CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Hugh, for God’s sake what’s that ....”

Rolf de Claimant woke suddenly from his fitful sleep, a loud crash, emanating from where the Lord only knew, had disturbed his troubled rest as he sought to gain a brief few hours of respite. The voyage had been proceeding as well as could have been expected given the tense relationship between most of the crew and their Captain and mate now allied to the former prisoners. The destination had been Calais originally then a lengthy but surreptitious treck to a contact point where the captives were to be passed over in exchange for a reward. Intelligent and personable young women were very acceptable in certain rich households in France, and Rolf had been on a number of similar trips before.

“We’ve struck something, God knows what. This puzzles me I thought that we had navigated this area quite well.”

Hugh seemed totally surprised by this new dramatic development.

Rolf muttered to himself. He thought that he had been quite astute not landing at Calais in case their movements were watched by former fellow conspirators. Sail further down coast and land in some inconspicuous place that seemed a much better idea. Now they were likely to be sunk, what on earth had gone wrong?

We cannot be far from the coast anyway” barked Rolf “let me up on deck I know this area as well as most.”

The Captain raced up the ladder with his mate following close behind to inspect the damage and ascertain the geographical location. The winds were starting to build-up and they both swayed giddily on the slippery surface underfoot.

“The coast is not far away at all” slightly enthused Rolf. “We must be somewhere between Boulogne and Abbeville. If we can get to land somewhere the situation is not lost. We must get the women on deck as quickly as possible. The ship might be able to limp in a bit closer but then when it looks like going down, we need to start dismantling part of it, we need some rafts to float on.”

“Seems good sense, skipper” nodded Hugh. “What do we do about that swine Hagon?”

“Free him, we are well rid of most of our ex-compatriots let them look to themselves, all good luck to them, but we don’t want them following us around when we reach land.”

There was another sudden crashing sound as the ship began to flounder and vast quantities of water began to overwhelm the injured vessel. Hugh felt himself being flung forward and just managed to grasp onto a mast. There were people running about, all sense of discipline gone. It was pointless staying on the wreck much longer, for that is what it had become now. Rolf was ushering the women up on deck and Hugh looked with amusement to see Athelfreda and Elle struggling with the former’s oak chest. They were obviously determined that when they reached land they had more than merely the clothes and possessions they stood up in. A sensible precaution if they could find a raft to support them.

Hugh waited until he had seen Rolf get the women to the edge of the ship and then with sword and axe, whatever was to hand he helped to hack-off pieces of the vessel. He managed to manufacture what passed for floating mini-boats in his own amused mind, barely a few feet long, but a number of rafts which provided they had not far to go, would see them to the shore.

“Damnation to you!” Hugh turned to see the foul-mouthed Hagon standing over him with sword in hand. “Don’t look for much support either, I have done for William and Alfred, your loyal friends. A thrust of steel and a watery grave for the both of them. Now its your turn, and when I find him that fop Rolf too.”

“So, my evil foe” snapped Hugh “even at this severe pass you are spitting venom, still not reconciled. Is there any salvation for you?”

“Not from your sort anyway” sneered Hagon. “Prepare to die a watery death, but taste my steel first.”

The villainous seaman cum brigand swung his sword clumsily at Hugh who even with the disadvantage of standing on a rapidly declining vessel, submerging below sea level, had time to adroitly step away. Hagon ignored his own ineptitude and rushed straight at Hugh. He had barely moved, however, before the intrepid defender brought his axe crashing-down on the villain’s skull. Hagon let out an almost inaudible gasp then sank down to his knees before crashing on the deck. He would
have no need of a raft of any description, he had met his nemesis, probably too quickly for such a black-hearted rogue.

Another massive wave almost devoured the sagging wreck and at the same time sent Hugh floundering into the swirling sea. Strong swimmer as he was he felt powerless against the choppy waves, and with mouth-full after mouth-full of salt water choking him he felt his lungs close to bursting. In circumstances such as these it was almost pure luck as to whether or not he would survive, better to just offer no resistance and hope that fate was on his side. Suddenly he felt himself being pitched forward. As he went under once again he felt his knees hit something. He stretched out his arms and shook his head which was now above water. Incredibly he was lying on a grimy beach. How long had he been tossed about in the sea? No matter, saturated and dishevelled as he was, he was safe, only let’s hope the others were in similar condition.

As Hugh staggered ahead he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Rolf wading behind him.

“Skipper, thank the Lord that you have survived. We were pretty close to the shore after all. I’ve done for Hagon but sadly William and Alfred had tasted death at his hands.

“That’s evil news” responded Rolf. “Well the ladies appear all right. Athelfreda is surveying her precious treasure chest. Just like a woman she was determined that must not be lost at any cost.”

Hugh looked ahead and saw a huddle of women namely Flavia, Jacquetta, Rosa Reebald all shivering in wet, now straggling clothes. Elle and and Athelfreda were sorting out the oak chest which they had prised open. Nowhere could be seen the mutinous crew - they needed to be taken care of in some way or another. Not necessarily violently, now that their ring-leader Hagon had gone they were likely to be more amenable to reason.

“Come on ladies Hugh and I will give you a hand with your effects. We must find an inn somewhere so that we can rest up awhile and plan our movements from then on.”

“Indeed!” piped-up Flavia somewhat sardonically “You were going to trade us
for money, have us living as servants....”

“No my dear girl, you would have lived quite a good life. Anyway enough of that I’ve jettisoned that idea, I’m resolved on your safety.”

“What? Can a rogue change his ways?” almost sneered Flavia.

“So the Good Book tells us, madam” interposed Jacquetta the maid “if I may make so bold why don’t we give Rolf the benefit of the doubt, he is after all our only real hope.”

“Yes Rolf has been particularly good to us” reminded Athelfreda.

“Certainly to you” almost snapped Rosa.

“Don’t be so bitchy” interposed Reebald “Athelfreda is a gracious lady with charming manners and a good sensible head on her shoulders.”

“I’ll second that” responded Flavia “now for God’s sake let’s all stop being such whinging washer-women and try and co-operate. How well we do that depends on how successful we are in reaching safety.”

“Certainly” agreed Athelfreda “I for one regard you all as my friends, let’s undertake this enterprise in a spirit of good will with everyone ready to do whatever is required for our mutual benefit.”

“Good girl” smiled Rolf “we need to get off this rugged-looking beach, Heaven knows what muck and filth is floating about here. Let’s get somewhere where we can have a good wash and scrub-down and a change of clothes.”

“Quite the gentleman of style, our Rolf is he not?” smiled Rosa “almost like a courtier in fact.”

“Rolf was a knight and is much more of a nobleman in the real sense of the word than many of the English barons.” interjected Athelfreda. “Half of them at least have hardly seen water let alone have they washed in it. What a foul-smelling bunch they are, as for manners, well I’ve seen more elegant pigs than most of them.”

“Thank you Athelfreda” grinned de Claimant bowing graciously “I feel, however, that the speeches should finish now. Follow me and we will see if we can find any form of habitation here.”

The little band of companions, thrust together in somewhat unusual circumstances, began their stumbling progress along the coast. The light was
beginning to fade and it was more and more essential that they found shelter somewhere. A further consideration was that being English they would have to be selective about who they spoke to and confided in. The French were not the most hospitable of people as far as the inhabitants of the land beyond the English Channel were concerned.

Time was difficult to judge in these conditions and just when Rolf and his band were giving up hope of meeting anyone at all a fierce-looking almost skeletal individual came into their view. The most notable features of this person were his penetrating eyes and sallow skin which seemed to be almost stretched in the tautest of fashion across his mask-like face. For almost an eternity the man remained staring at them barely moving except for a slight shifting from one foot to another. It was difficult to gauge either his age or status in society because he was attired very simply but not inexpensively, wearing for protection only a short dagger at his side. The near silence was broken as the man commenced either by design or as the result of a nervous affliction to click his tongue on his broken teeth.

“Qui se ressemble s’assemble!”

The group of shipwrecked companions started suddenly as they heard this exclamation in French. They looked again at the Skull-head barely believing that he had actually spoken. And yet his lips were not moving he looked in their direction but not really at them as if he were in some kind of trance.

“The man is a Frenchman doubtless” muttered Hugh.

“Cela va sans dire, mon ami” exploded a very mirthful voice “bien que quoique dans cet vivre il ne faut jurer de rien. Vous êtes anglais n’est-ce que pas?”

“Vous êtes à bout de soufflé? Allez-vous à tâtons le long de la côte?”

It gradually dawned upon the English travellers that the man who held their attention was not responsible for these latest comments. As they shifted their gaze away they beheld three more strangers, two on horseback and another very solidly-built individual well-armed but on foot. The mounted Frenchman who had made the first couple of humorous comments was dressed well but extremely casually. He was dark-bearded, very muscular and athletic, of the average height and in his early middle years. The sword he wore was sheathed in an elaborate scabbard but otherwise
everything about him seemed purely functional. A down-to-earth no nonsense character was this, capable of laughter as he had demonstrated but also with an air of command which hinted at one who would breech no disobedience. The other gentleman was of a seemingly different personality, well-groomed to the point of extravagance. He was attentive of his appearance to the point of wearing the most expensive perfume “more associated with a woman” thought Hugh to himself - his clothing was sewn with rich jewels and his feet were shod with the most fashionable of court slippers. He too had a fiercesome weapon at his side and inspite of his effete, dandified appearance gave more than an impression that he knew how to handle himself.

“Vous avez voyagé en bateau ou en navire?” enquired the seemingly foppish individual.

“En navire, monsieur” responded Rolf “Dites-moi où nous sommes s’il vous plaît.”

“Berck-Plage mon ami” smiled the dark-bearded Frenchman “la brume est épaisse ici toujous. In fact” he added speaking in English with a clear, if slightly affected accent “ a veritable hell-hole.”

“I suppose we must be about, what, 25 to 30 miles South of Boulogne?” enquired de Claimant.

“Your geography is sound, my dear friend but why, if I may make so bold, are you wandering along our coast-line? What happened to your proud ship, is it anchored near-by?”

“I think it is pointless giving you a cock and bull story” responded the scar-faced Rolf “our vessel is wrecked beyond repair.”

“ The shore-line is difficult to follow, n’est-ce que pas” interupted the other mounted, more dandified Frenchman revealing at the same time that he too had some command of the English tongue.

“It is indeed. Of course” continued Rolf somewhat ruefully “we are not too far from Normandy which until a few years ago was ruled by our sovereign Lord John. Sadly we now only possess the Channel Isles.”

“Unfortunate for you Englishmen” grinned the swarthy dark avised athlete
revealing a fine row of healthy teeth.

“It is not polite to gloat, mon ami” intoned the other Frenchman “pardon my companion’s manners, he is very direct at times, sometimes over direct. However, that is no matter I feel that as hosts here it is our privilege, nay our duty to put you up somewhere. I take it that you have not made alternative plans?”

“No certainly not” replied Rolf “I am not too bothered about Hugh and myself but the young ladies with us will be catching their death of cold. I would accord it a favour if you could see to their wants, that would be a kindness.”

“Say no more” bowed the elegantly dressed horseman “my friend here will gladly surrender his mount, and so will I. At least two of the ladies can ride. Fortunately we have not far to go although it is lucky that we came across you.”

“Your names sir” interposed Rolf “it does seem strange that we are being offered hospitality but have no way of thanking-you by name.”

“My name is Hugh, like that of your henchman and my determined and formidable friend here - indeed my brother believe it or not is named Ralph.”

You are sharp of ear my friend” grinned Rolf who proceeded to detail his own appellation and those of his little party. He was, however, careful to avoid giving away too many details about the reasons for their voyage. He did nonetheless intimate that there had been some trouble with the members of the crew who he regarded with less than admiration.

“I know, I know” mused the brother named Ralph “servants, good servants that is are so difficult to find. These two retainers of ours are worth their weight in gold, as reliable as ...”

“Philip Augustus” smiled his brother Hugh, causing both men to burst into fits of laughter.

“Ah yes your good King” muttered Rolf de Claimant “I would not wish to become involved in internal politics....”

“Infernal politics, my lad” laughed Ralph the Frenchman “we’ve had enough of it in recent times. Whatever they say about him, not a few of us have some regard for your King John Lackland. He has had a bit of bad luck, but he does not lose too much in comparison with his late warlike brother, the Lion-Heart.” The man’s brother
scowled inwardly as if expressing some disagreement with that statement.

“Anyway,” he interposed, “enough of this talk let us get the good people to some safe accommodation. Abbeville is the best prospect, I feel.”

“Agreed, let us ride-on before this foul weather is the death of all of us” responded Ralph

“Your brother’s command of English like yours is excellent , if I may be so bold as to express an opinion” confided Rolf to Ralph.

“God yes, he is a proud one that, generally thinks a slight on his honour to be heard conversing in a foreign language. Nonetheless he speaks a few tongues, we French nobles are better bred than your English barons, n’est-ce que pas?”

“Nobles?” gulped de Claimant “I, indeed we are honoured my lords, by such attention.”

“No matter!” almost waved away, Ralph “in any case I think that I recognise the very fair young lady there as someone I met in exalted company once.”

Athelfreda started slightly as her mind went back to a day a few years ago when a peacock, popinjay Frenchman had come on a special diplomatic mission, and she had been in the company of her lover, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, brother to King John.

“What the hell’s all this about?” muttered Rolf’s man Hugh.

“‘L’ has a lot to do with it” half-smiled Athelfreda. “If I am not mistaken this gentleman here is Ralph de Luisignan”

“Parfaitement, madame” Ralph replied bowing deeply “and now Count of Eu. Permit me to give you my brother’s full title, also a Count, très important, en effet Le Comte de La Marche, Hugh de Lusignan.”

Athelfreda and Rolf whistled almost simultaneously the capable-looking, businesslike warrior was none other than one of France’s most formidable bulwarks and to boot, like Ralph, a member of the famous, or infamous depending on your inclination, Lusignan family.

“This is not the time to engage in discussion about family trees” intoned Hugh de Lusignan “we needs must reach our destination soon I like not this weather, the sea spray and biting rain eats into one’s bones, why it’s almost as foul as your English
climate. Come let us go as swift as we can, if need be we can talk in more detail later.”

The strangely mixed band of companions progressed as quickly as was feasible given the conditions. The now driving rain did not help matters as those on foot staggered one way and then another as they were buffeted all over the place. Even those on horse-back had difficulties as the handsome beasts that carried them whinnied and neighed with the capricious impatience of the well-bred. After what seemed a life-time a solidly-built mansion-house came into view. A few beggarly-looking individuals cast furtive glances at the travellers but then slithered away on their own business. The habitation seemed almost a mistake of planning as it stood there so imperiously with very little else surrounding it but grimy, foul-smelling hovels. The de Luisgnan brothers strode ahead with the Comte de La Marché bellowing fiercely at the gate to be allowed entrance. A subdued-looking servant came running to open up to the fierce demands of the Lord and with his eyes firmly fixed on the ground ushered in the group.

“Quite a neat little place” enthused Flavia “I’ve not come across anything like this back in England.”

“Not exactly a cross between a king’s palace, and, say, the Vatican but nonetheless decidedly cosy” added Rosa, half-smiling.

“Kindly follow-me up these stairs, ladies and gentlemen” almost commanded the Comte de La Marché “this place is owned by a distant relative of mine who is, of course, at your command. If you turn right at the top of the stairs you will find suitable washing facilities including a couple of baths at least. Please avail yourselves of whatever you feel appropriate.”

The bedraggled English hurried-up behind the French noble, after all the misadventures that they had suffered and the pounding that they had taken from the storm and driving rain this was sheer heaven.

“There are separate rooms enough for you all” continued de La Marché “do not stand on ceremony just carry on to your right and select your own little abode.”

Athelfreda was quick to find a moderately-sized bath and drag it into her selected room. How she had dreamed of this, well almost despaired of it happening,
now she could get out of her mud-bespattered clothes. What would her lover William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury think of her now if he could only see her? Had he indeed already forgotten her? No, surely not they had shared a lot together. He was a reasonable human being, loyal and fairly reliable as far as men go. That was the point - as far as men go! His generation on the whole were a strange lot, lacking the sensitivity and much-faceted characteristics of women. It was only their brute strength that had got them into such a position of ascendancy. One side of her nature indeed her mind wanted to hate men for the despicable creatures that they were. yet another side felt an almost fatal attraction towards them, something almost intangible, what was it? - their animal intensity? Still all men were not exactly the same. This Ralph, Count of Eu quite a civilised being really. His brother seemed a different kettle of fish, one to be wary of, a dangerous enemy but what sort of friend?

The English woman decided to banish these deep, philosophical thoughts from her mind and concentrate on the job in hand. She quickly stripped-off and barely noticing how cold or how warm the water was stepped into her bath. God, what luxury it was to feel good clear water caressing her body taking away all the aches and pains of the long tortured journey begun so long ago. Not just the trip from the ship-wrecked vessel but from that time when Rolf had captured her and Elle. What irony that Rolf had subsequently developed into a close ally. Yes, of course, Rolf - she had momentarily forgotten about him - he was a strange man - capable of great kindness but an outlaw, a bandit really, a good man gone wrong? Was it a wise move to become so involved with him, nothing but pain and misery would come out of the association. The man with the strong handsome frame but a devilish scar spoiling his otherwise acceptable looks. But it was not appearances she was thinking about. What of Rolf’s soul? Was he really contrite?

“Is my lady finding everything to her wishes?”

Athelfreda started as she looked-up and saw the smiling visage of the Comte de La Marché but ten feet away.

“Excellent” responded the English lady quite confounded by the sudden appearance of the French noble. Regaining her composure, however, and realising the impropriety of the Comte’s arrival in her quarters unannounced and alone, she glared
straight at him.

“Please do not think me an ingrate” continued Athelfreda “but is it the French custom to interrupt a lady in the middle of her bath? Is privacy not a feature of your establishment? You will also note that we are without a chaperone.”

“Come, come, dear lady” laughed de La Marché “this situation is surely not new to you. Remember also I am regarded highly in this realm of ours. Why when Philip’s son Prince Louis becomes King of France I will be even more influential. A wise and solid monarch will Louis become when he gets the chance.”

“On that subject, my Lord” intervened Athelfreda “you would do well to remember the pious nature of the prince. He is, I hear on good report, a dutiful husband to his wife the Princess Blanche of Castille. Unusual for a prince he has had no mistresses as far as one can tell and is extremely strait-laced and sober in behaviour. I trust that he would frown upon your behaviour now.”

“Well, well” gloated Hugh de Luisignan” quite a political expert is our Athelfreda. From my brother Ralph I do know at least something about you. Close to King John’s half-brother eh? What’s it like to be the play-thing of an English Earl? How vigorous are these English nobles”

“Sir!” almost shouted Athelfreda “your language and your attitude is becoming most un-gentlemanly. If you purport to be a great noble, then show magnanimity to your guests and behave like one.”

“‘Tis no matter” laughed de La Marché “you are, as you state, my guests here. Where else can you go, and to what purpose? Still those two cut-throat dogs that you have with you, I have little use for them.”

“They have been very kind to both myself and the other women” admonished Athelfreda.

“Don’t insult my powers of investigation” barked the Comte “They are known to be outlaws of a particularly despicable type. Why I would have thought that you would have been pleased to see them out of your way.”

“They saved our lives....”

“So did I! My dear girl another hour or two in this atrocious weather and you would have frozen to death.”

“Sarcasm is not an attractive trait, my Lord.”

“Well then, if you agree to become more tolerant towards me, more kindly disposed we may change our attitude towards the two gentlemen. It all depends on you, but cross me and seek to go against my wishes and you will find a harsher Comte de La Marché than you have so far experienced.”

The nobleman turned quickly on his heel and had vanished from view almost as suddenly as when he had appeared. Athelfreda groaned inwardly. Why was it that when everything seemed to be improving a period, of near-contentment was almost on the horizon, that fate played an ugly trick on her? It would require all her considerable intellect and highly focused mind to extricate herself from this situation. Still all was not lost, she had been in worse positions before and had come through. No, she was far from beaten yet!

Go to Chapter 16 | Back to Chapter 14 | Index

Front Page | Home Page for individuals | Business Services Index | Site contents & internal links | Email the Author