Eschiva had reached the beach, and with a sense of self-indulgence she kicked off her sandals to enjoy the near-visceral pleasure of walking barefoot on the soft, still cool sand. She loved the way her heels sank down and her toes spread out as she rolled forward on first one foot and then the other. Meanwhile Helvis and little Aimery ran toward her, and each took a hand to lead her to the turtles farther down the beach.
Peripherally something caught her attention and, still smiling from mindless contentment, Eschiva turned lazily to see what it was. She was expecting a seagull, a dolphin, or at most a fisherman with his catch to sell. To her astonishment, she saw the low, sinister prow of a galley oozing its way into the little cove.
In sheer amazement, she stopped dead in her tracks to stare at the ship. The oars were barely moving as it advanced cautiously. No sail was set. No banners flew from the masthead. It was painted black. Just black. Without a trace of trim or heraldry. Even the oars were black.
As if a cloud had crossed the face of the sun, Eschiva felt a shiver run down her spine. Something wasn’t right about this galley.
Little Aimery and Helvis had stopped when she did, and their looks followed hers. “What ship is that, Mama?” Helvis asked, frowning.
“Is it a pirate ship?” Little Aimery asked eagerly.
“I don’t know,” Eschiva answered, adding as a second inexplicable shiver ran down her spine, “I think we should go back to the manor.”
“No, no!” Little Aimery protested, tugging at her hand. “Come see baby turtles!”
Eschiva’s eyes were still on the ship. Men were pointing at her and she heard shouts in Greek. Men started running about frantically, and the ship pivoted as the starboard oars backwatered. At the stern men appeared to be launching a tender.
“No, Aimery!” Eschiva told her son firmly. “We need to go back to the manor now!” She turned around, but little Aimery was still trying to pull her in the opposite direction. Although Helvis and Burgundia scolded him jointly, little Aimery did not take his elder sisters seriously and dug in more determinedly.
“Burgundia, hurry back with Hugh!” Eschiva ordered her eldest daughter, as the sense of danger grew greater with each heartbeat. The tender had plunged into the water with a splash, and half a dozen men jumped overboard from the galley to clamber up into it from the water. Yet the very threat that emanated from the strange ship made Burgundia cling to her side.
Eschiva reached her sandals and bent to pull them onto her feet. Behind her the sound of oars striking the water came nearer and nearer. She glanced in the direction of the approaching tender. There were four men pulling at the oars, their backs to her, and two other men in the boat. They had thick black beards over naked torsos. The hilts of multiple knives and swords lined their belts. Little Aimery in his innocence was right: they must surely be pirates.
Eschiva kicked her sandals aside and tried to run barefoot across the field to the manor, but little stones and crabgrass hobbled her. Despite the rising panic, her feet were too tender, and her strength was giving out. “Run, children! Run!” she screamed. Behind her the keel crunched on the sand of the beach. Soft thuds told her men had jumped onto the sand.
Only Helvis obeyed. Little Aimery turned around to see what was happening and froze at the sight of the men running toward him; Burgundia clutched Hugh in her arms and started whimpering.
The next thing Eschiva knew, she’d been grabbed from behind by a powerful arm around her waist. The stench of the man, as much as the brutality of his grip, made her feel faint. Her legs gave way under her, and she felt them flying through the air as the man spun about and started back to the boat with her. She tried to scream, but his grip was choking the wind from her. Her cries came out in short gasps in rhythm with his strides.
Burgundia managed to get out a bloodcurdling scream before they silenced her somehow, and little Hugh wailed at a pitch to wake the dead. Little Aimery joined in and then Helvis, but Eschiva could see nothing anymore. She was forcefully shoved over the gunnel into the tender. She fell headfirst into the boat, and hit the edge of the seat so hard she was winded. Then her head cracked against the side of the boat, and she felt herself spinning. Still, she struggled to drag herself upright, grasping the side of the boat. A foot kicked her arm, breaking her hold on the side of the boat, and someone clambered into the boat on top of her. She caught a glimpse of a pirate wrenching Hugh away from Burgundia before she was shoved back to the bottom of the boat and held down by the man’s naked foot. Eschiva started screaming hysterically as Burgundia was hurled into the boat like a sack of grain, and tiny vibrations indicated the boat was being shoved down the beach. Just as it began to float, a pirate with Hugh in his arms stepped over Eschiva to go to the bow.
The oarsmen took their places and deftly turned the tender back towards the galley. Abruptly the boat tilted sharply to the side. Eschiva screamed, thinking they were about to capsize. Instead, a pirate with her howling son under one arm and dragging Helvis by her hair with the other appeared at the side of the boat. He flung Aimery at his fellows, then dumped a struggling Helvis into the bottom of the boat. One pirate boxed Aimery into silence, while a second stood straddling Helvis with a drawn sword lifted over his head. He shouted at them in Greek.
The side of Helvis’ face was torn open with cuts and bruises. Blood oozed out of the side of her mouth and tears streamed down her face. Burgundia was sobbing hysterically as she stretched out her arms to the pirate holding Hugh. “Give him back! Give him back!” she kept pleading frantically.
On the wind behind them came the sound of shouting, and Eschiva struggled to right herself. The man holding her down with his foot glanced over his shoulder and laughed. Confident of their escape, he took his foot off her chest, and Eschiva dragged herself upright enough to see back to the shore.
Cecilia was standing at the edge of the shore, gesturing wildly, while a half-dozen men rushed onto the beach. Most were bareheaded and without arms or armor. Only one man had a crossbow. He raised it to take aim—but then, shaking his head, lowered it again. He could not risk killing the Lady of Lusignan or one of her children.
With a clunk that sent a shudder through the whole boat, they collided with the galley. The pirate who had captured her shook his naked cutlass in Eschiva’s face and pointed for her to climb up netting that had been flung over the galley’s side. Eschiva shook her head to indicate she didn’t have the strength, but the man grabbed Helvis by the hair again and lifted her clear off the bench to hold her suspended, squirming and sobbing in both terror and pain. With his other hand he held a knife to her throat. “Help me! Help me!” Helvis pleaded.
Eschiva had to find the strength to go up the nets. She grabbed them with both hands, and sobbing like her nine-year-old, tried to pull herself up, but she couldn’t. Then she felt a man’s hand shoved between her buttocks, and with brute force he pushed her upwards, as her heart stopped in shame at his intimate grasp. Fortunately, two men leaned down over the railing of the galley and grabbed her under the arms from either side. She was dragged up over the railing and flung onto the deck like a fish. Other pirates were pushing, pulling, or carrying Helvis, Burgundia, little Aimery, and Hugh up the netting.
Eschiva crawled on her knees to pull the terrified Helvis into her arms as the galley started to pivot once again. The tender abandoned, the galley scuttled out of the cove. Clutching Helvis in her arms, the last thing Eschiva saw was the loyal Sir Simon splashing furiously into the water of the cove. He was swinging his sword over his head and shouting insults, curses, and threats. But it was pointless. He couldn’t swim in armor, and the galley was surging forward under the power of forty oars.
The pirates locked them in the hold. They were below the water line, and the sound of water rushing past was a constant reminder of the growing distance from home, safety, and civilization. Hugh, usually such a sweet baby, could not be quieted, because he was hungry and his diapers soiled, but Eschiva’s breasts were dry and they had nei
ther food nor clean diapers with them. Little Aimery, after an initial temper tantrum pounding his little fists on the deck, collapsed into a ball of misery and fell asleep. Burgundia kept trying to soothe Hugh, and Eschiva left her to it; as long as Burgundia focused on Hugh, she had less opportunity to think about her own situation. Helvis, lying in her arms, cried herself to sleep.
Eschiva had no sense of where they might be heading, but it was certainly as far away from Cyprus as possible. Nor had she any sense of time, beyond the fact that it was long enough for them all to get very hungry and to be forced to relieve themselves as best they could in a bucket they had found amidst the other nautical supplies.
Eschiva was not naive. She had no illusions about what would soon happen to her, and Burgundia, at eleven, would most likely share her fate. Even Helvis wasn’t safe. Not if these pirates were desperate for a female body. As soon as the pirates believed they were safe from pursuit, they would settle down to enjoy their “prizes.”
Eschiva tried to remember everything Beatrice had said about the repeated rapes she had endured after her capture. The problem was that Beatrice had not talked about it. Not really. She had only, very occasionally, made oblique references with phrases like, “One can learn to endure anything.” Or, when someone complained too thoughtlessly, she might remark tartly, “Things could be worse.” Still, Beatrice had survived with her sanity intact. She had survived long enough to be freed, and because of that, she had been restored to dignity and even authority.
Anne, on the other hand, had not. She had returned from captivity a stunted human, a girl so terrified of the world around her that she literally could not function in it and had retreated to the cell of a convent. She had been transformed from a happy child into a girl who abhorred her very essence, all because she’d been circumcised and then raped by a man she detested at the age of eleven. Burgundia’s age . . .
To make things worse for Eschiva, she recognized that while the Saracens viewed Christian women as despicable objects to use as they pleased, they were nevertheless marketable commodities that could be sold to the next man when they tired of them. The pirates might not have that option, which made it far more likely they would simply kill them when they were done with them. By the time the fifty to sixty men aboard were tired of the three females, Eschiva reflected, she and her girls would probably be glad to die. . . .
But what could the pirates possibly want with Hugh? They might raise Aimery to be one of their own. He could serve them like a slave until he either died from the treatment or grew strong enough to fight back and win their respect. A pirate version of the Mamluke fate. Hugh, however, was too small to be put to work for years to come. He was and would continue to be a perpetual irritation. If they didn’t feed and clean him, he would die—so why hadn’t they just left him behind? If only they had left Hugh behind . . . If only . . .
Eschiva only realized she had drifted off to sleep when she woke up again. Someone, presumably Burgundia, had dragged a coil of ropes closer and bedded her head upon it. Hugh was whimpering weakly from another coiled hawser, while the three older children had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Although the hold was still warm, the sun no longer burned down on the deck overhead, and the darkness was greater than before. It must be night, Eschiva registered.
She lifted her head and tried to look around the hold, conscious that something had woken her. She struggled to sit up, clamping her teeth against the pain from the bruises to her ribs. Her neck had a crick in it and her shoulder and hip were throbbing with pain. The bruises on her forehead were swollen and hot to touch. She burned with shame as she remembered the feel of the pirate’s hand in her crotch, but that thought reminded her of the worse that was bound to come.
The shock had worn off enough, however, for her to try to think what she could do to save her daughters. She could offer to sleep with all of them—but with sixty men, even three women were too few to go around. She wasn’t so beautiful that she would be viewed as a special prize. . . .
Of course, her household knights would have sent word to Aimery, but it would take them a day to reach Nicosia, and by then the sea would have swallowed their tracks, and no one would ever find them again. Not unless their corpses washed up in still-identifiable condition on a shore where people had heard about the kidnapping.
There seemed to be a lot of shouting and running about on the deck overhead, Eschiva registered. That probably meant they were approaching a port or an anchorage. She glanced around the hold, pointlessly looking for a place to hide her children. It was a futile thought, because while she could hide them from sight, the pirates knew their own ship better than anyone. They knew, too, that their prisoners could not escape. No matter how good their hiding place, they would be found eventually. . . .
Oddly for going into port, the sound of water hissing along the side of the ship appeared to be intensifying, and the oars were slapping into the water at a faster rate. They were increasing rather than slowing their speed. Perhaps there was a headland or strait they needed to pass around or through?
Abruptly, with a violent jolt and a loud bang, the galley was flung sideways. The children awoke with cries of fear, and overhead all hell broke loose. Shouts, screams, curses, thuds, and crashes could be heard—followed by the clang of weapons.
Eschiva sat bolt upright and then struggled to get to her feet, only to fall down again. The galley was unsteady, wallowing in the waves.
A crash almost directly overhead was followed by splinters raining down on her, and the children started screaming. Burgundia swept up Hugh and clutched him to her, while Helvis and little Aimery cowered down behind one of the coils of rope. Eschiva stepped out of the shower of splinters so she could look upwards. An ax tip pierced the deck, was withdrawn, and then appeared again more fully. It took another half-dozen blows before one of the planks gave way enough to be kicked in. Immediately the ax blows were directed at the adjacent planks until a hole large enough for a man was smashed open. A moment later, a man with an ax in one hand landed in the hold.
Eschiva had been hoping it would be Aimery or one of his knights, and was bewildered to find herself facing a man in leather armor and an open-faced helmet. Then she recognized Magnussen, and called to him in relief.
Magnussen had been searching the darkness. He spun around at the sound of his name, and crossed the distance to Eschiva with a single stride. “Hurry! We can’t hold them for long.” He had hold of her upper arm.
“The children!” Eschiva countered, pointing.
Magnussen turned, saw them, nodded, and then turned back to Eschiva. “You first! I’ll lift you up to my men standing by the hole in the deck!”
Eschiva didn’t have the strength to argue. She let Magnussen grab her around the hips and lift her up toward the break in the deck overhead. As her head emerged above the level of the planking, two men reached for her and helped drag her free. No sooner had she gained the deck enough to crawl aside than she gasped out, “My children! They’re with me!”
Magnussen’s men were already reaching back into the hole to help Helvis out. Eschiva didn’t have the strength to stand, but her eyes turned to the battle raging across the deck of the galley. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. All she could make out were scores of men fighting furiously with sword, ax, and cutlass. She saw a man gutted, his innards spewing out of his mouth as he doubled over, and she turned her head away, screwing her eyes shut.
Magnussen was beside her again. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her to her feet. “We can’t hold them much longer!” he repeated. “Come!”
Eschiva stumbled and tripped as he dragged her to the railing. The Storm Bird lay alongside, but about ten feet lower in the water. Eschiva hadn’t realized the freeboard of this galley was so much greater.
“Over the side!” Magnussen ordered.
“I can’t,” Eschiva gasped, clutching the side of the ship. The world was spinning around her as she was overwhelmed by
one of her dizzy spells.
Even as she spoke, a dozen men closed around them, pursued by the pirates. Magnussen’s men were fighting—and dying—to keep this small piece of deck in their control. If they hesitated another second, they would all die here—and Eschiva would still be a captive. She recognized that, but she did not have the strength to lift her legs over the railing. “The children! Take the children! Leave me!”
“Hugh!” Burgundia thrust her little brother into Magnussen’s astonished arms. “Take Hugh to safety! I’m staying with my mother!”
“Haakon!” It was one of his men calling as he slid on his own blood and went down with a terrible crash. A cutlass slit his throat as he lay at the pirate’s feet.
A bloody hand closed around Helvis’ hair and dragged her backwards. Another pirate grabbed hold of a paralyzed little Aimery.
Magnussen vaulted over the railing to land on the deck of his own ship with Hugh still clutched in the crook of his arm. The next instant Eschiva was yanked away from the railing and flung backward. As her head hit the deck, she lost consciousness.
The Last Crusader Kingdom Page 39
