A Woman of the Road

by Amy Wolf

  “Shall we?” I asked, jumping into the boat with more assurance than I felt.

  Jeffries followed my lead, as did Carnatus. Surveying the cramped space, he yelled to his man, “Gad, stay here!”

  On the dock, I could see Gad grin. Of course, so would I, if I could remain on dry land!

  When our captain George swung aboard, we seemed in danger of swamping. As I looked over rotting wood, patched here and there with tar, I tried to maintain my composure. In fact, I was terrified, but would rather go down to the depths than be mocked by Carnatus.

  “Need ta wait for high tide,” George remarked.

  “How long will that be?” I asked, as I tried to settle in despite the moored boat’s rocking.

  “Not ta much longer.”

  When waves lapped high against the hull, he blew out his lantern, leaving only the moon as our guide. Hearing his oars move against water merely increased my unease, for God knows I was no sailor! This was made more than apparent as I leaned over the side. Though our voyage on the canal consisted of but twenty miles, I silently cursed each one.

  “Steady, Megs,” Jeffries whispered. “Remember our ultimate aim.”

  I nodded weakly. We bobbed on inky water in an unsteady craft to . . . to rescue the king! What must we do beforehand? Of course! We must rescue, uh, find Aventis.

  When morning broke over that gray-green sea, I saw a shore in the distance. Having never been out of England, I assumed that it was France. With a practiced hand, George rowed us up to the beach where I promptly collapsed. My inner demons rejoiced, for Carnatus was even worse, and had to aided by Jeffries.

  “Damn Aventis!” spat Carnatus, splaying onto the sand. “Couldn't he have gone to Spain so we could sail like gentlemen?”

  As Jeffries laughed, I turned to survey Calais. What I saw was an English-style seawall, and, if I strained my eyes, the Cliffs of Dover. But Jeffries had not ferried us here to conduct a Grand Tour. He ushered Carnatus and me into a modest tavern, where he ordered (perfectly, based on the waiter’s reaction) in French. Carnatus added some flowery phrases, which made me sink into my seat. It was clear that of all our party, I was the only one who could not comprehend a word!

  After a simple breakfast of fresh bread and butter (gratefully washed down with some French wine), Jeffries hurried us from the quay and made for a stable. It was the matter of a few moments for us to secure borrowed mounts, which Jeffries led south on roads clearly familiar to him.

  “How long until Saint-Germain?” I asked, as my new horse loped at his side.

  “Forty-six leagues,” he said, as if it were round the corner.

  I sighed. That meant more stays at inns—and despite Gad’s absence, more backbreaking nights on the floor. After two such sojourns, I had the urge to approach to Carnatus and shove him into a vineyard. There, he might be pressed into a more pleasant vintage.

  Still, as we rode through the French countryside, I was not unhappy, with a view of sloped-roofed farmhouses and cows chewing their grass. It was gratifying to note that the French raised the same livestock and toiled in similar fields. They had been so maligned at home that I half expected the Pope to swoop down in his robes, hands extended like talons. But all could not be more peaceful.

  The villages we passed looked just as bucolic with their small stone churches. But there was no time to remark them for Jeffries did not waste a moment. Changing horses frequently, we rode like a thunderclap all the way to Paris.

  The great city at last! Yet, I had to confess, it seemed not so great as London, though I conceded that Notre-Dame rivaled the old St. Paul’s. How I wished to see the sights (whatever they might be!), but Jeffries rushed us through so that every avenue blurred. If we had not been pursuing Aventis, I might have made an outcry to startle these stiff Parisians!

  The last leagues to Saint-Germain went quickly, and after our journey by sea and land, we dismounted before the Abbey. I confess I had envisioned something of a quaint refuge housing perhaps ten monks: in fact, the size of the place dwarfed even Carnatus!

  Jeffries led us through a tall iron gate, where we beheld a whole town’s worth of buildings! Any vows of poverty must have been moot, for the Abbey had three huge towers flanked by squares of lawn each boasting a single tree. The weathered stones of the walls must have predated Charlemagne . . .

  “Where might we find Aventis?” I asked, taking in the vast walled enclave.

  “We must inquire!” cried Carnatus, striding into a wide basilica framed with stained glass windows. “Hullo there!” he cried, “anyone home?”

  “Yes.” A voice echoed from within. As its owner came forward, I saw a youngish monk. “Who enters the house of Benedict?” he asked.

  “Friends,” said Jeffries, in an attempt to sound convincing. Carnatus and I knew how he hated Catholics—except, of course, for our friend.

  “You are English,” said the monk (in perfect English), “and no friend to our order.” He noted our dusty attire. “You have ridden long to get here. Perhaps impelled by a desire to convert?”

  “Well—” I began.

  “Not today,” said Carnatus.

  “We wish to find one who resides here,” said Jeffries. “Or so we’ve been told. He is a Spaniard and goes by the name of Aventis.”

  “How do I know you will not harm him?” The monk shifted in his loose robes.

  “God’s wounds!” cried Carnatus, his words echoing to the roof. “Jeffries, allow me to shoot this infidel!”

  “Calm yourself,” said the captain, then turned back to the monk. “Uh . . . brother . . . Aventis is our friend. Give him my name, Charles Jeffries, and you will witness his joyful reaction.”

  The monk stared at Jeffries’s face as if to divine the truth.

  “Very well,” said the brother. “He is in the Bibliotheca. It is the long building next to this one.”

  Of course, I had no idea what a “Bibliotheca” was but trusted to my companions. They led me outside to a narrow edifice heavy with domed windows. As we approached the main door, I found I could barely breathe. The prospect of seeing Aventis—after five whole years—made me as queasy as if I were still at sea. As I attempted to calm myself, Jeffries shot me a glance, and I well knew its meaning: Aventis and I must be fellows, nothing more, for our company to survive.

  As I followed the others, I found myself in a stone hallway marked by round-topped doors. They seemed to number into infinity! Where in this ancient labyrinth could we find Aventis? In succession, we entered each room, so strange to my sight since they were bursting with books! This Abbey must have been—and still was—a great center for learning, for clusters of monks worked tirelessly with pen, ink, and parchment. As they maintained a silence, we did not wish to disturb them. After walking for what seemed ages, we finally reached the last door. Inside was a figure leaning over a scroll. Even with a view of his back, I well knew who it was! After so many dreams, there was no mistaking his form, long hair, or sword which hung from his belt. I let out a breath as I noted his lack of priestly clothes, for he was dressed the same as he’d been when we two last parted.

  “Aventis!” Carnatus shouted, striding up to his friend and clapping him on the back.

  “Carnatus!” Aventis coughed, rising from his chair.

  “Count!” Jeffries strode to the center of the room.

  “It is good to see you, Charles.”

  They exchanged a warm handshake.

  “Hullo,” I said shyly. I had not moved from the doorway.

  “Megs!” Aventis called. He came over to where I stood and grasped my hand in his. Unlike my dreams, the heat of his touch ran through me like a candle. I managed a weak grin.

  “Carnatus?” he asked me softly, thrusting his chin toward the giant.

  As I shook my head sadly, he patted my shoulder, then moved back to the others.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked. “May I offer you some wine? It is made in Saint-Germaine.”

  “Shall we refus
e?” Carnatus asked the stone walls.

  Aventis went to retrieve glasses, then returned and poured a sweet-smelling liquid.

  “To Aventis!” Carnatus toasted, throwing back his head.

  “To the count!” said Jeffries, following suit.

  “To the end of his atonement,” I said softly.

  “Dam’d right!” said Jeffries. “Let me tell you what we face.”

  When he finished, Aventis went slightly pale.

  “Well,” he said, “I had vowed to retire here, to aid the monks in their work.” He laughed. “And to atone for my sins.”

  “But, Aventis,” I said, remembering my Bible, “would not the greatest sin be to stand idly by? Does not the Proverb say: ‘Whoever is slack in his work is a brother to him who destroys.’?” I paused. “Or something like that.”

  Aventis sighed.

  “I’m afraid you have me there, Megs.”

  “Then you will join us?” Carnatus asked.

  “I will.”

  I could not recall such happiness since the last time he had kissed me!

  “Yet,” Aventis said, as I struggled to listen, “I fear that to have an effect, we must penetrate the French court. And I am as much a stranger there as I am to Whitehall at present.”

  We all stood silent. How then to gain access?

  Aventis stroked his chin.

  “You are convinced,” he asked Jeffries, “that Charles’s sister Henrietta plays a part in this intrigue?”

  “The main role,” said Jeffries. “My Cavalier friend had no reason to say otherwise. I saved his life at Naseby.”

  “Hmmm.” Aventis thought for a moment. “I know her to be the unhappy wife of the Duc d’Orleans, Phillipe. Who indulges, they say, in an unpleasant custom.”

  “I have heard,” said Jeffries, nodding. “The Italian vice.”

  I stood there uncomprehending.

  “If I may,” said Aventis, “I suggest one of us visits Versailles. I volunteer. A black-clad Papist scholar should be above suspicion.”

  “Excellent!” said Jeffries, though I felt downcast. I would not only miss Aventis, but a chance to view Versailles!

  “Now, Megs,” said Jeffries, noting my frown, “there may be more chances to view that always expanding palace.”

  “Damned French,” Carnatus muttered, “always trying to outdo us!”

  Since Versailles was not far, we agreed to meet Aventis in a taverne by the Abbey at three.

  When he left (taking my horse, I am happy to say!),the rest of us traipsed to the le Coq Royal where we were led to a table. I looked around at the other patrons, glad to see that unlike the Puritans, they took pleasure in a bottle or two!

  Carnatus ordered in French, a recital which went on so long I feared we would never eat. However, our server soon emerged bearing a rump of beef with cabbage, Sweetbreads en papillot, capon fried eggs and breadcrumbs, and another dish called Caux fowl with consommé. I contented myself with a particularly nice cheese. Despite Carnatus’s jab, the French were indeed capable of outdoing us at table. As I raised my fourth glass of wine, I felt myself filled with the light of this abundant land . . .

  After several hours, the massive bells of the Abbey tolled three. On time, Aventis arrived, a hood masking his face. We bade him sit, then offered him food and drink.

  “Friends,” he said in a whisper. “I did visit Versailles, saw the king from a great distance, and obtained a report of great value. From a gardener!”

  We all leaned closer.

  “It appears that Louis himself will escort Henrietta to Dunkirk,” he said. “So that she in turn may be landed … at Dover.”

  “What the devil?” cried Carnatus.

  “Shhh!” said Jeffries.

  Aventis threw off his hood.

  “My friend with the clippers informed me that Princess Henrietta . . . ” he looked around, “. . . has not set foot in England for the past nine years.”

  “Why go now?” asked Carnatus.

  “Alas,” said Jeffries, “I fear I know the reason.”

  We all stared at him, waiting.

  “I will divulge it,” said the captain, “when I feel it is safe. In the meantime, we must fly.”

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Dover!”

  He rose from his chair with a scrape.

  “But we have just come from there!” I cried.

  “And have achieved our goal in France For the present.”

  Slumping, I took a last gulp of wine and placed some cheese in my pocket. Thoughts of George and his rickety rowboat almost cleared my head!

  Aventis noted my expression—one of sheer terror, no doubt.

  “Do not be troubled, Megs,” he said. “I foretell this will be a grand adventure!”

  Though I did not doubt Aventis as soothsayer, I felt my whole body tense. Still, there was no turning back. I had given my word to Jeffries and this time was prepared to keep it. Yes, I would see this thing through, despite my fear of all things nautical!

  Dover 1670

  Aventis borrowed a horse from the monks at the Abbey, and Jeffries led us all north, but this time not to Calais—rather, to its neighbor Dunkirk. There, as the sun set on 24 May, I witnessed my first royal spectacle.

  Princess Henrietta must have been present for the party which accompanied her numbered into the hundreds. King Louis must truly esteem her to permit such an escort! As we tied up our horses and strode down to the docks, we caught sight of a ship flying sails sufficient enough for a king. I heard one fellow shout to another (in French), which Jeffries translated:

  “Those festivities in Lille! I have not seen such in my life!”

  “The fireworks were especially good,” said his friend.

  “Why does the king not escort her?” I asked, searching in vain for Louis.

  “It is not a good sign,” said Carnatus.

  “Think,” Aventis ordered. “How would it look for the King of France to land upon our shores?”

  “Like an invasion?” I offered.

  “No, an alliance,” said Jeffries. “With the hated Papists.”

  Though Aventis was one, he nodded. I determined it best to stay silent and leave matters of state to him.

  “How shall we get to Dover?” Carnatus asked, bored by the French court parading before our eyes.

  “By the same method we arrived,” said Jeffries.

  “No,” I groaned.

  He hailed another small boat, its captain in process of transporting “duty-free” wine. Within minutes, Jeffries had paid for our passage, and I must say with great reluctance, I walked with my friends down to this crumbling craft.

  “Lord save me,” I moaned as we set off, the sight of Henrietta’s fleet not enough to distract me.

  “It will be fine, Megs,” Aventis told me. “The first time I embarked from England, I never left my cabin.”

  Miserable, I tried to nod. From the bow, Carnatus, sensing blood like a shark, haughtily turned to Jeffries.

  “How like a woman,” he said. “The slightest hardship and she is ‘ill’ or ‘down with headache.’ What a frail, useless sex.”

  I managed to turn and face him.

  “Without us, you would not have been born,” I said.

  “Pity,” said Aventis, looking straight at Carnatus.

  “Enough,” Jeffries ordered, as Henrietta’s flagship set off. We kept a good distance behind as we trailed her to Dover. I was none too aware of our progress, since I spent most of the voyage in deep communion with Neptune.

  “Look, Megs!”

  Aventis called me back from the side at about five the next morning. Ahead shone the white cliffs of Dover, but this natural wonder paled beside the manmade spectacle below! Being rowed at full speed from the shore were four richly clad nobles, whom Jeffries identified as: King Charles II, his brother James, Duke of York; the Duke of Monmouth (now a young man), and Prince Rupert of the Rhine. It was as if the sea had opened and delivered up four gods!
/>   “I am beside myself!” cried Carnatus. “Would you look at those jewels!”

  Even our captain/smuggler instinctively doffed his hat. A young woman in sumptuous dress was helped to the side of the king, and I saw her smile and weep as the two of them embraced.

  “Princess Henrietta Anne,” said Aventis.

  I watched the touching scene, feeling like an unwanted spy. Our craft remained offshore until the royal party had landed. Then, our captain rowed us to the beach, and our boots touched terra firma!

  It was Jeffries’s arm that saved me from tumbling onto the sand. As I fought to regain my bearings, the sight of those shining white cliffs revived me, along with the sun. Why cannot it always be summer in England? I thought.

  Carnatus’s eyes, however, continued to track the royals.

  “Where are they headed?” he asked, sniffing the air as if it might bite him.

  “Dover Castle,” said Jeffries, pointing out an old keep which overlooked the sea. “It is the only place here truly fit for a king.”

  “But not for us,” I said. “Surely we cannot gain entrance.”

  “True,” said Jeffries, “they will hardly invite us to their talks.”

  “How do you know such talks will occur?” I asked.

  “See that man?” Jeffries pointed to one who bore an embroidered cloak. “He is the French ambassador, Colbert de Croissey. And I can guarantee he is not here to take the air.”

  “Two to one he’s on hand to advise the princess,” said Carnatus.

  “I won’t dispute those odds,” said Aventis.

  Jeffries looked around.

  “Let us discuss these matters in a less public place,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me—the Black Mast,” I said.

  “Just so.”

  He led us into the tavern, where we found a familiar figure hanging about the bar. Of course, it was Gad.

  “Thank heaven you’ve come!” he cried. “I just run outta shillings and they cut me off!”

  Carnatus relieved his plight by ordering ale and wine.

  “What have you seen, lad?” he asked. “Anything we should know?”

  “Nah,” said Gad with ill humor. “Dover is boring as oats. Saw a fight ‘tween two sailors but they pulled ‘em apart.”