Poseidon’s Legion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Still more of his men were moving the surviving crew of the merchant ship onto the Gaia, taking them below where the captives were kept. There was also a beautiful black stallion that had been secured to the stern of the ship and his men had rigged a cradle to move the horse over to the Gaia, but the horse was frightened so Constantine jumped in to help.

  As the flames began to consume the merchant vessel, Constantine managed to cover up the eyes of the stallion and hold the animal steady as his men rigged the rope cradle and heaved the horse between the ships, landing it gently on the deck of the Gaia where there were men waiting to tend it. By this time, the merchant ship was listing dangerously by the bow and Constantine made his way back to the Gaia to survey their take. Remy was there to meet him.

  “Well?” Constantine said. “Have we cleared everything from the merchant ship?”

  Remy nodded. “Mostly,” he said. Then, he pointed to the bow of the crippled ship and Constantine turned to see Kerk in the water, swimming towards the Gaia with four goats in tow. “Kerk was able to free the animals in the front of the hold.”

  Constantine snapped at his men to rush and help Kerk pull the goats from the water. They did so, heaving the animals out by their necks. They were wet, but unharmed. “No more livestock on board?” he asked.

  Remy shook his head. “There were more goats, but we transferred them to the Persephone,” he said. “In fact, what do you want to do about all of this? We have quite a bit of merchandise and most of it on the Gaia. Will you carry all of this to Wales?”

  Constantine shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “Move the Persephone alongside and we’ll transfer everything over to her. You can then take the Persephone back to Perranporth while the Gaia will continue to Wales. I cannot, and will not, take a heavily-laden vessel any further than I have to. It is safer to return the goods home as soon as we can.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Go and make the necessary preparations.”

  As Remy headed off to move everything over to the Persephone, Constantine wanted to get a better look at the black stallion. It was a magnificent animal with a shiny coat and furry fetlocks, quite big and muscular. He had a weakness for fine horses and knew this one would make an excellent addition to his collection. He petted the beast, inspecting the legs, making sure the animal hadn’t suffered in the chaos. It seemed fine except that it was still quite excited, so he instructed his men to keep the animal’s eyes covered. He also wanted someone with the animal constantly to see to its wellbeing, and a sailor with a great fondness for horses was assigned.

  With the last of the cargo being transferred to the Gaia, the merchant ship went through its death throes as the burning wreckage slipped beneath the sea. Heavy smoke covered the area and Constantine had the Gaia moved away from the smoldering ruins to keep his ship protected.

  The conquest of the merchant ship had been an unexpected benefit to this trip, making the entire undertaking well worth his while. Perhaps now his men wouldn’t look upon this venture so unfavorably. They thought he didn’t know of their concerns, but he did. Constantine wasn’t a fool. He knew what his men were thinking better than they did at times. He knew this haul would ease some of that disapproval. Disapproval that their leader, a man great enough to lead titans, was letting a woman influence his decisions.

  But that was far from the case. At least, Constantine kept telling himself that.

  Muddled in thought, he went to the poop deck of the Gaia and surveyed the activity as all of the goods on the decks of the Gaia were moved over to the Persephone. It was an extremely rich haul and Constantine specifically assigned Kerk the duty of taking the Persephone back to Perranporth and then inventorying the entire haul. He trusted Kerk and knew the man would keep everything protected until his return to Perran Castle.

  But thoughts of Gregoria were heavy on Constantine’s mind, even as he went about his duties. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake her. Specifically, he was dreading the moment when he would send his men into his cabin to remove the two captive women to take back to Perran Castle. Gregoria had asked him what he intended to do with the women and the answer was obvious; it was the same thing he did every time he captured women as part of a haul or conquest – he would auction them off to his men as wives or concubines. He might even award them to men who performed admirably in battle. Women were possessions, like that beautiful black horse or the trunk of fine silks they’d come across. They were items for a man to do with as he pleased.

  … weren’t they?

  He had a feeling Gregoria wouldn’t think so.

  Therefore, Constantine was a coward in the end. When it came time to move the captive women to the Persephone, he sent Lucifer and Remy and Augustin to do it. He pretended to be busy with other things, but he could hear the screams of the women as they were removed from his cabin and taken aboard the Persephone. They were screams of terror and of pain, the cries of women whose future was now uncertain. They were cries that had never bothered him before in all the years he’d been at sea but, this time, it was different. The cries cut into him.

  … what if those cries had belonged to Gregoria?

  God, what was happening to him! That woman, that silly woman who had come to him with tales of a holy relic and had convinced him to help her return it was under his skin more than he wanted to admit. Had she bewitched him somehow? Had those big blue eyes and sensual body hooked him more than he had realized? He should be angry about it; so very angry but, instead, he found himself wanting to go and see her. She was in the cabin below his feet, undoubtedly upset about the captive women being moved to the Persephone, and he’d stayed away like a weakling. He hadn’t wanted to face her.

  He was going to have to face her sometime.

  Once the captive women had been taken below deck on the Persephone, Constantine summoned his courage. Heading down to his cabin, he could see that the door was wide open. The deck was fairly devoid of men at this point, most of them working on securing the Persephone for her return, so he made his way into the cabin, prepared for a tongue lashing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find or what mood Gregoria would be in, and he wondered why he even cared. But he did care.

  That was his problem.

  “What did you do with those women?”

  He had barely entered the open door than Gregoria was firing the question at him. He lifted a blond eyebrow at her.

  “I am not sure I care for your tone,” he said. “I told you that what I do is none of your affair.”

  Gregoria was standing back by the windows, arms crossed angrily. “Then why did you come back in here?” she asked. “You knew I was going to ask you. Do you know that Lucifer and one of your other men dragged those women out of here, kicking and screaming?”

  He was struggling not to show any remorse because she made something he was immune to sound so terrible. “If they were kicking and screaming, then that is their fault,” he said evenly. “They could have gone peacefully. They chose not to.”

  Gregoria wasn’t surprised by the answer, but she was disappointed. She was so angry, so upset, that she was trembling. All of those soft, warm feelings she’d developed for Constantine were in danger of fizzling out, like water dousing a flame. But, in truth, she was only lying to herself if she thought that was really the case. Whatever she felt for the man was beginning to anchor itself deep. But to see how his men had treated those women – at Constantine’s direction – hurt her deeply.

  “What kind of man are you?” she finally hissed. “I thought you were kind and helpful. And now… now…!”

  “Now what?” he said, losing the battle against his patience. “What did you really think I am when you came to seek my help, Gregoria? Some fine, noble knight, a gentle man that lives a genteel life? You knew better than that. I never put on any illusion of being anything other than what I am – a thief and a man of business. That is all.”

  His words were like a slap in the face. Gregoria stared at him
and her lower lip began to tremble. Disillusioned, she averted her gaze and turned away from him.

  “Then put me off this ship,” she hissed. “I will go back to Perran Castle with the rest of the cargo. I want off!”

  His jaw ticked as he watched her stiff back. “What about this relic you want to deliver to Wales?” he asked. “You were quite determined that I escort you, fearful of the French as you were.”

  “I would rather face them!” she suddenly shouted, whirling to look at him. “Surely they cannot be any worse than what you are!”

  His jaw flexed. “Is that what you think?” he said. “Then you really are a fool. Shall I tell you how I differ from the French? If you have been told anything about them at all, then you know that they cut the feet off of their captives so they cannot run away. Did you know that? At least I do not maim my captives.”

  Gregoria hadn’t heard that and she gasped with shock, trying to cover it but not doing a very good job. “That… that is horrible!”

  He nodded. “Indeed, it is,” he said. “Do you know what else the French do, especially to women captives? They will chain you to a bed shipboard so that you cannot escape – chaining your hands to the head of the bed – and then any man who feels the need to sate his lustful needs in the soft folds of your body has the opportunity to do so. Considering how many men they carry shipboard, anywhere from thirty to fifty, you could find yourself violated thirty to fifty times a day. Even if you become with child, they do not remove you from that bed. Men will continue to relieve themselves in your body until you give birth to that child, which they will then throw overboard the moment it is born. The blood and guts from childbirth will barely be out of your body before another man is putting his seed in you. Now – do you still believe I am not any worse than the French?”

  By the time he was finished, she was looking at him with tears in her eyes and a hand over her mouth.

  “Dear… God…,” she breathed through splayed fingers. “Tell me that is not true.”

  “Of course it is true. I would not lie to you.”

  She blinked and tears spattered on her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away. “You… you will not do that to Genevieve or Vivienne, will you?” she asked hoarsely. “The women you captured, I mean. The women that were just here. You will not be cruel to them like that, will you?”

  “Why do you care so much about them? You do not even know them.”

  She sighed faintly, shaking her head. “I do not need to know them,” she said softly, pleadingly. “All I know is that they are young women who do not deserve to be punished simply because they were on a ship that you wanted. Is it possible for you to show some compassion for their plight?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would be the right thing to do. Does it not ever occur to you to simply do what is right and good, for once?”

  It didn’t, not ever. Chattel! He thought. Those women are simply chattel! But it was clear Gregoria didn’t think so. Constantine’s plan had been to auction them off to his men, but looking at Gregoria’s pale face, he wasn’t sure he could do that any longer. She cared too much about what happened to them and, God help him, he cared what she thought. He was beginning to feel foolish and weak, angry at himself that Gregoria’s opinion meant so much to him. She brought an element of compassion to his view of the world that hadn’t been there before.

  He hated it.

  But there was no use in arguing with her. She simply didn’t understand. Worse still, she was making him second guess things he’d been doing ever since he took to sea. Do what is right and good. He didn’t even know what that meant.

  “I do not live my life by doing the right thing, Lady Meyrick,” he finally said. “I live my life by what is best for me and my men. Your father lived the same way, I might add, so do not judge me so harshly lest you judge your father as well.”

  Gregoria had nearly forgotten about Miles Tenby. She’d been so wrapped up in her budding feelings for Constantine, and now this, that she’d completely forgotten about the man she’d claimed as her father. With a shake of her head, one of disappointment, she lowered herself into the nearest fine chair.

  “My father said you were a man to come to in times of trouble,” she muttered. “I suppose I did not realize that also meant you had no moral compass. I do not know what I expected, but it was not what I have experienced. I want no part of it.”

  Constantine was hurt by that and he had no idea why. Perhaps it was because he was coming to respect Gregoria just the slightest; along with her obvious beauty and determination, she had a deep heart. Most men considered that a weakness, but Constantine was coming to think that it wasn’t a weakness at all. He envied someone who could feel as deeply as she did and, in spite of what she’d said – that she wanted off the ship – he wasn’t going to let her go.

  Increasingly, he realized that he couldn’t let her go.

  He started to move in her direction when he caught sight of Henry and Edward, sleeping on the bed where they shouldn’t be, cuddled up with three gray puppies. He’d seen the puppies brought on board but had no idea they hadn’t made it on to the Persephone. All five dogs were sleeping like the dead and, as a man with a softness for dogs, he went to the bed and bent over, petting one of the sleeping puppies. It occurred to him that he was showing the dogs more compassion than those two women and, with that thought, he was coming to understand what she’d meant. Would he have auctioned the dogs off or have treated them so poorly? Probably not. They were weaker creatures, dependent upon men.

  So were women.

  Heavily, he sighed.

  “Then what would you have me do?” he asked her. “With those women, I mean. What do you want me to do?”

  Gregoria was surprised by the question. Not that she believed he was truly seeking her advice, but she gave it, anyway. “Genevieve wanted to return to Ireland,” she said. “Could you simply return them to Ireland?”

  He shook his head. “I will not,” he said. “But I will take them home. I believe their father is based in Plymouth.”

  Gregoria was looking at him with increasing hope. “Truly?” she said. “You would do that?”

  He shrugged, petted the puppy one last time, and turned for the door. “Do you still want off the ship?”

  Gregoria watched him walk to the door. “Do you want me off the ship?”

  He came to an unsteady halt right by the door, refusing to turn and look at her. “That was not the question,” he said quietly. “Do you want off the ship?”

  She stood up from the chair, her gaze riveted to him. All of the hurt and confusion was draining away, leaving behind the warm feelings she’d developed for the man. Somehow, she knew there was something good in him underneath all of that piracy and plunder. She didn’t know how she knew, only that she did.

  Something in her heart told her so.

  “I will get off in Wales, if that is acceptable,” she said, making her way towards him, wishing he would look at her. “I… I did not mean to cause you any trouble, my lord. It is simply that this is my first experience with… well, with whatever it is you do. I am not accustomed to such things.”

  “I know.”

  “How much further to Wales?”

  He could hear her coming up behind him and it was as if his entire body ignited. He finally turned to look at her, gazing into those big blue eyes, but no words would come to mind. All he knew was that he wanted to touch her, and he did. He reached out, cupping her face between his two big hands, and kissing her deeply on the lips.

  Gregoria collapsed against him, responding to his kiss, her knees weakening to the point where she could barely stand. His kisses grew more forceful, his arms going around her, and she simply let the man have his way with her. She’d only known him a matter of days, but she couldn’t remember when he hadn’t been around her. When he hadn’t been embedded in her heart somehow.

  “Even if it was years to Wales, it would be too soon,” he breathed against her mout
h. “You inflame me, Gregg, as I have never been inflamed before. The feel of you, the scent of you… it is fuel for my soul.”

  Gregoria wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. “Must Wales be the end?” she whispered. “When you leave me, will I ever see you again?”

  His frenzied kisses slowed, his hands now rubbing her back, almost in a comforting gesture. “Do you ask because you wish to see me again?”

  It seemed to Gregoria that he had let his guard down. Because of that, she let hers down, also. “I… I do,” she said, hoping it wasn’t the wrong thing to say. “What happened yesterday… I thought mayhap… that mayhap you did, also.”

  He was silent a moment, his forehead against hers, feeling her soft heat against him. She felt so very good wrapped up in his arms, better than any woman he’d ever experienced. His thoughts of keeping her as a permanent mistress had only grown stronger.

  “I do,” he admitted. “You shall not leave me, Gregg. I want you to remain with me.”

  Gregoria’s heart had wings; it was soaring in a way she’d never known, full of the joy of his words. “I will.”

  “Swear it?”

  “I do.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, on the nose, and then put a finger under her chin, tipping it up so he could kiss her lips. Their eyes met for a moment and Gregoria could see something undulating in his dark gold depths. It was turmoil and emotion, everything all rolled up into one. As if he had no idea what he was truly feeling; all he knew was what he needed.

  He needed her.

  Without another word, he left the cabin, shutting the door quietly behind him. He didn’t even tell her to bolt it; he simply slipped out. Gregoria stood there, eyes on the door, wondering what she had just committed herself to. Responding to his question – her desire for him – had been truthful. She did, indeed, want to stay with him. But the fact remained that she was taking him to Wales for a specific purpose, a purpose that would see his end. The Earl of March and one thousand men were waiting for Constantine le Brecque at Three Crosses Abbey, and it was her task to take him there. She hadn’t cared in the least before, but now… she cared.