The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “Be assured that God is here,” Sampson continued. “He is my refuge, my right hand.”

  “What a load of…” Yrre bit off the obscenity.

  “My God is always near me. Your gods do not even exist. You are in denial. All of you.” Sampson looked around at the Saxons on the boat, and the whispering intensified. “You must cleanse your hands and allow God to purify your hearts—”

  “Shut him up, before I do,” Yrre warned. “We have heard enough of your sermons, Monk.”

  “Does God tell you we should go to the harbour?” Merton asked.

  “Yes,” Sampson stated, raising his head. “He is with Alan, a true follower of Christ if ever I saw one.”

  A few of the men began to voice their opinions louder in Saxon. Merton refused to be baited by their words.

  “We will go to the harbour then,” Merton allowed, ignoring the filthy glare that Yrre threw at him.

  “The right choice I believe,” Sampson stated with pleasure.

  Yrre shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what foolishness he was witnessing. He listened to what the others were saying. The general accord was that Merton had grown soft. A year ago he would not have taken advice from a monk. They could not trust Merton with their lives anymore. Yrre knew that everything that Merton did, he did for a reason. So for now, he would play along. But one thing Yrre knew for sure was that if the men had thoughts of mutiny, then it was for the best that they choose him as their new leader and not Trace. Maybe that way everyone would come out of this alive.

  “You had better stay out of sight,” Yrre said, grabbing a fur and throwing it aggressively in Merton’s direction. “Because if they see you, Alan won’t be the only one dangling from a noose.”

  The fur hit Merton on the chest, but he ignored it as he once again looked to the cliff face. Yrre was right. He had heard the discontent of his men. Everything rested on their cooperation and their ability to follow his orders. If he lost control of his warriors now, then all hope of rescuing Amandine was gone. He needed them.

  “I guess we should heave-to, then?” Yrre snapped with impatience and anger. “You had better hope he is not playing us for fools,” Yrre spat in Saxon, as he pointed a finger in Alan’s direction. “Or you will have more than Amandine’s death on your conscience.”

  Merton didn’t reply. He stared straight in front of him as he battled his own invisible demons.

  She was so close. Merton trembled at the thought and closed his eyes. If all went well, he would have her back in his life, if not his arm, within the next few hours. If he were a religious man, he would have prayed to God. Instead, he clung desperately to the belief that what ever plan he came up with would work. It was for the best if he left the prayers to Sampson.

  “What the hell is that?” Alan asked, in a voice that shook.

  Merton’s eyes snapped open. Alan was stood, as were many of the others, looking at the coast.

  Merton rose awkwardly to his feet. The boat rocked underneath him, and he found it difficult to keep his balance. Sampson had remained seated, so Merton put his hand on the monk’s head to steady himself. Sampson complained loudly at being thus used, but Merton ignored him and looked out across the stretch of sea to the beach. He couldn’t see Traitors Rock for there were too many people crowding the beach, but what he could see were two pyres. The first was a small one, made by children who were copying their elders. He could just make out a crude effigy made of old sacks, stuffed with straw. The children would have great fun burning that later. The other was large and constructed upon a platform. Some poor bastard was going to burn this day. Merton felt a cold shiver travel down his body. His mother used to say that such a sensation meant that someone was walking on your grave. Merton had not understood that saying then, but he did now.

  “They are going to kill her,” Merton’s voice shook with realisation.

  Alan looked at him as he spoke. He knew that the fear he saw in Alan’s face was reflected in his own

  “You do not know it is for her,” Sampson stated, trying to be the voice of reason.

  “The pyre is for us. This madness ends now,” Trace shouted, and many agreed with him.

  “Trace is right,” Yrre stated, studying the blade of his axe as he spoke. “She is dead, Merton.” He raised his eyes to look into Merton’s face. “Turn the boat around. We are going home. And you,” he pointed the axe at Alan, “can become acquainted with the Cave when we get back to Cerniw. You have made a fool of Merton. A fool of us all.”

  “If I wanted to kill Merton, he would be dead,” Alan stated, rage replacing fear on his face. “And if I wanted you all to burn, I wouldn’t show you the place of execution first. Yrre, look at me. I am one man,” he held his arms up and turned around. “You have my weapons. I am defenceless. No one knows you are coming. No one knows I am coming. I know nothing of this,” Alan pointed to the beach. “I am not a part of it.”

  “You are a lying Breton bastard,” Yrre took a menacing step forward. “Alden should have slit your throat on the beach. But I am more than happy to take your head now.”

  “Merton, she is alive,” Alan insisted, taking a hasty step back away from Yrre’s threat, for there was nothing he could do to defend himself, he had no weapons, and he couldn’t swim, so jumping overboard was out of the question. “We cannot leave. God forbid this,” he pointed to the pyre again, “is for her. But if it is, and you walk away, she will burn. Can you live with that? Because I can’t.”

  “Take down the sails, we will row to the harbour from here,” Merton stated, his gaze fixed on the pyre. He couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away. It was as if it were enchanted.

  “You have got to be joking,” Yrre replied in Saxon. “This is a trap Merton, that pyre is for you.”

  “Take down the sails,” Merton repeated. Breaking the spell that the pyre had on him, he turned his full attention to Yrre. He knew what Yrre was trying to do, he could see through the pretence, and he was thankful for it. He just hoped no one else could see through it, for this was a dangerous game of cat and mouse that they now played.

  “No,” Yrre said defiantly. “We are turning around and going back to Cerniw.”

  “He is right, Merton,” Eadger stated cautiously. “This is a trap.”

  Merton turned back to look at the shore and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He had to keep control of this situation…somehow.

  “Merton does not think like a warrior anymore,” Trace added with a hint of mockery. “He will lead us to our deaths.”

  Merton tore his gaze away from the beach and looked at his men. He let his gaze travel over his band of warriors until his eyes finally rested on Yrre. Yrre’s face was hard and, to the most, unreadable, but Merton could read it.

  “You will take the sails down, and you will row this boat to the harbour. That is an order. Do not make me repeat myself again,” Merton stated, his voice filled with suppressed rage.

  “You are no longer in charge,” Yrre stated.

  “Yrre,” Eadger cautioned, glancing at Merton as he spoke, but Yrre ignored him.

  “You are no longer one of us. You are not in a position anymore to make decisions for me and the men. I lead them now, and I say we go home.”

  There were several murmurs of agreement amongst the men. Although Eadger began to back away from Yrre, as if he wanted to be out of reach of the storm that was sure to follow Yrre’s words.

  “You are not in your right mind,” Yrre continued, addressing Merton. “You have not been in your right mind since they tortured you. You have let this monk manipulate you and weaken your mind,” he pointed to Sampson as he spoke. “Merton, your body is broken, you are no longer a warrior. You are no longer one of us. You can no longer be relied upon to make decisions. You are nothing now.”

  Yrre’s words were like daggers, and it hurt to hear them. He knew Yrre did not mean what he said, but he could see in the mens’ expressions that Yrre was voicing what they thought. If he did not
take control now, then he would lose all control forever. Merton turned away from Yrre and looked back at the coast. His hand blindly felt for the knife that he had tucked into his belt. Silently he pulled it free of its sheath.

  “Turn her around,” Yrre ordered.

  Merton closed his eyes briefly and mentally tried to picture what he would do next. He had one shot, and if he messed it up, then that would be it. His authority would be forever undermined, and when it came to this sorry bunch of cut-throats, he wasn’t having that.

  He counted to three in his head and then turned swiftly around and threw the knife.

  There was a grunt of pain, and Yrre staggered backwards, a blade sticking out from his left arm. He looked at Merton in surprised shock as his hand clutched the pommel of the knife.

  A stunned silence filled the boat.

  “Dear God,” Sampson mumbled as he looked on in horror.

  “Drop your weapons,” Merton demanded, his voice cold and commanding — it was the voice of the Devil. A voice his men knew only too well. There was a moment of silence and then a few thuds as weapons hit the hull. “Do not, for one moment, forget who I am. I have risked my life for every one of you,” he looked at each warrior as he spoke. “I have had your backs while you have had mine. Yes, I am a cripple, but do not make the mistake of thinking me incapable. The woman I love is somewhere in that castle,” he pointed to the shore. “And whether that pyre is for her or us, or for some other poor soul, it makes no difference. I am not going anywhere until I have her safe. I made a promise to her, do not think to make me break it because I won’t.”

  Yrre pulled the knife free, blood trickled steadily from the wound and down his arm. He looked at Merton with loathing.

  “I spared your life once,” Merton reminded Yrre. “I let you win that fight, even though you were not my equal. Perhaps I should have killed you like the crowd wanted me to. You owe me.”

  “I have repaid that debt many times. You know that. You are sending us to our deaths, and I will not be a part of it,” Yrre stated. “I have a wife. I have a family. If you follow him,” Yrre shook his head again. “Then you are all fools.”

  Merton watched Yrre as he made his way to the stern of the boat and sat down. The rest stayed where they were. Yrre had voiced the opinions of the masses, and now it was his turn to convince them that he was still worth placing a wager on.

  “You never asked anything from us, apart from loyalty,” Eadger’s voice filled the silence. “We pledged our allegiance to you, and I am not the type of man who goes back on his word. You gave us a choice the last time we were here. We chose to stay by your side. We chose to fight with you. I don’t want to die,” he continued, “none of us do. We all have families. But let us not pretend ignorance. We knew what the risks were before we even stepped foot on the boat. We are but a handful of men, and over there is an army, but we decided that we were prepared to take that risk. Merton, you saved us from Wihtgar, you protected us from Clovis. It is the least we can do to rescue your woman. If you think the harbour is the right place to launch our assault, then that is what we will do. That is all I have to say.”

  Merton had expected nothing less from Eadger. His wife was raising Tanick as her own after all.

  “Lower the sails,” Eadger said. “And let us do what we came to do. Trace,” Eadger punched Trace on his arm to get his attention.

  “Yrre is right,” Trace said, he had not been swayed by Eadger’s argument. “You are not fit to lead us. Not anymore.”

  Vernon had said nothing while all of this was going on. He had, instead, sat on the bench and listened. “My brother died in the service of Amandine,” Vernon reminded them.

  “And he wouldn’t have died if Merton had not asked him to protect her,” Trace argued. “Wann would still be with us if it wasn’t for him,” Trace glared at Merton with something close to contempt.

  “Trace, think about what you are saying,” Eadger urged.

  “I know exactly what I am saying,” Trace stated.

  “You didn’t have to come,” Eadger said with obvious annoyance. “No one made you.”

  “What short memories you all have,” Rand, the oldest warrior among them spoke up. “None of us would be alive if it were not for Merton.”

  “He has saved our lives many times, but I am not talking about the past. I am talking about now. He is going to get us killed,” Trace said dismissively.

  “How many times did you almost get him killed, Trace? And you, Yrre, he could have left you in that prison to rot. And this is how you repay him? It is a shameful display of disloyalty. Both me and my son would be worms’ meat if it were not for Merton. But you are right, Trace, he isn’t the same, and yet we still owe him. We owe him for our very lives. Let us repay this debt by returning his woman to him. After that we can go our separate ways if that is what we decide. But I am not turning this boat around because you fear the unknown.”

  “I am not a coward,” Trace argued. Insulted, he reached for his axe.

  “Rand is right, Trace,” Eadger said, placing a restraining hand on Trace’s arm. “We do owe Merton.”

  “We owe him nothing,” Trace argued. “If we stay with him bad luck will haunt our footsteps.”

  “I am with Merton,” Vernon stated, shocking everyone into silence. “It is what Wann would have wanted.”

  There was a murmur of agreement to Vernon’s words.

  “Trace?” Eadger queried.

  Trace swore loudly. “If we follow Merton then we will die on a pyre. I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to our deaths.”

  “If you follow me, then you may die,” Merton agreed. “But has not that always been the case? I am no warrior now—”

  “There,” Trace stated with triumph. “He admits it.”

  “I am no warrior now,” Merton tried again, “but I am not yet ready to be cast on the rubbish heap. Look around you, Trace. When did you start wearing blinkers? Were we not the best of the best? The Devil and his Demons, that is what they called us.”

  “The Devil is dead,” Trace spoke in Cerniw and with finality.

  “The Devil cannot die,” Merton countered in the same language.

  “Not by man’s hand anyway,” Sampson stated, and everyone glared at him. “I am just saying…that only God can defeat the Devil.”

  Eadger scowled at the monk, and then turned his attention back to the conversation in question. “Trace, how long have you and I fought side by side?”

  “Too long,” Trace replied.

  “I am curious as to when you became afraid of death?”

  “I am not afraid of death,” Trace snapped back.

  Eadger scoffed in disagreement.

  “I am not afraid of death,” Trace said again, but this time louder and with more force.

  Vernon and Rand both rolled their eyes.

  “I am not a coward,” Trace persisted.

  “No you are not,” Merton agreed. “I know you are not. I have seen you fight. I cannot tell you what to do, for you are a free man. But please… We need you. I need you.”

  “Merton, you are asking too much.”

  “I am not asking you anything that you have not already asked of me in the past. You and I…we were friends.”

  “I am still your friend,” Trace insisted. “But you are not my leader, not anymore.”

  “Then as a friend, I am asking for your help. Please do this one last thing for me, and then we will part on good terms and I will wish you all the best. Please, Trace. Help me.”

  Trace sighed heavily. Reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement, for what else could he do? Everyone, apart from Yrre, had sided with Merton. “As a friend, I will help you, because I owe you. But it is Yrre that I will listen to now. If he sees fit to go to Brittany, then so be it.”

  “Lower the sails,” Yrre replied with an edge to his words and a glower on his face. “We will head for the harbour.”

  Trace cursed under his breath, and he scowled
at Merton with suddenly suspicious eyes.

  “Your leader has spoken,” Merton stated, trying his best not to look too self-satisfied. “Best do as he says.”

  Merton gave a brief nod of thanks to Eadger as the men set to work lowering the sails. Content that they would now do as they were told, he turned back around to look at the beach. Alan came to stand beside him, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

  “You spared his life,” Alan observed, glancing at Yrre who now had a needle and thread in his hand. “And because of that act of mercy, he has gained control of your men. If it had been me, I would have killed Yrre for his defiance. Why did you spare his life?”

  “I didn’t spare his life,” Merton mumbled. “I misjudged the throw. I was aiming for his heart.”

  Before Alan could say any more, Merton pushed passed him and made his way over to Yrre.

  “I would offer to stitch it up for you, but I don’t think it would be very neat,” Merton joked as he sat down opposite Yrre.

  Yrre placed the needle in his mouth and shrugged out of his tunic. He grimaced as he inspected the wound, it was deep, but it could have been worse. He sloshed some alcohol over the wound, his breath hissing between his teeth as he did so and then without another word he began to stitch the wound closed.

  “Yrre, I’m sorry. I was aiming for the mast behind you,” Merton spoke quietly for his words were for Yrre’s ears only.

  “Your aim was always a little off,” Yrre mumbled, grimacing as he pierced his skin with the needle again.

  Nothing more was said until Yrre had closed his wound.

  “So much for the simple life. So much for becoming a farmer,” Yrre sighed. “I don’t want this.”

  “I can think of no one better to lead the men than you,” Merton stated. “You earned this, Yrre. The men trust you and respect you.”

  “Yes, but I am no Devil.”

  “That is probably not a bad thing, but at the moment it is the least of my worries. I am not going to let her burn, Yrre. I can’t…”