‘Why?’
Marten looked taken aback at Jack’s urgency. ‘Unbelievably, his mother is the pirate known as Bleiz Mor. She came begging to us after her husband died and asked us to help her fight against the French in her husband’s name. Personally, I would have told the unwomanly upstart to marry again and support her husband as a good woman would, but apparently she was very persuasive. Can you believe that a woman could command a ship and crew?’
Jack grimaced, which Marten took to be agreement at how unlikely such a thing could be. If Marten had met Blanche he would never doubt her ability, courage or determination.
‘I believe the right woman could do anything she sets her mind to,’ he said.
His conscience shamed him. By scorning Blanche, Jack had belittled everything she had worked for. Now, defending her actions to Marten, he realised what a great thing she had managed to accomplish. Her face flashed through Jack’s mind, image overtaking image of her laughing, then furious, then her head thrown back in ecstasy, before finally settling on the awful twist of her lips as Jack had walked away from her for the final time.
‘But that doesn’t explain what you said,’ Jack prompted.
‘The woman proved to be unexpectedly competent,’ Marten said. ‘Unfortunately, we received news only yesterday that the local Prévôt grew tired of her activities and she has been relieved of her authority.’
Jack bunched his fists at his sides. Erwan de Larrion would not have acted unprompted and he had a suspicion as to who the real culprit was. ‘She is now under house arrest awaiting trial and may well be executed.’
Jack’s cup slipped from his hand. He righted it to give himself time to rein in the stab of dread that caused his heart to miss a beat. ‘Trial? For acting on orders?’
‘For attempted murder.’ Marten sucked his teeth. He refilled his cup and carried on blithely speaking, unaware of how his words were in the process of destroying Jack.
‘Bloodthirsty woman attacked her own Captain, it seems. He lives, but it will be a while before he can sail. It is a blow to our cause, especially at a time when we need all the ships we can muster.’
Jack could barely concentrate on the words for the feeling of utter horror that was enfolding him. Blanche in custody awaiting death. He didn’t blame her for attacking Ronec; he’d have done the same, and if the man walked through the door he’d have felt Jack’s boot across his windpipe, slowly crushing the life from his worthless carcass, but he despaired at how rash she had been.
Marten sighed and looked at Fransez as he threw the ball for the dog and chased after it out of the yard. Jack felt sick seeing the boy’s carefree manner. He ground his teeth to stop himself crying out in despair, wishing he could step across the miles that divided him from Blanche and be at her side.
‘The boy will stay here and learn to be English. When he returns to his own country he’ll be loyal to us. He’s too young yet to take his mother’s place, unfortunately.’
‘Does the boy know of the events?’
Marten frowned. ‘We aren’t cruel. We’ve taken pains to ensure he doesn’t hear of it. In any case, her sentence might not be death. If she can plead well and soften the heart of those damned French she might escape with her life and end her days under guard in a convent.’
This was not a comfort to Jack. Blanche would loathe being caged and confined. She might even prefer a swift death. It was unthinkable to him, however.
‘Will you send men to defend her?’
Marten pursed his lips. ‘Unfortunately, we have no one to spare.’
‘I’ll go.’
The words left Jack’s lips almost before Marten had finished speaking. As he said them he knew the decision had been inevitable as soon as he had heard the news. He could not leave Blanche to face her ordeal alone.
‘I know the area.’ He pressed his hands to his eyes and swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘I know the woman. She took me in when I was lost recently and I know she is honourable. She does not deserve this fate.
‘I think I can get you the ships, but I want something in return.’
‘What?’ Marten asked.
He was rich. He owned a house he didn’t want. Wealthy enough to buy a ship.
‘If I secure the ships I will only want reimbursing for the cost of one,’ Jack said.
Marten looked at him with narrowed eyes. Jack considered spilling out the whole story but Marten gave a brief nod.
‘It is unconventional, but our king will be happy to share the expense. Very well. What do you need me to do?’
Chapter Nineteen
Jack arrived at Fort Carouel just before sunset and hammered on the door. It was opened by Marie, who gasped when she beheld Jack. She shrieked Andrey’s name over her shoulder followed by a rapid torrent of words Jack only caught half of. He’d never heard her speak so much. Andrey appeared and his face broke into a weary smile.
‘I knew you would come back. I told her so but she didn’t believe me.’
It pierced Jack’s heart. Why would Blanche believe Andrey when Jack had made it so clear he wanted nothing to do with her?
‘I heard she was awaiting trial. Is she...?’
He couldn’t bring himself to utter the dreaded word.
‘She’s in Benestin,’ Andrey said. ‘She’s being held in the Prévôt’s house.’
Jack sagged with relief. Still alive. ‘Not Ronec’s home.’
‘No, though he tried his hardest to convince Prévôt de Larrion that he would be the best jailor for her. Luckily for Blanche, the Prévôt said Ronec was too ill after his injury.’
The injury Blanche had caused. The Prévôt was a wise man to keep them separate. It would make his mission easier.
‘I need to see her,’ Jack said.
Andrey frowned. ‘That is unlikely.’
‘Don’t you think she’d want to see me?’ Jack asked. They’d parted so badly maybe she wouldn’t welcome his presence.
Andrey smiled. ‘If you have to ask that question you’ll never know the answer in your heart. No, the difficulty is she hasn’t been permitted any visitors. I haven’t seen her myself, though I’ve gone twice weekly.’
Anger boiled in Jack’s belly at the thought of Blanche as a prisoner with no recourse to a defence or friends. He should have been here for her. He tugged his cloak into place and glanced at the sky. His instinct was to mount his horse and ride to Benestin now but the sun would have set long before he got there.
‘May I beg leave to claim my old room for the night? I have a case to present that might help Blanche. If I am going to demand entry to the Prévôt’s house I’ll stand a better chance in the morning.’
Andrey brightened. ‘You think you can help her?’
Jack agreed with more confidence than he felt. He dined with Andrey and Marie that night. It felt like visiting an old friend. Everything was familiar, save the absence of Blanche, which he hoped would soon be rectified. Andrey clearly felt the same. He finished his tale of what had happened to Blanche by pressing Jack’s hand.
‘I’m glad you are here, Jack. Ronec is demanding that Blanche face the consequences. The sooner she is safe, the easier I will rest.’
Jack muttered an answer, the description of Ronec’s mutiny and treatment of Blanche rending a hole in his heart. He made his way to his old room, feeling a curious chill as he passed through the door into the place he thought he had left for ever. He visited Blanche’s lonely, threadbare room. She’d taken no benefit from her piracy. All Bleiz Mor’s spoils had helped others as she had once told him.
He lay awake long into the night, going over his plan and speech, not daring to contemplate what would happen if he did not succeed.
The following morning he dressed in fresh clothes and presented himself downstairs.
‘This is unexpected,’ Andrey commented, taking
in the heavy pine-green robe trimmed with dark brown beaver fur, the black velvet hat and the rings adorning Jack’s fingers.
‘I want to look my best. I intend to ensure Ronec does not get what he wants.’
‘You have my best wishes,’ Andrey said. ‘If it comes to it, you have my sword, too.’
Jack smiled. ‘I hope that won’t be needed, but it is good to know.’
He rode to Benestin and found the Prévôt’s house, where he requested entry. If the servant who opened the door was surprised to see a well-dressed Englishman standing there, he hid it well. ‘Tell the Prévôt it concerns Madame Tanet and that I am here to settle matters. I have a message from my masters to yours that cannot delay.’
The servant did look surprised at hearing the stranger speak of the Prévôt’s prisoner. He closed the door and reappeared shortly afterwards to admit Jack into the inner hallway and from there into a small chamber. Erwan de Larrion arrived shortly afterwards. He listened to what Jack had to say, then nodded.
‘I’ll send for Ronec.’
* * *
Another weary day staring at the same four walls. Blanche paced the room. Seven steps in one direction, nine in the other. She had been in this room for nine days. It was an improvement on the cellar which had been perpetually gloomy and cold. The window was small and faced over the back of Erwan de Larrion’s residence. If she stood on tiptoe all she could see was the rubbish heap and pigpen, but she could feel the sun on her face as it rose. She scratched another mark into the plaster behind the door to mark the passing of time and tried not to cry.
The door opened and Erwan de Larrion’s servant, Gui, appeared carrying a tray of bread and cheese. He nodded at Blanche. At least here she was being well treated, which was some consolation.
‘Someone is asking to see you.’
Blanche glanced over her shoulder. ‘If it is Ronec tell him to go hang himself from White Hawk’s mast.’
Gui grinned. Ronec had not made himself popular. The last time he had visited Blanche to gloat at her situation it had required three servants to pull her off him. Blanche turned her attention back to the basket of wool and the carding brush. She would have preferred to sew but since driving her needle deep into Ronec’s thigh when he had tried to lay his hands on her, she had not been allowed the implement in case she used it as a weapon. It was worth the sacrifice to remember Ronec’s howl of pain that had brought half the household running.
‘It isn’t him. It is an Englishman.’
The spindle slipped from Blanche’s hand. She loathed the way her heart leapt to her throat. ‘What is his name?’
‘He is called Captain Sutton,’ Gui said. ‘He’s here on a matter with the Prévôt.’
Blanche’s heart became lead, plummeting to the bottom of her belly. For one glorious, foolish moment she had believed Jack had returned to her.
‘I don’t want to speak to him.’ She tore the hank of wool into smaller tufts roughly. ‘Whatever business he has with Erwan doesn’t concern me.’
Gui stood his ground. ‘But he said...’
Blanche rounded on him fiercely. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ll see no one. Now get out.’
She brandished the carding brush and Gui retreated, muttering beneath his breath. She heard him turn the key loudly in the lock and immediately regretted her harshness. Gui had always treated her kindly but she seemed incapable of being kind herself. She put her head in her hands and wept. Jack was not coming. Jack would have been glad to forget her, and even if he had forgiven her deceit, how would a wine buyer from Bristol ever learn of her predicament? She hadn’t even been allowed to see Andrey. She was completely friendless and it was no more than she deserved.
By mid-afternoon she was regretting turning away the visitor. Anyone would be worth seeing rather than the silence she was faced with. Erwan was a fair jailor and did not keep her completely in seclusion. She had been invited to join him to dine on three evenings and he behaved towards her almost as if she was a guest.
When the key scratched in the lock again, she looked up eagerly. It was not Gui this time but two of Erwan’s guards.
‘You’re to come with us,’ one of them said.
‘Where?’
‘Your case is being heard. Prévôt de Larrion is waiting.’
Blanche tensed. The Englishman’s visit could not be unconnected. News of her plight must have reached King Edward’s lieutenant. Now she wished she had taken the opportunity to throw herself on to his envoy’s mercy. Her legs began to shake as she stood.
The second guard produced a pair of manacles from behind his back. ‘You have to wear these,’ he said, looking shamefaced.
Blanche rolled her eyes scornfully. ‘Am I such a dangerous prisoner that I must be fettered?’
‘Jagu Ronec insists,’ the guard replied. ‘And yes, you are.’
Blanche grinned despite her unease. The guard was young and breathtakingly handsome. She’d considered trying to seduce him when she arrived but was firm in her determination that Jack would be her final lover. She would not break that vow over someone with as little influence as the guard, however his eyes flashed when he looked at her. She sighed and obediently held her hands out, managing not to shudder as the cold iron enclosed her wrists.
The guards were courteous enough not to manhandle her to Erwan’s chamber but allowed her to walk between them untouched. She was taken into the small room and motioned to sit at one of two tables that faced de Larrion’s larger lectern. It had the air of a courtroom and Blanche steeled her nerve. After captivity, any result would be better than being forced to imagine various fates. The two guards stood behind her chair.
Ronec entered and shot her a look of loathing followed by a leer of triumph as his eyes fell on the manacles. He was limping slightly, to Blanche’s satisfaction and she smirked back. The door opened again and she heard voices before de Larrion entered in the company of the Englishman. Blanche barely glanced up, but when she did her heart leapt. She had no idea why he was travelling under an assumed name, but the man at Erwan’s side was none other than Jack.
He looked different. His bearing was tall and he was dressed in formal robes, fingers laden with rings. His hair was clipped and lay around his ears in soft waves, save for the section that fell forwards, covering the worst of the scar. He surveyed the room as though he was master of it, not the Prévôt.
Blanche’s whole body gave a tremor, reacting instinctively to the sight of him. Lust and confusion vied for supremacy in a whirlpool of emotions. She wanted to shout in joy. Fall at his knees and beg forgiveness. Throw herself across the table and wrap her limbs around his body, smothering him with kisses. Scream at him for leaving. Weep that he was returned. His eyes met hers and he gave a subtle shake of the head, warning her to say nothing. She searched for any kind of affection in his face or bearing but saw none. Only coldness. Distraught, she sat back in the chair and drew her hands into her lap. The links between each manacle clinked.
‘Is it necessary for the woman to be chained?’ Jack asked. Only Blanche knew him well enough to spot the suppressed fury beneath his cold tone. The woman, though. Such distaste in his voice.
‘She is temperamental and given to sudden rages. A frailty of her sex,’ Ronec said. He looked at Jack and pursed his lips, frowning. Blanche suspected he did not quite recognise the well-dressed Englishman as the feeble and dishevelled shipwreck survivor. If it came to that, Blanche was hardly certain her mind wasn’t tricking her.
‘Not so frail I couldn’t strangle you with these chains,’ she snarled, eager to draw Ronec’s attention from Jack.
‘Enough!’ Erwan de Larrion rarely raised his voice but when he did, his voice was a whip. ‘Madame Tanet stays restrained, for the time being. Now, please explain your purpose here.’
Jack walked slowly to the centre of the room and faced de Larrion. He barely glanced
in Blanche’s direction. Blanche held her breath.
‘I have been sent here as envoy on behalf of Richard Marten, who in turn acts as proxy for the Lord Lieutenant of Edward, King of England. It is my duty to inform you that the vessels known as White Wolf and White Hawk once belonged to the English crown.’
‘I am aware of who they used to belong to,’ de Larrion said, taking his seat. ‘What I don’t understand is why you are here now. This meeting is to decide the fate of Madame Tanet.’
‘My master is aware there is currently some question over the conduct and position of the ships’ current owner. I have been entrusted with a communication from His Lordship to yourself concerning her sentence. However, the matter of the ships is his first concern,’ Jack said. He gave Blanche a sharp look. ‘As it is mine.’
Her throat tightened. Duty had brought him here, not affection.
From his case Jack produced a scroll bearing a plum-coloured wax seal.
‘King Edward is preparing to sail to France in a month’s time. The army is intending to raid Normandy and weaken the forces of the French. He needs every ship that is prepared to ally with him and carry troops and supplies. This bears the seal of Richard Marten and states both ships shall be placed under the command of John Sutton, previously—and once more—Captain in the service of the King’s Lieutenant in France. Any and all debts will be paid off to those who have a financial interest remaining.’
Ronec jumped to his feet. ‘This is an outrage. I’ve never heard of this John Sutton. Who is he?’
For the first time since cautioning her to sit quietly, Jack shared a look with Blanche.
‘I am,’ he said.
He paused to let the muttering, which had naturally sprung up, die away before he continued. Erwan de Larrion was watching with a carefully blank face. Ronec, however, was clearly furious. Blanche held back the protest that sprang to her lips, though she was outraged that Jack was commandeering her ships.
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