Poseidon’s Legion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She cared a great deal.

  But there was terrible fear in telling him the truth. It would ruin everything between them, everything that was developing. Feelings so precious and true that they were surely a gift from God. But Lord Wembury wouldn’t understand that, nor would her brother or the Earl of March. So much was dependent upon her.

  And what had she done? She had failed. She had become attached to a man who stole and killed for a living. She’d just witnessed the man pillaging a ship and stealing the cargo, and cruelly treating two young women. Could a man like that change? Probably not. She was a fool for having let herself fall for the man.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  Greatly torn, Gregoria found herself in tears as she returned to the chair near the window, searching her soul to determine which was the correct thing to do. Stay with Constantine because she was infatuated with him, and he with her? What happened when that infatuation wore off? He would cast her aside, she would be an enemy of her brother and of Lord Wembury, and the quiet house by the sea with its garden would be a bitter memory. She would have nothing but the memories of an affair with a great pirate.

  A man she could quite easily sell her soul to.

  … would it be worth it?

  By evening, the storm that had rolled in during the battle was blowing full-force, reflecting the deep and trouble state of Gregoria’s soul.

  Chapter Ten

  Parrog Bay, Southern Wales

  It was as bad a storm as Shaw had seen in a very long time. The good news was that the wind was blowing in from the northeast to the southwest, which meant he had made astonishing time from Bardsey Island. He was already in southern Wales and he hadn’t expected to see this land until tomorrow morning. If the winds kept up, he would be at Eynon Bay by the morrow.

  But the bad news was that his vessel was taking a beating. They had a cracked mizzenmast and he wasn’t entirely sure the foremast wasn’t cracked, either. The winds had been brutal. Given that a broken mast would slow him down for a couple of days at the very least until it could be repaired, he made the decision to seek shelter so the crack in the mast could be reinforced before it snapped. That choice drove him straight into Parrog Bay.

  Parrog Bay was a smaller cove in southern Wales, but it provided enough shelter so that his ship wouldn’t get pummeled. The ship’s carpenters remained on board to reinforce the mast but Shaw and most of his men disembarked the ship and headed into the small fishing village of Parrog for some warmth and shelter. After a day and a night of that terrible storm, they were all eager to be on level ground and protected from the winds.

  It had been a while since Shaw had been in this part of Wales, mostly because this was Constantine’s territory and also because he really didn’t give a hang about Wales in general, other than to eat its seasonal crab. But he had been to Parrog in the past and he and his men headed for the big tavern on the edge of town, one called The Hungry Dogfish. As they approached the establishment through the rain and wind, they could see the glowing lights in the cracks of the shuttered windows and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air, indicating a big fire.

  And it was the warmth from the fire that slapped them in the face when they opened the front door, a blast of stale heat that was both revolting and welcoming. The common room was crowded with people, men and women having come in out of the elements to ride out the storm, but Shaw wasn’t interested in the patrons or in being polite. He wanted a table to himself and his men wanted food. When it was clear the customers of the tavern had no intention of giving up their tables for him and his men, Shaw gave a quick nod to Thor.

  It was time to make room.

  Soon enough, tables were being overturned and men were scrambling to get away from the gang of pirates that had just entered the tavern. Rather that deal with the cutthroats, men and women were rushing from the tavern, out into the rain they’d been so comfortably avoiding. Now, it was pandemonium as Shaw and his men took over about half of the tavern. Those brave enough to remain were crowded in to the opposite side of the room, as far away from the pirates as they could get.

  The common room smelled of rotten wood, old food, and the smoke from the big hearth. Shaw claimed a chair at one of the six tables his men had confiscated and sat down, pulling at a loaf of bread that had been left behind when the previous diner had fled. It was good bread, with rye grain in it, and he chewed heartily as the fearful tavern owner and a couple of older serving wenches inched their way in his direction.

  Already, his men were calling for food and drink, and the wenches scattered as the owner continued towards Shaw, who was clearly the leader of the group. He was giving commands and his men were following without question. The tavern owner stood near Shaw, nervously.

  “A meal, m’lord?” he asked. “I have boiled beef tonight. ’Tis very good.”

  Shaw nodded. “Bring it all,” he said. “My men are hungry. And do ye have something better than watered ale?”

  The man nodded. “I have a sweet Malmsey at a good price.”

  “Bring it.”

  The man scooted off, leaving Shaw and the others to begin removing their wet outer clothing. They were close enough to the hearth that men were laying out their cloaks on the stone and watching the steam rise. As wet clothing was set out and the men returned to their table for the drink that was being brought out, the other patrons of the tavern seemed to relax. Realizing the pirates weren’t there to kill them and burn out the place, but simply to eat, they began to resume their tables and their conversation, which was now in whispers.

  A tentative peace settled.

  “I canna remember such a gale,” Thor said as a serving wench handed him a cup of wine. He drank heartily from it. “It must be something fierce further tae the north. Came in over Ireland, I would think.”

  Shaw nodded as he, too, accepted his cup of wine. He took a big drink, smacking his lips at the heavy sweetness of the liquor. “’Tis blowing down from the north, ’tis for certain,” he said. “If the men can get the crack in the mast repaired tonight, we can continue on in the morning. If these winds keep up, we’ll be at Eynon Bay tomorrow sometime.”

  Thor nodded, pondering the deep red wine in his cup. “I have been thinking…”

  “What?”

  “Have ye thought on what tae tell Constantine when we arrive? I suspect that Lucifer dinna tell him he summoned us.”

  Shaw sighed thoughtfully. “That was my impression as well,” he said. “I suppose we simply tell Con that we were trolling his waters for victims.”

  Thor grinned. “He’ll be angry if ye tell him that,” he said. “These are his waters. The victims would be his.”

  Shaw chuckled. “I know it,” he said. “But ’tis better than telling him that Lucifer sent for us because he’s afraid the man is in danger. Under no circumstances do we tell Con who sent us word, do ye hear?”

  Thor nodded. “I know,” he agreed. “The more I think on it, the more concerned I am for Con. Lucifer has never sent us word like this, not ever.”

  Shaw sobered dramatically. “I canna imagine that Con doesna know what he is doing,” he said. “I’ve never known the man tae make a bad decision. Rash, aye. Bad, no.”

  “Then what do we tell Con when we see him?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  With that, they retreated into their drink as the tavern keeper and the wenches brought out big bowls of steaming boiled meat and a pea potage. As the men began to dig in, like a feeding frenzy, a very drunken old man wandered over to their table.

  It was an old man who frequented the tavern, bothering the customers and drinking all he could get his hands on. He thought nothing of approaching the pirates who had just settled in.

  “Ahoy!” the old man said, grinning and weaving about. “I know who you are, bachgen. I saw your ship in the cove. ’Tis a fine vessel, it is.”

  He was near Shaw, who soundly ignored him as he delved into his food. The tavern owner tried
to chase the old man away, but he wouldn’t go. He simply went to Shaw’s other side, watching as the men wolfed down the food.

  “I used to live at sea myself,” the old man continued. “I was a fisherman and my father before me. Do you know there is good fishing off of Ramsey Island this time of year? Fish as big as a man!”

  Shaw shoved meat into his mouth but, at this point, he turned to look at the old drunk. He looked the man up and down before returning to his food.

  “I eat my share of crab,” he said, mouth full. “Bardsey is the best place for that.”

  The old man was thrilled that he’d gotten a response. “Anglesey, bachgen,” he insisted. “That is where you will find the best crab. Do you ever fish there?”

  Bachgen was an affectionate slang term for boy, or son. Much like men in Scotland called each other laddie. Shaw shook his head to the question.

  “I havena,” he said. “We just left Bardsey.”

  The old man took another swig of the cheap ale in his hand. “Then you’re coming too far south for good crab,” he said. “But just two weeks ago, I was in Swansea. They were pulling fish out of the sea that were twice the size of a man, big silver fish they were cutting up and selling for a fortune.”

  Shaw had a soft spot for old men who told tall fish tales. His own father had been such a man and he glanced at Thor, winking at the man as if to pull him in on the joke.

  “Fish twice the size of a man, eh?” he said to the old man. “Were ye the great catcher of those fish, then?”

  The old man snorted, taking another drink of his ale only to realize it was empty. Seeing this, Shaw picked up the pitcher of the Malmsey and poured it into the old man’s cup, much to his delight.

  “Thank you, m’lord,” he said gratefully, licking his lips of the very sweet wine. “Now, to answer your question. You think you are jesting with me, but the truth is that I’ve caught bigger fish in my life. Much bigger fish.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye, ’tis!” the old man insisted. He took a long gulp of the Malmsey before continuing. “As big as a boat!”

  Now, Shaw was fighting off a grin at the exaggerating old man. “Well, now,” he said, “ye’re something of a hero, are ye? Bringing in fish as big as a boat? I would have liked tae have seen it.”

  The old man was now being very friendly with Shaw, his new best friend. He put a gnarled old hand on Shaw’s shoulder.

  “If you’ll take me on your ship, I’ll show you where the best places are to find big fish,” he said. “I… I know I’m just an old fool, but I could be of some use to you.”

  Shaw turned to look at the old man. “Ye’re not an old fool,” he said. “Ye’re an old liar, but ye’re not an old fool.”

  Those at the table who had heard the insult erupted in soft laughter, including the old man. “Mayhap I am an old liar at that,” he agreed, somewhat embarrassed. “But… but I’m sharp. I see things. And I know things. I can tell you where the danger is so you and your men can avoid it.”

  Shaw pretended to be interested. “I see,” he said. “And just where is there danger around here?”

  The old man took a giant swallow of his wine, nearly draining the cup. Already, it was making him drunker than he had been, mixing the sweet wine with the cheap ale as he was.

  “Down south,” he said. “Down towards Swansea. There is a Saesneg army outside of Swansea. You would do well to stay away from a village called Three Crosses.”

  Three Crosses. Hadn’t he heard that name before? Shaw’s humor vanished. “An English army near Three Crosses…?” He trailed off, realizing with horror where he’d heard the name. Wasn’t that what Lucifer’s messenger had told him? “Three Crosses – the abbey?”

  The old man nodded, rather unsteadily. “Remember I told you that I was just in Swansea, visiting my son, in fact,” he said. “I… I don’t have my boat any longer, so I must travel on land. ’Tis an embarrassment for an old sailor like me.”

  Shaw didn’t want to hear of the embarrassment. He wanted to hear of the army. “And so it is,” he said. “But this army… ye’re certain it was at Three Crosses?”

  The old man nodded. “Aye,” he said. “When I was returning home to Parrog, I had to hide from the army. It was dug in at Three Crosses. So you must not go there!”

  As Shaw clarified what the old man was saying, Thor spoke up. “Three Crosses Abbey,” he hissed at Shaw. “Isna that’s where Con is supposed to go?”

  Indeed it was, with an English army sitting there, waiting for him. Suddenly, the awareness of the situation all came barreling down on Shaw in a big rush and he slammed his cup to the table, turning to Thor as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Grasping at the situation, like pieces to a great puzzle, he began to fit those pieces together.

  “Ballocks,” he muttered. “A Sassenach army is in the same place Con is going?”

  Thor’s expression reflected the same shock that Shaw was feeling. “It seems so,” he said. “But mayhap they’re no longer there. That was several days ago, at least.”

  Shaw’s head snapped to the old man. “How long ago was this?”

  The old man couldn’t help but notice that his new pirate friends didn’t seem so pleased with the information. “About nine days ago, I recall,” he said. “Why does that surprise you? Saesneg are all over southern Wales.”

  “Did the army show any signs of leaving?”

  “’Tis hard to tell. I avoided them mostly. But they seemed camped there.”

  The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together in a most distressing way. Shaw finally returned his attention to Thor. “Nine days ago,” he said ominously. “If they’re still there, Con will run right into them.”

  Thor was as astonished as Shaw was. “But do ye suppose the Sassenach army already knows that?”

  An expression of horror crossed Shaw’s face as he shook his head, sickened by the reality of the situation. “Know it?” he repeated, aghast. “I’d be willing tae wager that they’re waiting for him. That woman Lucifer spoke of is leading Con straight to them. It wasna the French we had to worry about, but the damnable English!”

  Thor’s eyes widened. “An ambush!” he hissed. “Constantine le Brecque would make a fine trophy for Henry. Ye know he’s been trying tae capture him for years!”

  There was no more time for talk. The shock of the situation propelled them to their feet, bellowing to their men to do the same. Confused, but never ones to question an order, Shaw’s men were quickly on their feet, some of them with food still in-hand as they rushed from the tavern with Shaw and Thor leading the way. No one had any idea what was going on until they reached the ship, tossing about in the cove during the storm, and Thor explained to the crew what was happening.

  An ambush.

  The Savage of the Sea set sail for Eynon Bay in a tempest because there was no time to waste. Constantine and his men were walking into a trap, and Shaw could only pray they intercepted the man before that happened.

  Chapter Eleven

  Southern Coast of Wales

  By sunrise, the weather hadn’t improved in the least. Constantine thought it might have even gotten worse. The spray was vicious and the ship was being buffeted mercilessly but, just after sunrise, the coast of Wales came in to view on the horizon.

  Constantine had to admit that he was glad.

  But it was a struggle to reach the shore because they were heading into the wind. They’d been using the tacking zig-zag maneuver since last night and had somehow made headway, but it had been a good deal of hard work. Even now, his men were exhausted as they continued to strain, trying to keep the ship in one piece as it rolled and shuddered against the sea. The Gaia was a strong, seaworthy vessel, but Constantine had to admit that he’d be glad to put the ship into the cove and find her some protection. Like most strong women, she could only take so much.

  And that included Gregoria.

  The woman had been sick all night and this morning, she was still de
athly ill from the violent sea. Constantine had gone in to check on her throughout the night and she’d been in bed with the five dogs, unable to rise for her sickness. Constantine knew they had to reach land quickly, if only for her sake, but he also kept an eye on Augustin, who hadn’t returned to Perranporth with Kerk and the Persephone. He’d elected to travel on with Constantine. The man was carrying out his duties flawlessly, as always, but Constantine had seen him hanging over the railing on occasion. For Augustin’s sake, it would be better to find land, too.

  Therefore, they crept along the sea, heading towards the land on the horizon. Because of the nearly horizontal rain at times, everything shipboard with the exception of the captain’s cabin was soaking wet, men and provisions included. They’d had a difficult time keeping the gunpowder dry for the cannons, and he’d eventually had most of it taken into his cabin to be stored away from the elements. The entire time they’d loaded the sacks of powder in to the cabin, he’d kept an eye on Gregoria over on the bed, but she never moved a muscle.

  Now, the day was edging on towards the nooning and, luckily, the storm was starting to ease. The wind was still fierce at times, as was the rain, but there were also pockets of sunshine as the clouds were scattered about overhead.

  The Gaia, beaten and weary from enduring the elements, closed in on Eynon Bay and when the sun appeared between the clouds again, Constantine could see the details of bright green strip of land as they began to draw nearer. If the weather continued to clear, then it would make their travel much easier. By the time they finally neared the golden, sandy shore of Eynon Bay, the rain had stopped for the most part and the sun was shining brightly in between a scattering of dark clouds.

  Entering the bay was tricky because Eynon had a series of sharp rocks off to the east and west, while the sandy shore was right in the middle of them. There was a narrow sea opening for the ships to get through, one that had underwater rocks on either side, but once the Gaia was through the strait, they entered the large, calm bay with almost no movement to the water. They were, perhaps, an eighth of a mile or less from shore, on a soft and sandy bottom, when Constantine ordered his men to drop anchor. Happily, they did.