by Linda Madl
"My lady, the lookout on the point signals that three more cogs, large ones, are moving in with great speed. They fly no colors."
"Cogs? Nothing so large has sailed against us before.” She glanced up at her sergeant in surprise. Icy fear touched her for the first time. Where did pirates find so many men and such vessels?
"Our men are determined, my lady. They have become skilled with the new longbows we've made. Nearly every able-bodied man and boy in the village is prepared. I think we can give them a good fight."
"We must do our best,” she said, refusing to reveal her despair. “The pirates must not land. Make certain that every man understands that. Let the ships sail into range, then launch a barrage of arrows. Hit them heavy and fast. We'll force them to turn away."
"Yes, my lady.” Sergeant Ralph's boots clattered on the tower steps, and he shouted orders as he went.
"Face it, Leandra, not even you can defeat three cogs full of men.” Brenna leaned farther over the battlements and gazed curiously at the pirate ship. “I wonder, do pirates take wives?"
"You're never going to know,” Leandra muttered through clenched teeth. “They'll not set foot on Lyonesse soil this time, even if I have to go down to the shore and put an arrow through the black heart of that red-haired pirate chief myself."
* * * *
"PREPARE TO ATTACK!” Garrett roared, excitement surging through him. He gripped the cog's railing and looked across the sea at the birlinn, a swift Celtic galley, sighted by the boy in the crow's nest. After two weeks of preparation at Tremelyn and two miserable days at sea, he was ready to do battle.
"Send up the earl's colors,” he shouted with a laugh of satisfaction that banished his dour mood. There might be some glory in this mission yet. “Let's show them who we are."
He turned eagerly to the men in midships and roared a challenge. “Let's send every last one of those scurvy knaves to the bottom of the bay!"
The fighting men on deck shook their fists and cheered.
"Aye, sir,” said Cedric, Garrett's handpicked second in command, his voice as unruffled as that of a man just ordered to shoot target practice. The wiry little soldier resettled his sword belt on his hips and pushed his tunic sleeves back to the elbow like a man prepared to go to work. “To the bottom of the bay with them.” He began to relay Garrett's orders.
Oarsmen took up battle stations. Bowmen donned helmets, secured shields, and nocked yard-long arrows in their longbows. When Wystan offered a helmet, Garrett waved the squire away. “Not now. I must see everything."
The oarsmen heaved at the oars. The cog surged forward.
Garrett waited, marking the vanishing distance between the vessels. The ship plowed forward. Closer.
On his next command, designated bowmen prepared to set release to their arrows. Then he raised his hand.
Closer.
He could make out the sloppy pitch job on the birlinn's hull and the shaggy brown beard of the lookout who had not spotted them yet because he was too intent on the Lyonesse shore. Too late, the pirate lookout saw them. He shouted a warning. His surprised comrades turned from the shore side and rushed across the deck toward the attacking ship. The birlinn listed. The pirate chief screamed orders.
Garrett coolly calculated a moment longer. Timing often made the difference between victory or defeat.
The earl's bowmen became restless as the cog closed in. Cedric remained frozen, like a hound on point awaiting the next order.
Aboard the birlinn, pirates fumbled with crossbows and grabbed for rigging ropes.
Garrett brought his hand down.
"Draw and release,” Cedric relayed the command.
Battle cries went up. Flaming bolts flew. Steel-tipped shafts hailed down on the birlinn.
From the pirate ship shouts of alarm rang out. Smoke and flames leapt into the sky. Garrett's bowmen cheered.
"Once more,” he ordered. A second volley of arrows flew.
"Their sail is afire, sir,” Cedric reported.
Angry shouts carried over the water. The small birlinn shipped oars and came about. A few pirate arrows halfheartedly flopped toward the cog, then dropped into the waves.
From the birlinn a reckless, red-haired man jeered at them. He flung an obscene gesture and shouted words that the wind blew away. Garrett grinned and waved a derisive acknowledgment. Every defeated man deserved to have a last word, and Garrett would not slight the man by ignoring his.
Pirate oars flailed in a splashing panic. Garrett almost laughed at the frantic maneuvers. Fanned by the sea breeze, the hungry flames ate at their sail and proclaimed their defeat. Smoke grayed the sky. Oar blades sliced into the sea. The pirates lunged against the sculls, rapidly putting distance between themselves and the earl's ship. They headed for the open sea.
"Shall we pursue them, sir?” Cedric inquired, sounding unmoved by the confusion.
But Garrett caught the glint of battle fever flashing in the old veteran's eye. Apparently he'd found the short engagement as unsatisfying as Garrett had. But a warning shout from the lookout finished any thoughts of pursuit. He looked up to see the sky dark with a cloud of arrows.
"Sweet Jesu.” With one hand Garrett shoved Wystan to the deck and with the other grabbed Cedric's tunic and jerked the man down behind the ship's railing.
The lethal barrage swooped down on them, clattering against the gunwales and raining on Garrett's unprepared men.
Bowmen and oarsmen alike threw up shields or flattened themselves to the deck, shouting curses.
"The Lyonesse bowmen must think we're pirates, too,” Cedric gasped.
"Are they blind? We're flying the earl's colors.” Garrett swore again, but Cedric's explanation made sense. Apparently the earl's blue and gray colors had gone unobserved. If he didn't do something fast, they might suffer needless losses.
"Get a white flag up there,” he shouted to the crow's nest. He'd never raised the flag of surrender in his life, and he hated to begin now. But it seemed the only thing to do.
The pale lad in his nest clutched his bleeding arm and valiantly ran up the flag of surrender. Garrett peered over the rail toward shore.
As soon as the white banner snapped in the breeze, the Lyonesse bowmen threw down their longbows and tossed their caps in the air.
He issued orders for the wounded to be seen to and for the crew to make ready to land. Then he turned to glare up at the walls of Castle Lyonesse once more.
What simpleton would attack a ship without taking note of the flag—the most basic of all battlefield civilities? He would find out and he would have a few words to say to that dolt.
* * * *
THE PEOPLE OF Lyonesse recognized the earl's ships as allies and crowded down to the crumbling quay, waving their tattered hats and shouting welcome. Cheers rose from tailors, cobblers, bakers, coopers, fishermen, carpenters, and sailors. Women and children threw flowered boughs in the air as if the cogs’ crew were heroes.
"'Tis worse than I expected,” Father John said, speaking the very words on Garrett's lips. The priest had joined him, Wystan, and Cedric in the cog forecastle. “The poverty. But the people seem cheerful, ready to make us champions and victors."
"Nearly dead heroes, thanks to their foolish commander,” Garrett muttered. All around he noted ragged clothing and eyes too large for hollow-cheeked faces. Skinny, long-legged pigs wandered in the street, and slab-sided cart horses drooped in their harnesses. He wondered how any lord could allow his people to be brought to this condition by mere pirates.
He, Father John, and Wystan disembarked first. Garrett was eager to get his feet on solid ground again and to find Lyonesse's military commander. But his way was blocked by a stout fishwife who stank as badly as her trade would suggest. She offered him a gap-tooth grin and shoved a great tankard of mead at him.
"Good fight, my lord,” she lisped, the spray of saliva showering his chain mail. She pounded his back with hearty praise. “We knew the earl's men would save us when they come.
And here you be."
"Thank you, good mistress. But I must decline your hospitality,” he replied. “I want to speak with your highlord."
Impatiently he signaled to Wystan and Father John to make their way to the castle above the bay.
"I'll be honored to take you to him,” the fishwife said. “Here, this way, my lord."
Without further delay she led them up the narrow cobbled street that curved steeply toward the weathered towers above.
Cheering citizens of Lyonesse scampered along with them, their good spirits contagious. Garrett's anger abated some. Still, he would feel better when he'd taken one overeager commander to task.
Halfway up the hill they met a smiling, long-bearded holy man. A pair of pretty maids followed him. To Garrett's surprise, the fishwife halted. An expectant hush fell over the crowd. He understood that this white-robed man was of some rank. Despite the sandals that flapped on his feet and his stooped shoulders, the people stood back in respect.
"Welcome to Lyonesse, my son.” The old man's lined face brightened as he enfolded Garrett in a hearty embrace. Garrett submitted to a congratulatory kissed first on one cheek, then the other. Apparently this religious man and the maids were official greeters.
"Thank you for defeating our enemies.” With a wide smile and a blue, milky gaze the old man peered into Garrett's face. “You must be Sir Garrett. When at last we saw the earl's flag on your ship, I knew you were the envoy his lordship wrote to me about."
"Yes, Father. I am the earl's envoy.” Intent on his mission, Garrett looked beyond the wizened old man at the castle. “Forgive me my haste, but I must present myself at the castle to your Highlord Aidan. I would like to speak to the foo—bowman who gave the orders to shoot at the earl's colors."
"You need go no farther. I'm that fool."
Garrett hesitated. Had he heard correctly? Had one of the maids spoken? Had she admitted to giving the order to attack? He studied the two girls more closely, uncertain as to which one he'd heard.
The dark-haired girl caught his eye first. She fluttered her lashes and cast him a coy smile that left him unmoved. No flirtatious maid would have spoken with such sharpness. The bright yellow and blue of her attire and the harp slung from her shoulder suggested that she might be the member of some musicians’ troupe, no warrior.
The other girl glared back at him just as boldly as the first, but with a difference in her bearing. For the first time, he noted that she carried a bow and that a quiver of arrows hung from her russet girdle. The dark leafy color of her plain gown deepened the verdant green of her almond-shaped eyes. She regarded him with a solemn mouth and stubborn chin.
Up and down she scrutinized him, her gaze piercing and her head slightly tilted. She studied him as if she searched for something unworthy and intended to find it.
"You spoke, my lady?” He arrogantly returned the stare, half annoyed, half amused, and completely unconcerned whether she approved of him or not. But what an earthy, delicate creature to find in the company of a holy man. A common forester's daughter possibly, yet the golden wealth of her hair and the classic sculpting of her features reminded him of a being less common—the fair goddess, Diana.
As he took in the sight of her, a vision of a cool forest filled his senses. Life fluttered in the shadows, velvety green moss stretched along the floor, and the soft scent of fertile loam stirred his mind. The image was powerful. Diana. The lithe and elusive huntress. Defender of Life. Virgin goddess of the Forest.
"You seek the bowman who gave the order to attack the earl's colors? I gave that order,” she said without offering an apology or an excuse. Green eyes flashed gold like a lioness's.
Garrett continued to stare at her. His anger evaporated to almost nothing, and his thoughts became elusive. He fought to clear his head. “What did you say, my lady?"
She leaned toward him and repeated slowly, distinctly, as if she thought him addled. “I said, I gave the order to attack."
"You?” he stammered. A woman bowman? He began to regain his senses. No wonder Lyonesse's defenses suffered.
"Me. We would have defeated the pirates if some fool hadn't sailed into the way,” she added, casting him a look of pure annoyance.
"Sailed into the way!” He stepped closer to her, set on making his point, almost ready to shake a finger in her face. “If we hadn't sailed into the bay when we did, your village would be afire right now. Did you not think to look at our colors?"
"Did you not think to send up the earl's colors before sailing into the bay?” she demanded. Her stubborn chin jutted out a little farther.
The holy man interrupted. “Daughter, dear?"
"How was I to know you would attack anything that moved?” He ignored the old man's attempt to step between them.
"How could I be certain that you were not one of them?” she countered. “I would have endangered the men of Lyonesse to do anything other than I did."
Garrett clamped his mouth shut. The merit of her argument was impossible to deny, and that annoyed him even more.
"My children, I'm Father John.” The priest elbowed his way into their midst. “The battle is over, and the outcome is happy. Let us give thanks and take pleasure in each other's company."
At the old man's side, the golden-haired defender of Lyonesse pressed her lips together, obviously as reluctant as Garrett to give up the disagreement.
"Welcome, Father John,” the old man said with a kindly smile. “You offer wise words. I am Aidan, Lord of Lyonesse. Please let me present the ladies. The lovely maid with the harp is my niece, Lady Brenna."
Still fuming, Garrett bowed to the flirtatious, dark-haired maid and then to the Lord of Lyonesse. He was only mildly surprised to find the highlord dressed as a religious man. It was rumored the old man was too much devoted to the Church.
Then, touching the arm of the goddess on his left, the highlord added, “And this fair warrior is my daughter, Lady Leandra."
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Chapter Three
GARRETT'S EYES WIDENED as this revelation sank in. He nearly groaned aloud. To cover his surprise, he bowed. When he dared to look at Lady Leandra again, he could only stare in astonishment. This solemn-faced Diana was the heiress of Lyonesse? This would be Lord Reginald's wife. This was his future liege lady. Sweet Jesu, his first surrender in battle was to this woman.
She glared back in silence.
"My son, you are a hero here,” Highlord Aidan said in obvious hope of easing the tension. “You have rescued us. Please come partake of our humble hospitality."
"'Twould be my pleasure, your lordship,” Garrett said, unable to take his eyes off the old man's daughter. What had Reginald called her? A damsel in distress. Indeed. As much as he wanted to take her to task for attacking his ships, he didn't dare utter another word in anger. Not to Reginald's betrothed.
He ground his teeth. Why hadn't he just refused Reginald's request to be her escort and taken his chances of getting to France and joining the king on his own?
She continued to glare at him.
Then some thought seemed to occur to her. Her demeanor softened ever so slightly. “Were any of your men injured?"
"Yes, one,” he bit out, afraid to say more. Did she understand how miraculous it was they'd suffered only one wounded? “The boy in the crow's nest."
"Brenna? Please see to the injured man right away,” Lady Leandra ordered. The dark-haired maid obeyed.
"My niece is quite a good nurse.” Highlord Aidan flashed Garrett a disarming smile. “Your man will receive the best of care."
"Father, the food is being laid out for the men in the kitchen,” Lady Leandra said with a suddenly uneasy look in Garrett's direction. Lady Brenna returned to whisper something in the lady's ear, something about “destroyed ... and only enough bread for..."
"Your generosity is appreciated, my lady,” Garrett began. It seemed Lyonesse was even poorer than he first thought. “However, we have our own stores aboard ship."
Garrett bowed a grudging acceptance. Considering the poverty he saw around him, he had little inclination to indulge her pride. But to argue with Reginald's lady would be most ungracious and unwise. Already she frowned at him—the corners of her mouth turned down and a furrow formed between her winged brows—as though she were being insulted. As though she were the one who had been attacked.
What were the words and phrases Reginald had told him to use? Some of the expressions were so fawning that they refused to roll off Garrett's tongue. “Thank you for ... your gracious welcome. It is a pleasure to step on solid ground again ... on Lyonesse soil.” That much he could say with all honesty.
"Then come, my son, and share with us,” invited the highlord. He took Garrett companionably by the arm and led him up the street. “We of Lyonesse are most pleased with this union of our realm and Tremelyn. We have been preparing for days for your arrival, and all is ready for a great betrothal banquet."
He walked toward the castle gates, already dreading the proxy suitor role he would play in the ceremony that would be part of the evening to come.
* * * *
"LEANDRA, I'VE BEEN looking for you.” Brenna charged across the great hall toward her cousin, clog heels clicking against the wooden floor as she went.
So many questions had tumbled about in her head as she tended to the Tremelyn boy's wounds that she had almost made a bad job of it and left the poor boy's arm bound too tight.
"So what do you think of Sir Garrett?” she hissed at Leandra's back, intent on forcing her cousin to speak to her. After the heated words between Leandra and the earl's knight, she just had to know what her cousin was thinking.
"Uncle Aidan likes him,” she continued, making sure to keep the anxiety from her tone. She didn't want to appear too concerned, but if anything went wrong, if she didn't accompany Leandra to Tremelyn as a waiting woman, she'd probably never set foot in the world beyond Lyonesse's shores. She'd never see the spires of London town or learn the new songs and dances of real jongleurs.