by Diana Rubino
He could bargain, too, all but pick a man's pocket and be thanked for the deed! He spoke many languages, or so he claimed. She could test only his Latin and French, both of which were flawless, but the guttural growls he said he'd learnt in the East beyond the edge of her maps she could never hope to understand lest she were to become a bear or a she-wolf.
But she was a bear, and he would serve as her ragged staff to lean upon. Even as she thought of it, she could see her family's standard raised high above the vessel now looming ever larger in the dimness of the approaching night. It was the coat of arms of the Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff, and it had good reason to fly proudly.
With all caution cast aside, she leapt into the saddle in a most un-queen-like manner and spurred her mount to full gallop down the incline.
The rowboats, oars skimming the water like a restless waterbug's legs, slid ashore at Saint Annes on the west coast, fifty miles north of Wales as the crow flies.
The mercenaries were here at last! She ran to the tent of John, her first general, to relay the good news. He was having his nightly shave before a cracked mirror.
"That is bad luck, dear friend, but this news should quell any suspicions, for today, anyway. They are just about to land. They've come, finally!"
"Good. Just remember, they think they're in Ireland now to extinguish a minor dissension."
She nodded. "Aye, I won't forget."
Topaz and John strode to the edge of the campsite and could see the two vessels being anchored as close to the shore as they dared. Men began spilling out of the boats in twos and threes, tripping over each other to set foot on land, looks of muddled perplexity on their faces.
A swarthy seafarer swaggered towards John and Topaz, mumbling to himself, the bedraggled men behind him regarding the unfamiliar landscape with dazed awe, heads turning in every direction.
"What idiot picked this landing spot?" he shouted over his shoulder to the confounded group, heads shaking and shoulders shrugging in reply.
A few of them had their fingers curled around their hilts, swords at the ready, prepared for the ambush they deemed inevitable. Others simply looked numb.
He approached Topaz with what she could now discern as an uneasy gait and shot John a passing glance. "Wench! Where is thy master? I'll box his ears... Nay, I'll run him through! What better place for an ambush? We're lucky the rebels didn't slay every last one of us!"
Topaz folded her arms across her chest and glared at the captain, and she noticed him take a tiny step back. "Call me wench, do you? You will speak to me with the respect due the rightful and future Queen of England!"
"England? I have no quarrel with Henry and his legions!" A look of horror crossed his features. Then he thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "God's blood. I was tricked by that Methuselah Bridgeman! We spent the entire voyage playing backgammon and following the stars, when I should have been checking the rogue's charts to find out where we were really going!"
He turned, ready to leave as suddenly as he had arrived.
"No stomach for a fight then, you coward?" she sneered.
He wheeled on her furiously. "There be no cowardice in wanting to live. I want nothing to do with any war against Henry, son of the Tudor warrior tribe! I only have my regulars. You would need the entire army of Spain to put down Henry! He will gut us and leave us for the dogs to eat!"
"Well, then, if you think so little of your band, take your scurvy, pox ridden pond-scum and go back whence thee came, you worthless band of brigands!" Topaz spat.
The captain reeled back in shock, his eyes darkening to the color of the blackened sea. "Where's Bridgeman?" he demanded, flinging the words at his men. "He promised Ireland. He promised more gold and bountiful treasures than I could ever imagine. Fetch him! Clap him in irons and bring him to me! Fetch the knave! Let him tell me where his thirty thousand good men and true are! Let him show me his gold!"
"No wonder he wanted to be last off the boat!" one of the men, on the outskirts of the group, spoke up.
Just as the words left his lips, an explosion shattered the air about them and a flaming blaze of fire lit up the coastline as if the very sky had exploded before their eyes. All heads turned in shock before the men hurled themselves to the ground.
The muscular captain threw himself in front of Topaz, shielding her from the flying debris, chunks of wood and canvas that had been the mercenaries' ships hurtling towards her. The missiles would have most likely beheaded her had he not wrestled her to the ground.
When the dazed men finally looked up in disbelief, one of them bellowed, "There he is, the bastard!"
A withered figure silhouetted against the flames emerged from the billowing smoke in a small rowboat, stooped over the oars, laboriously rowing toward shore.
The men scrambled to their feet and the captain at last relinquished his hold on Topaz. She straightened her skirts with a twitch, dusting off the sand as best she could, and adjusted her head-dress.
His rowboat skimmed up the beach and several of the men sprinted up to old Bridgeman, violently rocking the boat until he tumbled out, sprawling onto the sand. He stumbled to his feet, brushing off the questions the men were hurling at him. His watery eyes skimmed the group and fixed on Topaz. He smiled cheerily.
"Ireland? By Jove, do I have a terrible sense of direction! It must be my poor befuddled brain, did I say Ireland? I never could read charts properly since I lost the sight of my left eye!" He approached Topaz and took her hand in his, kissing it gallantly.
He turned back to the men and waved a withered arm. "Don't worry, lads! One war's as good as another; you'll die just as easy here as there! What would you have from Irish peasants anyway? Steal the peat from their bogs, would you? Nay, there's richer plunder here! To London and Henry's treasure chests say I. Thirty thousand! No! No! I'm quite sure I made it clear at the outset we would have three thousand men, not thirty thousand."
"But our food, supplies—"
"Can all be restored easily enough," he said with an airy wave. "The whole of the north is loyal to the Plantagenets and wants nothing to do with Henry Tudor's increasingly corpulent and tyrannical brat. Lady Topaz is the daughter of the most powerful earl of Warwick, a landed nobleman of the first order with fine estates that lack for nothing. You shall have more gold than you could ever imagine once you help her win that which is rightfully hers."
"Gold... Hmm... Maybe this is worthwhile after all," the captain said, his gaze never once leaving her face.
Topaz could hear the men muttering among themselves, clustering into a tighter huddle. "Aye, I've heard something about the English Crown Jewels being..."
Bridgeman turned to the sea captain, a crooked grin on his weather-beaten face. "Well, Captain Vogts, no matter what anyone says, since your powder seems to have destroyed your ship, it looks like you and your men have made your mind up for you."
"Clever old bastard, aren't you," the captain said with a shake of his head.
"Resourceful. I have faith in my cause and in this woman here. I would ask you to do the same and let us band together in a common cause."
The captain sighed.
Bridgeman twirled around to face Topaz, his sodden doublet slapping his skin in the breeze. "Now that that's settled, let me introduce you formally. Captain Franz Vogts, this is Lady Topaz of Warwick, the rightful and future queen! Lady Topaz, this is Captain Vogts, recently a commander of the Swiss Guard."
The captain flashed a look over in Topaz's direction, scratching his head, then threw another glance at John. Gathering himself to his full height, he regained composure, and began scanning his huddle of men.
In the end he stated, "We'll rest here tonight, but we'll have none of this madness! We march south tomorrow and by God we'll not stop 'till we reach the channel, and then just long enough to board a ship to Calais!"
Topaz took a few haughty steps up to Vogts. Even at his full height, she was at exactly his eye level and her stern gaze bored in
to his. "I'll not be sorry to see you go!" She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "Why, our poor village fool is a braver man than ye. Why not trade your fancy doublets and polished armor for his fool's garb now? The bells would become you better!"
"'Tis an army well suited to fools, my dear," Vogts replied. She could see his cheeks flush hotly, his pale sallow skin turning blotchy with rage. "I'll not be one of them!"
They glared at each other for another silent moment and then stormed off in opposite directions.
She could see Bridgeman out of the corner of her eye strolling over to the campfire, emitting an amused guffaw.
"Just what entertains you so, you old vagabond?" Topaz shouted over the crackling fire and the confused mutterings of the men as they dispersed to set up camp. "What manner of men are these that you have brought me? They possess naught but cowardly swagger and loud mouths, which will be hungry come morning, no doubt!"
Bridgeman rubbed his hands and wriggled out of his doublet. It hit the sand with a soggy plop. "Men you wanted, Lady Topaz, and men you have got. They are the best Europe has to offer; strong men with bold hearts, each one worth four of Henry's men! Worry not, dear lady, I have not gotten to this age by poking at lions. Give our captain a good night's sleep on solid ground and methinks you'll find his manner much improved by morning."
"I hope so, Patrick. The whole kingdom rests in your hands."
She left the old man to dry out and went to join John in his tent to partake of the strong ale that was undoubtedly flowing by now.
Vogts appeared at Topaz's tent early the next morning. She was already awake, having bathed in the sea among the driftwood of the destroyed ship before the first light of dawn, and was now sipping the last of her breakfast ale.
"You come to bid me farewell?" Topaz eyed the smooth linen shirt slashed at the sleeves, light breeches tapering to fine glossy hose. "Be off with you! Not a groat more will you get from me!"
He shook his head. "I do not come here for the balance of my retainer. I've been thinking."
"Oh?"
"Wales is South, a Tudor stronghold and fierce loyal to Henry. I'll not tangle with the Welsh. For sure those flames were seen last night. Old Bridgeman is not so daft. He knew we would have no choice but to join your venture once he destroyed our ships, and so we shall. Your middle guard we will form, so I can keep my eye on you and protect our interests. We'll head away from here inland now, and lead you to London, but don't stand in the way of our plunder when we get there, Lady Topaz!"
She smiled to herself, draining her ale cup, pouring yet another for herself and her new ally. "I wouldn't dream of it. You can pillage the Tudors all you like once we get there. You can have all the jewels and wealth you like from old fat Harry. Just leave the crown for me."
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