if they did not scavenge, the valuables would be claimed by the sea. And the sea cannot use things that only man puts a value on.”
Tarran wasn’t going to argue with him, but it made him sick to think of his friends and liege being picked over by greedy peasants, reducing men who should be buried with honor to mere corpses in the sand. He stood there a moment, reeling, as the tavernkeeper emerged from the kitchen with hot food. It was a welcome distraction and Tarran bid farewell to his new friends, taking the food up to the rented room above.
As he came up the stairs, he caught sight of Simon and Channing, sitting in the darkness, watching him approach, and he felt a lump in his throat. Those two could have easily been on the ship. So many of his friends were, men he’d lived and worked with for years. Teague, Sheen, William, Gilbert, Hallam…
Gone before they ever really got started.
God help him.
He had no idea what he was going to tell Tresta.
“She did not try to escape, my lord,” Channing said.
Broken from his grief-laden thoughts, Tarran cleared his throat softly, trying desperately to appear normal.
“Excellent,” he said. “I half-expected to see her come bolting down the stairs any moment in her quest to get to the front door.”
Channing grinned. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “Not a word from her. Mayhap she is sleeping now.”
Tarran didn’t think so, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. He shrugged, going to the door and carefully opening it. He wasn’t sure why he was so cautious, perhaps wondering if she was going to ambush him as soon as he opened it, but he immediately saw her sitting next to the hearth, looking up at him when he entered.
The sight of her was like a punch to the gut.
He wasn’t sure he could look at her and not tell her what he’d heard. He’d only just managed to calm the woman and news like that would have her howling again. There would be no way he could keep her grounded because she would be mad with grief. Maybe she deserved at least one peaceful, restful night before he told her the truth and she was thrown into turmoil for the rest of her life.
As he looked at her, it occurred to him that staying behind with her had probably saved his life.
“The storm seems to be easing a little,” she said, sounding exhausted. “I have been thinking… do you think it might be possible to have a bath? Teague bought me all of those lovely things before he left, including soap, and I do feel rather filthy. I could use a wash.”
The woman’s behavior was more composed than it had been in days. She seemed much more like herself and Tarran was seized with guilt. She was calm because she didn’t know what he knew. She was calm because he’d given her hope that Teague and the others had escaped the storm and were well on their way.
She was calm because she didn’t know that her husband’s body might be laying on a beach off to the southwest.
“I am sure it will be no trouble,” he said, setting the food down on the small, leaning table. “Do you wish for it tonight or tomorrow morning?”
“Tonight, if I may.”
He went back to the door and summoned Simon, sending the lad downstairs to ask the tavernkeeper for a bath for the lady. Distracted, and with a heavy heart, Tarran went back into the chamber and shut the door.
“Simon will summon one for you,” he said, unable to look at her. “Is there anything else you wish?”
Tresta had moved over to the table and was buttering a hunk of bread with a big, wooden knife. “I do not believe so,” she said, but her buttering slowed. “But I was wondering if it would be possible to send a missive to Teague. Nothing of importance, but simply word on how his sons are faring, and how I am, and how we are all getting along while he is away. I… I suppose he will want to know that I returned to Snow Hill peacefully. Do you think such a missive would reach him?”
Tarran stared at her for a moment, the news he’d just heard on the tip of his tongue, but he fought it. He simply couldn’t tell her. Not now. But tomorrow, he would have to.
For tonight, he would play along.
“I do not see why it would not reach him, but it would take a very long time,” he said. “It will take months to reach The Levant.”
“I am not concerned with that so long as it reaches him.”
“I can only do my best to try.”
Satisfied with his answer, she resumed buttering her bread. “I was wondering something else,” she said. “Why did they not take the land route? I never had the chance to ask Teague. Why go on ships?”
The conversation was weighing heavily on him. The first answer that popped into his mind was the obvious one – if they’d taken the land route, they would probably all still be alive right now. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with her and his reluctance turned into frustration.
“Because there are armies gathering at Vézelay,” he said, sounding irritated. “They intend to sail to The Levant in a show of force. Travel by ship is faster. If they take the land route, it will take quite a bit longer.”
She eyed him a moment, noting his annoyance. She was, if nothing else, an astute woman. “And you wanted to go.”
“Of course I did. I wanted to go more than any of them.”
She lowered her gaze, looking at her food as she pondered his answer. She’d already known, however. He’d simply confirmed it and
she could hear the reality of his broken dreams in his tone.
“Then I am sorry,” she said, though it was difficult since she knew it was her behavior that had caused him to remain behind. “I know it sounds foolish to say that now, but I am sorry you were forced to stay with me. I do not know why my husband chose you to stay with me. Wait… that is not entirely true. I suppose I do know. I do know that my brother would not have stood strongly against me, and Sheen would have drained our coffers, and Gilbert and William might not have been able to adequately manage. They are followers, not leaders. But you… you have the same qualities that Teague has. He has said so before.”
He was looking at the flames in the hearth, feeling particularly emotional at the moment. That emotion had fractured his usual composure, especially where Tresta was concerned.
“You need not mention it again,” he said. “It is done.”
“It is. I suppose we must make the best of it.”
Best of it for whom? he thought. After a moment, he shook his head in resignation.
“We must, indeed,” he said. “But you realize you have prevented me from answering the call of our king. Because of your fits and stubborn nature, I have borne the brunt of every bad behavior you exhibited because you would not let your husband leave and do his duty. Let us be perfectly clear on this – I am not here by choice. I was forced. Because of you, I was forced. Mayhap the situation will settle between us at some point and we can coexist in peace, but it is going to take some time. As you told me you did not forgive me for not allowing you to follow your husband, know that I hold the same grudge because I was forced to stay behind because of you.”
It was a remarkably honest statement and one Tresta wasn’t surprised to hear. It was difficult not to flare, however, because she seemed to do that quite easily with him. However, nothing he said was untrue. She had denied him his glory in The Levant. Instead, he’d become a nursemaid to his liege’s wife. It was not only humiliating, but disappointing. True or not, however, she tried not to be hurt by it.
“I will not argue the point with you,” she said after a moment. “But let me remind you that you are sworn to my husband. Your duty is what he says it is. I did not ask that you be left behind. He made that choice.”
“He would not have had to make it if you had shown the slightest bit of honor and remained at Snow Hill where you were supposed to.”
Her cheeks flushed at the rebuke. “I do not have to explain my actions to you,” she said, flaring. “You are not married. You do not understand such devotion. Mayhap you never will.”
It was a dig at him and he knew it, but he didn’t rise to it. He’d already been emotional enough about the situation and if anything more was said between them, he might very well tell her what he’d heard about the fleet simply out of anger. That wasn’t the way he wanted to tell her and it was certainly beneath him to weaponize the information because he was frustrated.
Therefore, he didn’t answer at all.
With his stomach in knots, he sent Channing to bring him food and drink. He found that he needed the drink more than the food, but he had to eat something. As Channing disappeared down the stairs, Simon was coming up with a small army of servants following him, all of them bringing bathing implements.
Two male servants had a large, dented copper pot between them that had bits of chaff at the bottom of it because they used it to feed the animals. Behind them came two servants carrying buckets of hot water. As soon as they set the copper pot down on the floor in front of the hearth, the women began pouring in the steaming water.
Tarran stood back, observing the activity and making sure no one tried to abscond with the lady’s possessions that were shoved up against the wall. His own saddlebags were also against the wall, including his magnificent broadsword that was leaning in the corner. His gaze kept drifting to that broadsword, thinking that he was thankful some scavenger hadn’t picked it up on the rocky shore.
He couldn’t seem to get that out of his mind.
When the copper tub was about half-full, the servants fled the chamber, leaving the lady to her bath. Channing had returned with his food and Tarran took it from the young boy as he quit the chamber and left Tresta to bathe alone. As he sat on the landing, his back against the wall as he drained the alcohol before he even started on the boiled beef, all he could think about was the fact that this was the last night Lady Tresta would enjoy any peace of mind. The more he drank, the more he grieved the lives lost.
Tomorrow, their lives would change forever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
For the first time in a week, the morning dawned clear. Puffy white clouds were scattered by the breeze across the sky, but the sun was bright over the soaked land.
Having slept for the first time in six nights in a bed of his own and not on the floor of the lady’s chamber, one eye open in case she should run, Tarran was up at dawn with an aching head. Simon and Channing were awake, eating a morning meal down in the common room with the men-at-arms that had been left behind, and Tarran went about securing return transport for the voyage back across the channel for the lady and his men.
But he wasn’t going to go with them.
He had already decided that he was going to Le Touquet.
With the storm gone, the cogs that had been beaten up by the high surf were being tended to as he headed to the inlet of Calais where the ships were lined up. Men were moving about, repairing hulls, fixing what the storm had damaged. He located the shore master, the man who organized the ships and crews and kept track of the tolls from the comings and goings, and the man was able to help him find a cog that was heading back to England later that day. There was room for thirteen passengers, so Tarran paid the ship’s captain a partial fare and made arrangements to have the baggage brought over. When that was finished, he headed back to the tavern.
The town itself was terribly waterlogged and the smell of a water-soaked world was heavy in his nostrils. The streets had been torn up by the gale and men were out on this morning, repairing the damage with shovels and shoring up walls. People were trying to get back to a sense of normalcy after such an event, but as Tarran looked around him, he wondered if the world would ever be the same again. The same storm that had torn up the town had killed men. Men he knew. He thought this morning might see him with a more resigned attitude towards what had happened, but that wasn’t the case.
He felt just as bad as he had last night.
When he finally reached the tavern, there were more people in the common room now, breaking their fast, and Tarran instructed the men-at-arms and the squires to prepare to leave for the ship. Simon was tasked with preparing the horses while Channing was given the duty of making sure all of their possessions made it on board. With the day well under way, Tarran headed up to the rented room overlooking the sea.
Just as he reached the top of the stairs, a serving wench departed Tresta’s chamber and quickly made her way down the steps. Tarran went to the chamber door, a warped thing that wouldn’t close all the way, and rapped softly.
“My lady?”
“Come in.”
He pushed the door open to see Tresta sitting at the small, leaning table with a bowl of something steaming in front of her. She glanced up when he entered the chamber.
“Where did you go so early?” she asked.
“To find transport back to England, my lady,” he said. “Our ship departs in a few hours.”
She nodded returning her attention to her food. “I will be ready,” she said. “Will you make sure Channing takes my baggage?”
“I have already told him to, my lady.”
She nodded, spooning what looked like gruel into her mouth. Tarran watched her for a moment, thinking she looked rather lovely this morning. She had cleaned up and brushed her hair, and looked much more like the elegant woman he knew and not a desperate wife. She was dressed in a dark red traveling dress with a matching cloak, a color that set off the copper in her hair. She was quite a beautifu
l woman. That had never been in question. But the longer he looked at her, the more he realized that he had to tell her now what he’d heard. The longer he delayed, the more difficult it would be, and it was something she needed to know. All of that business he had that morning, booking passage and dealing with the men, had only been a stalling tactic.
He hadn’t wanted to face her.
Quietly, he shut the door.
“My lady, I heard something last night that you must be made aware of,” he said, his tone low. “It is something of interest to us both.”
She looked up from her food. “Oh?” she said. “What did you hear?”
There was no easy way to tell her, but he tried to be gentle. She may have been a frustrating, mulish woman, but he didn’t want to hurt her more than he could help it. He wasn’t cruel by nature. Even after all of their nasty words and harsh feelings, still, he wanted to be kind. He pulled up a chair and sat down at her table.
“Before I tell you, you must understand that none of this is proven,” he said. “It is only rumor, so you must remember that. It is quite possible that it is not even true.”
She cocked her head curiously. “What is it?”
He took a deep breath for courage. “Last evening, I heard two men speaking of scavengers along a beach not far from here,” he said. “At first, I didn’t pay any attention, but then they started to speak about the foundering of a fleet of ships off the coast. The storm apparently battered the ships and drove them into the rocks, and the scavengers were villagers as they collected debris from the shore that was washed up.”
Tresta stopped chewing, looking at him with wide eyes. “A fleet?” she repeated. “Where did this happen?”
“About a day’s ride from here, to the southwest,” he said. “A village known as Le Touquet. We know the storm was terrible and we know there are other fleets departing for The Levant, but I questioned the men as much as I was able. I wanted to discover what they knew and they told me they believed it to be an English fleet.”
Tresta set her spoon down, staring at him. He could see that her breathing was growing more rapid and uneven. “An English fleet,” she said as if to clarify what she’d heard. “Teague’s fleet?”
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