They continued down the beach to the longboat waiting on the shore. Danielle had ceased her senseless struggling. When she saw the local fishermen watching the soldiers holding her she lifted her chin and walked between them with some dignity. She would never want one of them to try to interfere. It would mean certain death. She and the officer were put into one of the longboats and another soldier was rapidly rowing them out to a huge French ship in the harbor. When they had pushed away from the sand she saw the soldiers from the other longboat headed up the beach after Sir Francis.
Once on board the ship she was thrown into the dark hold. It was dark and damp and smelled of filth. She sat propped against the wall, waiting for them to bring Sir Francis. It seemed hours before the hatch was once more opened and one of the soldiers shoved him through the opening only to slam it closed, once again shutting out the light. She heard the heavy latch as the door was locked.
Danielle heard a groan as Sir Francis stumbled in the darkness and fell in a heap by her side.
"Are you harmed?" she asked, worried about her older companion.
"Just a little bruised. Danielle, please forgive me for allowing this to happen to you. You have given only love to my family and this is how it is repaid. If I could but take back that invitation to visit Elizabeth, I assure you, I would do so. I am so sorry."
"Sir Francis, do not blame yourself. I was honored to sail your ship to France and nothing could have kept me away from Lady Elizabeth’s side when she was so ill and needed me. The decision to do both was my own. Even were I to know the outcome, I would probably still do it again. I would have felt much worse if they had taken only you and left me behind. If I have to die, it will at least be by the side of a dear friend. But I don’t think that is going to happen. You forget who my husband is. Do you think Scott Dominion, famous privateer, will allow the French to kill his wife? The world is not big enough for them to hide us from his eagle eye." God, she hoped she spoke the truth.
The boat got underway and its motion caused the rats to once more come out of their hiding places and scurry around the two strangers in their midst. If one got near Danielle she would kick at it and curse. Sir Francis smiled into the darkness at some of the words that fell from her mouth. Perhaps living a life of a seaman had not been good for her after all.
The hours stretched on and Danielle tried to settle her battered, bruised body in a more comfortable position. She was lying on rough boards that scraped at her smooth skin every time she moved.
"Damn!" she swore when a splinter gouged her hand.
"Danielle!"
"Sorry. But there are times, when the language I learned in my months at sea comes in handy. Not only does it smell like the sewers of London, with rodents everywhere, but my skin is going to be pricked like a pincushion by the time we reach our destination."
Once a day, the hatch was open, letting in the blinding light to allow a bucket of gruel to be slipped down into the hold, for the two prisoners. The cold slimy texture was hardly edible, but after a few days of refusal, their hunger overcame their disgust and they ate it gladly.
It took just a few days to arrive at their destination. But when they did, after being cramped in the hold, Sir Francis and she were so weak, their legs would barely hold them when the soldiers forced them to stand. Before the feeling came back into their dead limbs, they were ushered into the bright sunlight and were momentarily blinded. Danielle was shoved by one of the soldiers causing her to fall forward onto her knees, cutting them. She stifled a groan.
"Up with you, traitor! Or I will see if the lash will improve your pace!"
Danielle felt herself stiffen, and with it, renewed strength flowed through her veins. She would rather die at the stake than have one of these pigs so much as lay a hand on her. When she and Sir Francis were dropped roughly into the longboats, Danielle managed to right herself, to sit at the back, looking at the shore, to see if she recognized their location.
Before her was a huge cone-like islet thrust up in the middle of nowhere. It lay a short way off what Danielle knew was the coast of Normandy and France. She had heard of this place previously. Atop this granite rock stood a church balanced on a summit one-fourth its size. A monastery clinging to naked cliffs. Even in her Protestant religious education, Danielle had often heard the tale of how hundreds of years ago in the early eighth century, the archangel Michael had appeared in dreams to Aubert, the Bishop of nearby Avranches and bade him build an oratory on its summit. The angel told him the church and peak was to be dedicated to Saint Michael.
Aubert climbed the mount and located the site specified by the archangel, just below the summit. But within the area indicated, stood an immense stone menhir, a monument of the pagan past. The men of the countryside assembled, by Aubert’s orders, bringing with them all their children. He had each child in turn try to remove the un-Christian structure, as Michael had instructed him to do. But they could not.
"Is every child here?" Bishop Aubert asked.
All the men nodded, save one, a father of sixteen children. "Mine are all here, my lord," he said, "except for the last one. He’s in his cradle."
"Bring him," said the Bishop.
When the baby was brought, Aubert held him near the great stone. With one kick of his foot, the infant sent the mighty monument crashing down the slope.
So in this spot, the religious built a huge church and the devout came from all over Europe to pray at this site. But religious it was no more. Church, it was no more.
Now it was a prison, of which Danielle had heard mentioned by visitors to the village of St. Florent, where she was raised. This prison had held many Huguenots before her and, she was sure, would hold many after she was dead.
Anyone that entered this mount as a prisoner was never known to leave alive. Her heart sank in desperation as the soldiers slowly rowed the longboat in the direction of the small island. Sir Francis had evidently heard of the prison also because he reached out and took Danielle’s hand in his, squeezing it gently, as if to tell her that he would stand by her until the end. She was not alone.
A rough-hewn stone wall rose jaggedly from the water and curved to encircle the island like a fortress. Only one opening was seen in the unbroken wall, like an open mouth ready to close and swallow forever those that walked within its jaws. The battlements situated at specific intervals along the wall, stood tall and erect like giant guards keeping out all intruders that were not welcome.
The tide was high, allowing the longboat carrying the two prisoners to moor at the only entrance into the fortification.
Danielle looked at Sir Francis in silent communication. Escape was impossible. They had both come here to die. Danielle straightened her back. No, they weren’t! Scott would come! She had to keep telling herself that or she would fall to the ground and beg and make a terrible fool of herself. She would be strong. Her husband would come for her!
The consumption stricken officer was the first to step out of the boat. The soldiers then shoved at the two prisoners until Danielle and Sir Francis followed in his wake. Behind them the soldiers jabbed their muskets into the prisoner’s backs trying to hurry them along the way.
As the thin man with sunken eyes began a strong fit of coughing, one of his soldiers came up beside him. The sickly man spat blood into the handkerchief he seemed to always carry in his hand and Danielle was shocked at the sight of the dark stains covering most of it. The soldier put his arm around the older man and Danielle could have fainted when she heard him say.
"Comte de La Grange. Are you well? Is there anything I can do for you, monsieur?"
"Just leave me alone, young man! I will be fine!"
Scott’s father! And what a weak miserable man he was! To think that that man who was closest to her heart and the father of her child could have come from this man’s loins was a disgrace. He didn’t deserve a son like Scott. She was thankful that Scott would not have to waste his time killing him. His journey to death had already begun.
Going ever deeper into the pit, Danielle started to gag as the smell overcame her.
"Don’t worry, you scum! You’ll get used to it!"
Danielle glanced with disgust as the gross figure of the turnkey approached them. He had large black gaps where teeth belonged. His clothes, filthier than any Danielle had ever seen before, reeked with his foul body odor. His hair, thin and long, clung to his head allowing his scalp to show through the strands. Danielle was repulsed.
"And by the time you get used to the odor and it has seeped into your every pore, making you smell the same, it will be too late to worry."
He chuckled evilly and opened the door of a crowded cell, shoving her and Sir Francis inside and shutting the door with a clang. Danielle heard the key turn in the lock with a feeling of inescapable doom.
~ * ~
Scott, riding the best horse he could find in so short a time, galloped along the lonely dirt road enclosed on each side by large trees. Occasionally, he passed a small estate surrounded by well tended fields. The countryside was invisible to the man on the steed. He noticed only the road beneath the horse’s hooves as he made his way as quickly as possible to his wife’s side.
Since his ship had suffered minor damages in their last skirmish, Scott left a message with his first mate to bring The Scarlet Eagle to Star Castle on St. Mary’s Island as soon as it was repaired.
In his haste to see Danielle, he decided against waiting for his ship. He wanted to see her now and knew that he could reach her a good two days ahead of his frigate. In fact, he planned on having her, long before he saw his sails come into the bay. He chuckled. At least his anger had dissipated. He had replaced it with desire. To think that he had a son he hadn’t known existed. He shook his head in wonder and kicked his steed into a faster pace.
When I get my hands on that woman, she will pay, he vowed. "Yes!" he bellowed aloud at the thought of a perfect penance for her. One week of confinement alone with him in his cabin aboard ship. He felt his blood warm at the thought. He would remove her clothes and keep her naked the entire week. His chuckle became serious as he realized that, even then, he doubted if his need for her would be fulfilled. It would take the rest of his life and still he wouldn’t tire of her nearness.
When he arrived at the small hamlet of Porthcurno, near Land’s End, he immediately went to the docks. After questioning a few fishermen who were getting ready to leave for their day’s catch, he found a seaman to take him the many miles to the island. At first the old tar couldn’t decide if he wanted to go to sea this early in the day or not. But after a few coins had changed hands he was convinced, and even found a place to stable Scott’s horse until he could send someone to get it.
No sooner had Scott’s jackboots hit the sand of St. Mary’s beach than he made a hasty line straight to Star Castle. He couldn’t see his wife soon enough. His injuries were still painful but that wouldn’t stop his plans for her when he found her.
He wanted to bash something or someone when he found his plans had once more gone awry. He faced Lady Elizabeth across the room.
"Scott, you must do something! I am so frightened! My poor Francis, he is not a young man and I’ve heard those prisons are cold and damp." She kept wiping away tears that continued to flow down her cheeks. "What will they do to them, Scott."
"Never fear, Elizabeth," his hands clenched at his sides, never before had so much hatred shown on his face. "If I have to kill every Frenchman in that whole damn country, I shall find them and bring them home."
"Poor Danielle. If she hadn’t come to take care of me while I was ill she would still be safe today. I feel it is all my fault!" She burst out sobbing, putting her hands over her face.
Scott managed to console her, getting her emotions under control and after reassuring her, he spoke, his voice filled with authority.
"I want you to send someone to all the men on this island and have them meet me on the beach. I’ll have to wait two days for my ship to get here, but perhaps, if some of the fishermen are willing to help, I can go meet it. Yes, I think that will be the fastest way for me to reach France." He thought aloud. "I will also need to inquire if any of the seamen noticed in what direction the ship headed, and if they noticed the name of her. There are many prisons in France at this time, and I need to know which one they have taken them to."
He looked down at Lady Elizabeth and spoke assuredly. "I have a plan that I’m sure will work. Now hurry, send your messenger to fetch those men."
"Paddy!" She called to the cook’s son as she pushed through the swinging kitchen doors. "Paddy, where are you!"
"Here, mum, comin’ mum," a lad answered bursting into the room, his flaming red shock of hair flapping in the cheerful disarray of an active boy.
"Paddy, run down to the village and tell all the men I want them to meet on the beach in front of the castle immediately. Tell them Captain Dominion has an urgent message for them."
"Yes, mum," he turned, darting for the door.
"Tell them to hurry, Paddy!" She added as he disappeared in the direction of St. Hughs.
Later, Scott stood looking over the motley assortment of male gender, that made up his audience. They were a mixture of ages from old gray-haired seamen to young boys still in their teens. He spoke with the assurance of a leader.
"As you already know, French soldiers landed on the island this morning, and succeeded in taking Sir Francis and his friend, my wife, under the illegal pretense of arrest, back to France, and probably to prison. You know what that means! They will be tried as French traitors and sentenced to death!"
Scott could see the ire on their faces and listened to the angry murmur of their voices over the gall of the French. That they would dare to come to lands that belonged to England and arrest anyone, was unthinkable, but to condemn their own Sir Francis and the lovely lady was an atrocity.
"I am going to France to get them back. And I have called you all together to ask if any of you wish to join me. I will understand if you don’t want to take the risk, but if there are any of you who are willing to take me in the direction of London, I can intercept my own ship on its way here. I will probably need all the help I can get, for the prisons, as you are well aware, are heavily guarded. Well, my hearties… which among you are willing to take the chance to help free Sir Francis? I will warn you ahead of time, that under no circumstances will I leave without my wife! If I have to fight to the death of every one of my men and myself, so shall it be… Those ready to go, step forward."
Silence came over the crowd for seemed an agonizing eternity to Scott. He held his breath hopefully. Suddenly the crowd parted and an old man stepped forward.
"Well, if none of these ‘ere lads ‘ave the ‘eart for a challenge, I will go, Capt’n." He spoke loudly so his voice would carry over the crowd. "Sir Francis has helped me and mine many times o’er these past years. If I ‘ave to give my life to save ‘is, then so be it. But I for one’ll be on that ship wi’ye."
There was a large uproar as voices were raised in salute for the elderly man. Then, every one of them stepped forward with shouts of "I’ll come," "Aye, me also."
Soon one of the largest fishing boats was loaded with men from the island and they were headed toward London to intercept Scott’s boat and crew. They were silent in their quest. Thinking of the dangers ahead and wondering if they had done the right thing. But after discussing it over and over they all agreed it was a goo
d thing. If the French thought they could come on shores belonging to Britain and take from their homes any Englishman they had to be proved wrong.
Scott sighted The Scarlet Eagle one day out of St. Mary’s, a short distance from Lizard Point. The men of the island were standing at the rail of the fishing boat, eyeing the black-hulled frigate before them. The frigate did not have room for all the men with him and he wanted to hit the prison with as large a number of able-bodied men as possible. The bigger the number the better chances of his success. After thinking this over carefully, Scott decided the best thing to do was to stop at his home cove and pick up the French ship he had captured and renamed The Sea Vixen. He hoped the repairs were complete and she was once more a seaworthy craft.
Jenny and Ricardo were with a few of the villagers awaiting them as they reached the shore. He answered their curious glances at once. "The French have arrested Sir Francis and Danielle! The damn scoundrels sailed right up to St. Mary’s and took them away!"
Jenny gasped and Ricardo put a sheltering arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"Where have they taken them, Scott?"
"I don’t know, Ricardo. But I’m here to take The Sea Vixen and The Scarlet Eagle in search of them. A ship the size of a French ship of the line is not easy to hide. Someone will have seen it."
"I am going with you, Scott," said Ricardo looking down into Jenny’s face and was not disappointed by what he saw. Her brave smile, in spite of the tears in her eyes showed her understanding approval, however reluctant.
"Of course you must go," she whispered. "Besides the fact that our two dearest friends are in trouble, I will feel better knowing that you and Scott are together on this dangerous mission. Find them quickly, and return home safely, my love."
With a hug and a tender kiss, Ricardo turned from Jenny and started for the house to gather his gear.
David Fitzwater forced his way through the crowd that had now gathered on the waterfront and stopped in front of Scott.
The Gypsy Witch Page 23