Sibylla and the Privateer

by Marina Oliver

  “The north, Normandy. He told me no more. I swear it!” she cried, as he raised his arm threateningly.

  “Very well. And this other I hear? What were you doing in the kitchens?”

  “It’s my job,” she flung at him, a glimmer of defiance in her now, but at the look on his face she crumpled again.

  “Not to tamper with the food prepared for my guests! You were found meddling with food being prepared for Mistress Hurst’s breakfast. You were adding poison to it, were you not?”

  Sibylla gasped, and Marie put her arm round her to steady her.

  “I did not mean her harm, just to make her ill.”

  Julie had no more resistance in her, and Josselin clearly saw it.

  “What else have you tampered with?”

  “Nought else, I swear.”

  He picked up a crucifix that lay on a table beside the bed.

  “Swear on that,” he commanded, handing it to her.

  Almost eagerly she grasped it, and gabbled out that she had told him all the truth. He nodded and turned away.

  “Take her at once to Jacques, and tell him I never wish to set eyes on her again. He is to be held responsible for her conduct.” He glanced at the servants circled about. “Prepare horses, I ride at once, and two of you, you two will do, will accompany me.”

  Some of the women helped the unfortunate Julie from the room, while the two men he had chosen went out quickly. Then, for the first time, he noticed Sibylla.

  “I must go. That wretched girl released Randolph last night, and he has a good six hours start on me. You will be safe here, now.”

  “Please let me come with you.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Why?”

  “I cannot bear to be left behind, not knowing how you — how Gerard — what is happening,” she finished lamely.

  He regarded her somberly. “I cannot afford the time to go at a lady’s pace.”

  “I will keep up with you. I am used to hard riding. I beg you to take me.”

  “If you cannot keep up, you will be left to fend for yourself, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said joyfully, caring for nothing now he agreed to take her with him.

  “Your ankle?”

  “It is almost well, and will not hamper me in the saddle.”

  “Very well. I start in ten minutes, and I will not wait for you.”

  * * * *

  Without another word she turned and hobbled back into her room, followed by an anxiously clucking Marie. Full of Julie’s perfidy, the older woman seemed only to think of the danger Sibylla had been in.

  “Help me dress. Never mind all that,” Sibylla said. Marie set to fastening the hooks of Sibylla’s garments. Sibylla dragged a brush through her hair, and within a few minutes was ready. She hobbled to the door with Marie fussing about her, and went out, to find Josselin outside.

  Wordlessly he picked her up, and ran down the stairs. He carried her to the stable yard where he deposited her in the saddle of a sturdy pony before he mounted another. The two men who were to accompany them sprang into their own saddles. They clattered out and turned along a path leading away from the front entrance. This led through the park, and then through woods and moors. Josselin set a steady, demanding pace.

  After a couple of hours they halted, and the men produced flasks and food from their saddlebags. Josselin helped Sibylla dismount, and they turned the horses loose beside a small stream. The men sat down on fallen tree trunks, and Josselin led Sibylla a short distance away to a grassy patch, spreading his cloak for her to sit on.

  “Have some of this pie,” he offered, and broke a large piece for her. “I am sorry breakfast is so late, and after such exertions.” He laughed at her, and she smiled a little uncertainly back at him. “Does your ankle hurt?”

  “It throbs a little,” she admitted, “but it is much better than yesterday.”

  “I will look at it before we start off again,” he promised, and fell silent. As she ate, she stole glances at him, but he seemed so preoccupied she did not dare to interrupt his thoughts. Eventually he turned to her.

  “Your Randolph is most likely making for one of the ports on the north coast, in the hope of getting a boat to take him to Jersey. I sent scouts ahead of us and we should be hearing from them soon, as to which way he has gone.”

  “I wish you would not call him my Randolph,” she said crossly. He laughed.

  “I apologize. At least, thank heaven, you are not any more his Sibylla.”

  She blushed and breathed deeply, exasperated by his continual tender inferences, and angry at the thought that he was teasing and flirting with her.

  “It was foolish of me not to have set a better guard on him, but I thought I could trust my household. I had not reckoned on the fury of a rejected woman.”

  “Did you have to whip her?” she asked tentatively.

  “She tried to murder you, endangered your brother, and would not otherwise have given me the information I needed,” he pointed out.

  “But to whip her so!” When Sibylla shuddered, he looked at her unsmilingly.

  “It is the only thing her sort understand. Do not be too tender hearted. She would have killed you with no compunction,” he said shortly. “Now, have you had enough, of food and rest? Let me see your ankle.”

  She pulled up her skirt enough to reveal the injured joint. He bent over her, and adjusted the bandage, nodding approvingly at the much reduced swelling.

  “You will be dancing in a day or so, but do not use it too much, or try to be too independent. If you find me too repulsive, one of the men would be only too delighted to carry you up and down stairs.”

  * * * *

  When she glanced at him indignantly, he laughed, and held her hand to pull her to her feet. The men caught the horses, Josselin lifted Sibylla up, and they all set off again. Some distance further, when they had picked their way cautiously down a steep hillside to a river valley, they came to a small village. There one of the scouts Josselin had mentioned waited for them at the inn.

  “He was seen about four hours since, heading for Pontivy. The others have gone on ahead to discover where he goes next,” he reported.

  “Good. Come with us now, if you have eaten.”

  The party set off again, but the going was difficult. There were many rivers to cross, and most of these were in deep valleys, so their speed was reduced as they threaded their way down the narrow tracks that connected the villages. Sibylla was thankful these men knew the way.

  Her fears for Gerard, which had occupied her a good deal during the morning, became less. Not knowing the region, Randolph would not be able to make even such speed, and they would assuredly catch up with him. Most likely too, the messenger Josselin had sent the previous day with the letters would reach Gerard before Randolph could, so he would be warned. She began to enjoy the ride, and appreciated the countryside, often bare and rugged, but in the sheltered valleys lush and green with the new leaves of springtime. The rivers ran full, gushed sparkling over rocky beds, or flowed serenely between wide banks.

  Sibylla discovered from Josselin they could expect to travel twenty or thirty leagues, and she had seen enough of the country to know they would be lucky to cover half that distance by nightfall.

  At Pontivy another of the scouts awaited them, and told them Randolph was still about four hours ahead and had a guide with him, which explained how he had been able to make such good time. He was making for Loudéac, and they followed with only a brief pause to eat a hurried meal taken in the common room of the inn.

  They followed the trail until it grew dark when Josselin called a halt. They found a reasonable-sized inn, and he was able to hire a room for Sibylla and another for himself and the five men who were with him, now the scouts had joined their group. Sibylla
was too weary to eat much of the supper Josselin had sent to her room, and fell into bed stiff with the exercise to sleep at once. It seemed but a few minutes later that a maid bringing her breakfast roused her from slumber. The gentleman had sent to say that he was going to start in half an hour, she was told. Thanking the girl, she rose and dressed hurriedly, then ate, and had scarcely finished before Josselin appeared to ask if she was ready. He carried her downstairs though she protested her ankle was almost completely well by now.

  * * * *

  Again they rode for long hours, and obtained news Randolph had passed that way earlier, now about three hours ahead. Josselin seemed positive he would either try to obtain a boat from Dinan or one of the little ports on the Rance estuary, or ride on into Normandy.

  “Though, that is not likely to do him any good if he is making for Jersey. He will gain nought by travelling further on land,” Josselin commented.

  It was late afternoon when they rode into the little town, situated at the head of a deep inlet into which the Rance River fed. Josselin immediately sent his men to make enquiries, while he took Sibylla to an inn near the Basilica of St. Sauveur. He viewed her with some concern as they waited for the wine he had ordered.

  “I should not have allowed you to come. You are exhausted.”

  “No,” she denied quickly. “I am weary, but I have not ridden for two weeks or more, and I am but a little stiff.”

  He remained unconvinced, but the wine restored her, and she made a great effort to appear lively, indignantly refusing to consider it when he suggested she wait there while he crossed to Jersey.

  “Would you deprive me of the opportunity of seeing my brother at this late hour?” she demanded angrily. He smiled at her vehemence.

  “I do not propose to leave you alone. One of the men would stay with you, and I could bring your brother back with me.”

  “He may not be able to come. I do not know how he occupies himself, what he is doing, anything! No, I am coming with you!”

  “Very well. I dare not argue with you.”

  She looked at him suspiciously then laughed because she had won her point. They chatted as they drank the wine, and he told her something of the story of the famous warrior, Bertrand du Guesclin, who had lived three hundred years earlier, and whose heart was buried in the town near which he had been born. She thrilled to the tales of his adventures, and was asking for more, when one of Josselin’s men came back to report Randolph had left for Jersey two hours ago. Almost immediately another came in to report the tide was now unfavorable and none of the fishermen would take a boat out.

  Josselin pursed his lips, but said nothing. After a moment’s thought he began to speak.

  “It is eight leagues or more to St. Malo by road. Sibylla, we have fresh horses and it is not yet dark, can you bear to carry on?”

  “Yes,” she replied, suppressing a sigh of dismay.

  “Then this is the plan. St. Malo is on the open sea, and we shall have no trouble in obtaining a boat there in the morning. It will take us much of the day to reach Jersey from there, but it will have taken Randolph till now or even longer to pass along the estuary, and he may have decided to spend the night there himself. If so, we could apprehend him there. We shall be closer behind him than if we wait and set sail from here.”

  Sibylla nodded, and the men also.

  “I will start now with Mistress Hurst. Wait until the others come, and after you have had some wine, you can follow. We will not set too hard a pace, and we will eat later.”

  Once all was arranged, Josselin led Sibylla out into the inn yard, where they mounted fresh horses, and began to follow the river. As the valley widened and the river, now tidal, was seen spread over the floor of it, Sibylla gasped in admiration. Josselin smiled at her.

  “It is beautiful, is it not?” he asked as they paused at the top of a hill to admire the view.

  She nodded, unspeaking, and looked all around.

  “There are many beautiful spots in Brittany. Some day I may be able to show them to you,” he said softly.

  She looked at him then, but he was not looking at her and had turned his horse towards the path. She followed and they rode in silence until, after a couple of leagues, the men caught up with them.

  It was growing dark, but already the moon was rising and there were no clouds to obscure it. They decided to ride on and delay supper until they reached St. Malo. Sibylla was exceedingly tired when they reached the little town and unable to appreciate the massive ramparts. She ate what was put before her at the inn, and was thankful for the excuse of her weak ankle when Josselin carried her up the stairs to her room and laid her gently on the bed.

  “Are you too tired to undress yourself? Shall I perform the office of maid?” he asked, and laughed when she sat up indignantly.

  “You may do that for Julie, but not for me!” she said hastily.

  “You have been brave, and not once complained. You will be able to sleep all day tomorrow on the boat,” he answered, unperturbed.

  He touched her cheek lightly for a moment, and then he was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Randolph, when unexpectedly released by Julie, wasted no time in querying his good fortune. He rewarded her with a kiss, and set off to follow her directions. He had been wary, thinking it might be a trap, but as he found her directions accurate and there were no sounds of a chase, he laughed softly to himself as he rode along.

  He had not been able to make fast progress during the night, and he soon realized, when dawn came, that he was in difficult country. When he thought himself to be safely far away from Josselin’s lands, he made cautious enquiries at an inn, and was fortunate to secure a guide. They set off together. Randolph asked the man for advice on getting to the coast and then to Jersey and was told he would do well to go to Dinan.

  Reaching this town in the early afternoon of the following day, he found luck still with him, for almost immediately he secured a boat, and they set sail. The beauties of the Rance estuary meant little to Randolph. He occupied the time planning what he would do in Jersey. He was by now far too late to obtain the information he had hoped to get about the other plotters, and Josselin had removed the documents that would have incriminated Gerard, but his lust for Sibylla had turned to a hatred which encompassed all her family. He was even more determined now to bring about Gerard’s downfall. He decided the best way would be to entice Gerard away from the island, and separate him from his friends. Then he could deal with Gerard, at the same time retrieving some of his own reputation as a spy.

  It was almost dark by the time they reached the open sea, but he had paid the men well. They were prepared to sail all night. He pulled his cloak round him and curled up in the tiny cabin which served for his bedroom, as well as a galley and common room for the three men of the crew.

  They landed at St. Helier early the next morning. Randolph arranged for the men to wait for him in a certain tavern while he went to an address where he could contact another agent of the government. The man was out, and he had to wait for some hours until he returned, but the wait was worthwhile for the man knew Gerard and directed Randolph to where he was staying.

  “Has he been acting suspiciously?” Randolph asked.

  “No, he appears simply to be visiting friends, and as the friend has a sister, there is adequate excuse for him to remain,” the man leered. “We were warned from London to watch him, but we have discovered nought that is not innocent.”

  Randolph snorted. “He is no experienced plotter. What of his other friends, who came with him?”

  “Cartwright left again within two days, and sailed for Normandy while Pendawn went at the same time, he said to visit friends on Guernsey. Neither of them have been seen since.”

  “Can you furnish me with a list of all the people Hurst has contacted while he has been here?”


  The man shrugged. “Aye, but it will do you no good. We have nought against any of them.”

  “Then mayhap this will give you something,” Randolph snapped, and waited impatiently while the man wrote out the list.

  “Now, have you a map of the area around St. Malo? Where do we have other agents?”

  The man fetched a map and spread it out on the table. “There is an agent, a merchant, in Avranches. Do you propose to contact him?”

  “Aye, it is likely. His address if you please.”

  * * * *

  Having obtained all he wanted, Randolph bade the man farewell, and as he had not been invited to dinner, took himself off to the nearest tavern. Afterwards he made his way to the house where Gerard was staying, and asked to see him. He was shown into a small room, and a few minutes later Gerard came in.

  “Randolph Stern!” he exclaimed, and came across the room quickly. “Where is Sibylla? Is she here with you? Did she go away with you? Tell me, man, we have all been distracted nigh to death.”

  “Then I am surprised you could leave home and appear to be enjoying yourself here.” Randolph could not resist sneering.

  “I have business,” Gerard replied shortly., “Why are you here?”

  “Sibylla did leave with me,” Randolph said. “It’s a long story. Have you wine?”

  Gerard sent for some, and when they were sitting with it Randolph began his story.

  “I persuaded Sibylla to elope with me,” he began, “and we set off that night, in a boat I had hired. I intended taking her to France, where we could marry, and then present your parents with the fact. We could not wait on the possibility of your father changing his mind about me, and Sibylla was prepared to share what I had.”

  “Well, what happened? Where is she?” Gerard demanded.

  “We were captured by pirates,” Randolph stated simply, and Gerard stared at him in surprise and dismay.

  “Who?” he whispered. “Not the Barbary pirates! They are seldom seen out of the Mediterranean, but they do sometimes venture.”