by Leda Swann
The cabin reeked so badly of fish that Sophie gagged as soon as she put one foot into it. She immediately thrust her head out again into the fresh salt air. “I can’t stay down there,” she said with a shudder. “I will die before I reach England.”
Lamotte’s face was green already. Without a word, he nodded to Sophie and climbed out on to the deck again.
The Captain gave them a scowl as they came back up on deck. “Passengers stay below decks.”
The ship was rolling up and down on the waves as if it were a cork, bobbing around in the middle of the sea. Sophie grabbed on to a side rail and looked at the white caps of the waves as they broke against the side of the ship. She’d never been on a boat before. The motion was unusual, and it made her feet feel unsteady beneath her, but she didn’t find it too unpleasant. It was a bit like the feeling of riding a horse, only more so - like riding a wild sea horse that jumped and bucked and tossed and turned this way and that beneath her as it ran with the wind in its sails and the current beneath its keel.
Lamotte staggered to the rail and vomited over the side.
The Captain’s scowl became even more pronounced. “Stinking landlubber,” he muttered under his breath as he scuttled past, as agile as a monkey on the pitching deck, slippery now with salt spray. “I won’t have you fouling up my cabin. Stay up here, but don’t get in the way or I’ll toss you overboard myself.”
Lamotte just groaned and heaved over the side again.
“Look at the horizon,” one of the seamen said with an unpleasant grin, and he spat a wad of tobacco juice over the side. “It might stop you puking your guts out like a girl.”
Sophie raised her eyes to the horizon. Despite the nasty tone of his voice, the seaman’s advice held good. Looking far out to sea made her notice the pitching of the boat beneath her feet less.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lamotte raise his head to look out to sea, only to lower it again with a groan as he retched again and again over the side.
Despite all her sympathy for his misery, she could not help laughing to herself just a little at his predicament. All it took to unman such a brave soldier was to put him in a boat and set him out to sea. She would have to remember that in future. It would be a good threat to hold against him. If he proved a bad husband to her, she would simply run off to England again, or to the Americas, and he would not be able to face following her.
The land was fast disappearing behind them. Once they had left the shelter of the harbor, the wind had freshened against her face and the waves had picked up noticeably in strength. Sophie made her way to the stern of the boat, found herself a spot out of the way of the sailors, and scanned the sea behind them with a watchful eye. Lamotte staggered over to stand beside her, his hip touching hers as if by accident. She took comfort from his presence. They were well out into the Channel now. If they had been right in their conjectures, the seamen would move against them at any time now.
She could make out a couple of sails in the distance, but they were too far away to make out what boats they belonged to. She grasped the railing with nervous fingers. What if all their preparation had been in vain? What if they had no hope of rescue and were doomed to die out here, in the middle of the sea?
One of the sails changed tack, veering away from them. All her attention was concentrated on the other sail she could see. It was moving in their direction, but it did not seem to be drawing any closer. If anything, it was falling further behind.
She swore under her breath. She did not like the look of things. Even assuming the boat was willing to pick them up, she would drown before she would be able to swim half that distance. Their best bet would be to stay where they were and hope that they had been mistaken in the honesty of their Captain.
She turned her head to check over her shoulder at the Captain. It was just as well she did so. Three of the sailors were sidling up behind them, knives in their hand. She nudged Lamotte hard with her elbow and he whirled around to face them.
She could not fight off three of them by herself on the deck of a ship that rolled under her feet. She was in a sailor’s territory and they had the advantage over her. Neither was Lamotte much use. His face green and his hands shaking, he looked as though he would not care if he were to die.
She looked first at the sailors, who had stopped a few feet away, their knives held in front of them, and then down at the white-tipped green of the water. She had to choose her doom it would seem, death by the knife or death by drowning. She was unwilling to stand by the rails and offer up her throat as calmly as a sacrificial lamb. She would take her fate into her own hands if she could, and make one last choice. The water looked cold but it not menacing. It lacked the deliberate evil of the filthy grins on the sailors’ faces. “Shall we jump?”
One of the sailors laughed an ugly laugh. “Jumping will do as well for us. It’ll save us dirtying our knives on you.”
The three of them moved another step closer. “So, what’ll it be?” one of them asked, showing his dirty yellowed teeth in a vicious grin. “The water or the knife?”
Sophie looked towards the closest sail, noting its position as well as she could. She took a deep breath and climbed the railing, moving awkwardly in her landlubber’s clothing, Lamotte beside her.
Sophie thought for a moment about using her height and leaping down on to the sailors. She would sell her life dearly were she to get among them. More than one of them would go with her into the oblivion of death.
The sailors rushed at them, knives held high. Death at their hand would be certain. At least in the water she had a chance to live.
She closed her eyes and held tight to Lamotte’s fingers. Hand in hand they jumped off the railing and into the cold, rushing waters of the channel.
Chapter 9
She hit the water with a vicious smack that tore Lamotte’s fingers from her grasp and forced all the air out of her at once. The waves closed over her head as she plummeted down into the cold, green depths.
She had been wrong about the water – it was worse than cold. It was evil and terrifying – remorseless in its hunt for living prey. It was sucking at her with long, green tentacles of death, clawing at her, dragging her down into the depths of the ocean where fishes would feast on her body and golden-haired mermaids make harps of her bones.
She failed her arms and legs desperately, fighting to get her head above water and take a breath of life-giving air. She felt a hand grab at her and try to drag her down. A sea monster, she thought, with panic invading every fiber of her being, taking its chance to drag her down to its watery lair and feast on her drowned body. Desperately she fought it off, with no thought in her head but to find air and to breath again.
It was too strong for her. Relentlessly the grasp on her shoulder pulled her down, down, down, towards a watery death at the bottom of the sea.
Her head broke the surface. Air!
She grabbed a mouthful of it with such greed that she inhaled half water. Coughing and spluttering, she forced the water out of her lungs again. Air – pure and sweet. How good it was to breathe again.
Lamotte was treading water beside her, his hand still grasping her shoulder. Lamotte, not a sea monster. He had saved her, not pulled her down to drown her.
Her panic subsided enough for her to breath without choking this time.
“Kick off your boots,” he barked at her.
She looked at him stupidly. She was trying to survive in the tossing ocean. Why was he worrying about her feet at a time like this? She would hardly get more blisters trying to tread water.
“Kick off your boots. They will fill with water and drag you down.”
Ah, that made sense to her. Her fingers aching with the cold, she reached down to unbuckle her boots. Immediately, the water closed over her head and she flailed to the surface again, terrified that she would sink and drown.
He slapped her face. Hard. “Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath and kick off your boots.”
&nb
sp; She stopped her flailing and looked at him in surprise – the shock of the slap overpowering her fear of drowning for the moment. He had never struck her before.
“You are a soldier and you must obey orders. Take a deep breath and kick off your boots.”
He was right. She was a Musketeer and she must follow his orders even if it mean that she drowned. Every soldier had to be prepared to give her life in the line of duty. She took a deep breath and doubled over to unfasten her boots. The water closed over her head and she fought to control her fear. She must unfasten her boot as she had been ordered.
One boot was off. She returned to the surface and took a gulp of air.
“Good work. Now take a deep breath and unfasten the other boot.”
Her commanding officer was pleased with her. She glowed with the praise he bestowed on her. She took another deep breath and bent over to unfasten her other boot. It was easier this time to control her fear. The boot came off without a struggle. Her head was above water before she was desperate for a breath again.
It was easier to stay afloat now without the weight on her ankles pulling her down. She kicked with her legs, keeping her head above water, and her breathing started to slow. She could stay afloat for some time, she thought. If another boat came along to pick them up again, they might yet have a chance to stay alive.
She looked around her. All she could see what the white caps of the waves and the head of Lamotte bobbing beside her. There was no sign of any boat save the one they had jumped from , already sailing off into the distance. Her eyes widened and she began to beat at the water with her fists. They had to find a boat or they would drown. They had to find a boat.
Lamotte grabbed one of her hands and held it tight between his. “Calm down, Sophie. Tell me what ails you.”
She pulled her hand away. All she could think about was the boat. “We have to find the boat.” Her voice was dangerously high as she felt panic overwhelm her once more. “We have to find the boat or we’ll both drown.”
Lamotte drew his hand back and slapped Sophie on the cheek with as much force as he could muster. This was the second time in as many minutes that he had hit her as hard as he was able. He hated raising his hand to a woman, but he had no choice. Her eyes were glazing over again. If he let her be overtaken with panic again, she could well drown them both.
His hand left a red imprint on her cheek that clutched at his heart. She would hurt for days. She blinked her eyes, tears running down her red cheeks. When she opened them again, her panic had subsided and her soul was back.
“Lie on your back,” he instructed her, making his voice stern so she would follow his orders without questioning them. “You will float well like that.”
Meekly she did as she was told. They floated there in the water for some minutes, not speaking.
He hated to disturb her newfound sense of calm, but he had to do something to get them out of this mess if he could. He kicked up with his feet as hard as he could to lift himself up out of the water and see if he could see any other boats nearby. He managed to lift his shoulders and chest out of the water, but it was not far enough. The waves were too high to let him see far in front of him. He tried again, but it was no use. He had best stop before he exhausted himself.
He turned himself over on to his back and waited until he had regained his breath before speaking. “Was the fishing smack following us, as he had promised to do? I was too ill on the boat to take any notice as I ought to have done.” He could have kicked himself now for failing to search the seas for sails before he jumped. Standing on the rails, he had not cared if there were other sails in sight or not. He had wanted only to die just so that he would stop feeling as though his stomach was being pounded into knots with a griping sickness.
Sophie gave a brief nod. “I saw two sails behind us. One of them seemed to be following the same course as us, though it was too far away to be certain. I took a bearing on it before I jumped, so we could swim to it if we could. But it was too far away. We will never make it.” She was no longer panicking. On the contrary, she sounded as though she simply didn’t care any more – that she would be happy floating on her back until her eyes closed in weariness and she sank to the bottom.
Despair was just as dangerous as panic, though it would kill less quickly. “Kick up as far as you can and see if you can take a bearing so we know which way to swim.” He injected as much urgency in his tone as he could.
She did not move. “What’s the point?”
He needed to get through to her and break the grip that despair had on her soul. “You’re a soldier, Sophie. You cannot give up.”
“I’m not a soldier. I’m a woman. Women can’t be soldiers.”
“You are a soldier until such time as the King releases you from his service. Now, give me the best bearings you can. That is an order.”
With a sigh, she heaved herself upright in the water, gave a few kicks and turned over on to her back again. “I couldn’t see anything.”
He knew how much Sophie prided herself on being a fighter. He would have to work on her sense of honor to give her the will to keep on trying to survive, the will not to give up and allow herself to die. “That is not adequate. I ordered you to give me the best bearings you can. Get back in that water and tell me which way to swim, or by God, I’ll drown you myself for insubordination.”
This time she turned herself up in the water and kicked a little harder. She rose head and shoulders above the water, her eyes straining to see above the waves. With a small sigh, she sank down in the water to regain her breath and then kicked up again as high as she could. He could see the effort she was making to hold herself high in the water.
Finally she sank back down again. “That way,” she said, indicating the direction with her arm. “I lined the boat up with a hill on the shore before I jumped. If it really was the fishing smack following us, it should be in that direction.”
She seemed sure enough. That was a good sign. “We’ll swim for it.” There was naught else they could do.
The chance of rescue, small though it was, gave Sophie a new lease of life. She paddled gallantly in the direction where they hoped the boat would be. Up and over waves, and down again the other side they paddled, swimming with all the intensity of the desperate, who have nothing else to lose but their lives. The wind was against them, and their progress was slow.
Every so often, Sophie kicked herself high in the water to check the direction they were traveling in.
They swam for what seemed like forever. His body was grown numb with cold. He did not think he could hold out for much longer when Sophie kicked herself high out of the water for the fourth or fifth time. To his surprise, she started to scream and wave her arms about.
“Save your energy,” he muttered. “There is no one to hear your cry.” He could feel himself slipping away. Only the vow he had made to Gerard Delamanse kept his mind focused. He had promised to look after Sophie. He would not leave her here to drown if there was even the slimmest chance of rescue.
“The boat,” Sophie screamed in his ear. “I can see the boat.”
He shook his head to clear out his fuzzy thoughts. He was finding it hard to concentrate. His mind wanted to wander off into odd thoughts of his childhood, at home in the peach orchard with the sound of bees buzzing in the sweet grasses and the mellow scent of ripe peaches in the air. “Can they see us?”
“They saw me wave and changed course towards us.”
A large wave rolled over them, and in the lull before the next swell, he saw the boat. It was coming right for them. He closed his eyes. Sophie would be rescued. He had kept his word to Gerard. He could die in peace.
He felt a sharp sting on his face, breaking in on his dream of the orchard. “Go away,” he muttered without so much as opening his eyes. He could almost feel the warm summer sun on his face and the taste of ripe peaches on his tongue.
The sting came again, and then again. He opened his eyes. Sophie was hitting him.
He brushed her away with the back of her hand. “Leave me be.”
“I need you.”
He tried to kick away from her but he was so tired and he could no longer feel his feet. “Don’t worry. You will be rescued and they will take you to England. You will save Henrietta and win all the honor you could ever want.”
She slapped his face again. It was funny how his cheek could still hurt even though he would have sworn that his entire body was numb from the cold. “I need you.”
“What for?”
“You are my husband, you dolt. Besides, I need you to help me climb up.”
“Up where?”
She gave an impatient gesture. “Up on to the boat.”
She was right. The fishing smack was nearly on top of them and one of the fishermen was clambering down a rope to haul them in.
With a small sigh he said goodbye to his vision of the peach orchard. It was not yet time for him to be called home again. The fisherman tied a rope around his chest, under his arms. He tried to shake it off again. “Save Sophie first. Save my wife.”
The rope was knotted tightly around his chest. The fisherman tested it, and then called for the others in the boat to pull him up. “She’s in the boat already.”
He didn’t make another protest as the fishermen hauled him in, for all the world as if he were just another part of their catch.
His body was blue and shivering uncontrollably. He did not think he would ever be warm again. One of the fishermen tossed him a dry blanket. “Get down below with your lady and get your wet things off or you’ll freeze to death.”
He made his way with shaking legs to the cabin below, his wet stockinged feet slipping on the deck. Sophie was there before him, stripping off her clothes with fumbling fingers and dropping them where she stood. Her arms were covered with goose bumps and she was shivering.