by Barbara Kyle
She stared at it, the memory still a fog. “We attacked . . . today?”
“No, yesterday. You’ve been unconscious.”
Something he’d said clutched her. We lost seven men. She swallowed and asked, “Claes?”
Adam drew back his hand. “He’s fine. And something of a hero, too. He was the first to storm the City Hall and he ripped down Alba’s flags. Made a bonfire on the steps and burned them. The men loved it.” He stood up. “You must be in awful pain. What can I do for you? What can I get you? Another pillow? Something to eat?”
She was still trying to grasp what had happened. “So . . . we won.” Elation washed over her. Down with Alba! And yet the victory felt thin, shallow, like water, Berck drifting away, a corpse.
“Amazing, but true.” Adam indicated the open window. Through it they could hear the men’s singing and laughter carrying on. “Hear that? They’re celebrating. La Marck and his Sea Beggars occupy the city. They’re swaggering around as if they’d taken Brussels.”
“No one fought them?”
“A few stalwarts of the city guard, but after the leading citizens fled, the guard surrendered. The councillors lit out to the Antwerp Road with all the property they could lash to their horses. Only the mayor stayed. He’s in the garrison lockup. La Marck and his captains have taken over the best houses. I told them not the mayor’s house. Told them it was for you.”
Adam said it as though he would have fought them for it, for her. She couldn’t help smiling. Though he’d got to his feet he was so near she could have reached for him. She longed for him to sit by her again.
“Fenella!” Claes came through the door, the chambermaid behind him. He came straight to the bedside. “Great heaven, it’s true, you’re awake.” He took her hand and held it in both of his and said with feeling, “I feared we’d lost you.”
“No . . . though it seems I lost a day.” She glanced at Adam. He tore his eyes from her. He beckoned the chambermaid, who’d brought a jug, and told her, “Give the lady some water.”
Claes said to him, “Thank you for sending me word.”
Adam looked about to reply. He hadn’t sent for him. But he just nodded, turned, and walked out.
Claes pulled the chair close to the bed and sat. “You look well. Better than I dared hope.”
She felt far from well. The grinding pain in her side, the pounding headache, the fogginess in her mind. The maid offered her a cup of water and she struggled to half sit up. She drank a mouthful. It felt blessedly cool going down her parched throat. A couple more mouthfuls, then she lay down again, her strength sapped by the simple effort. It gave her a stab of panic. Would she be an invalid forever? No, that’s nonsense, she told herself. People recovered from such wounds all the time. So would she. He doesn’t know the woman you are, Adam had said. That warmed her but tormented her, too. Watching him walk out, that was the torment. She looked up at Claes. Bathed and rested and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked healthier than she had ever seen him. “The victory, Claes. I’ve heard. It’s wonderful.”
He nodded, his face shining. “And this is just the beginning. Brielle gives us a base. We—” He stopped and turned to the maid who was setting the jug and cup on the table, and he told her to leave. Didn’t want her to overhear. When she was gone he turned back. “It’s exactly what we needed. A base that we can get supplied by sea. A base we can attack inland from. La Marck and I have sent a joint message to Prince William in Dillenberg, telling him of our victory. It’s just the beginning—and what a beginning! I’ve contacted the Brethren in Rotterdam, and with our combined strength, Sea Beggars and Brethren, we’ll take more ports throughout Holland and Zeeland, all in the name of the Prince. We plan to start with Vlissingen. Just think of it, Fenella—it controls the channel that the entire trade of Antwerp sails through. With Vlissingen we can take the whole western region!”
“Yes . . . that would be wonderful,” she managed, but in fact it made her heavyhearted, the thought of tramping from town to town, following him and his troops of rebels. She didn’t want to think of it. She was weary, so very weary.
“You’re tired; forgive me.” He glanced at the window and grinned. “Listen to them. Once they sleep off their celebrating, those men will be ready to fight.”
“I think . . . I need to sleep, too.”
“Yes, yes, of course. And I must get back to La Marck. We’re planning the attack on Vlissingen. Get back your strength, Fenella.” He patted her hand, smiling. “The men think you’re very brave, you know.” He smiled awkwardly. “Why, I believe they would follow you before me or La Marck.”
She tried to smile at his jest. Her eyes closed as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
She slept right into the night. A dream of Berck falling into a chasm, falling forever into a gale-tossed sea, jolted her awake, sweating. She fell back into a dull, dreamless sleep.
The next day she sipped some broth and ate a little rye bread. The fog in her mind cleared and the headache faded, though the pain in her side was still intense. The doctor, a wheezing white-haired fellow, changed her bandage, and the maid helped her into a fresh nightdress. Claes visited, spreading out a map on the bed to explain the tactics the Sea Beggars were planning. Adam came to ask if she was feeling better. She said she was. He stayed only a moment.
The following day she felt quite a bit better. Stronger. Hungrier. Interested. She ate a dish of rabbit stew and an apple and drank some ale. The maid told her Lord Thornleigh had gone to a neighboring town and had left word that he would not be back before nightfall.
Claes did not come to see her all day. Too busy with the plans, Fenella thought. She tried to ignore the voice inside her that wondered why he would not take a few minutes to look in on her. Lying in bed had become boring, irritating. Tomorrow I’ll get up, she told herself, even if just for a short walk. She had a hankering to see her ship, the Gotland. A hankering to be useful again.
“Your husband left this,” the maid told her when she awoke the next morning. Fenella opened the letter.
My dear wife,
By the time you read this I will be halfway to our destination by sea, with our Rotterdam friends on their way to join us by land. The doctor advised me that you should not travel, nor do I wish to subject you to such rigors. Wish us well. When I have good news I will send for you. Until then, may God keep you well.
Your loving husband,
C. Doorn
Claes had sailed! She asked the maid if the whole fleet had gone. The girl confirmed it. “Yes, they left before dawn with the tide.”
It stunned Fenella. Why had Claes not woken her to tell her? Was a quick good-bye so impossible? She chided herself for the thought. He was on an important mission, a dangerous one, and had a thousand details of organization on his mind. Naturally that consumed him. Her heart beat fast with excitement and alarm. The rebels were on the move! And now that she’d had a moment to absorb the news a guilty shiver went through her, a shiver of relief that she had not had to go with Claes.
Had Adam gone, too? “Did the Gotland sail with them?”
The girl shrugged. “All ships look the same.”
Fenella needed to see the harbor. She struggled out of bed, her bandaged ribs feeling like they were grating together, and went to the window. It overlooked the mayor’s garden, and she found that the neighboring houses masked the harbor. She could not get even a glimpse of the water. Infuriating! She turned back to the girl. “The Gotland is Lord Thornleigh’s ship. You’ve heard nothing of him?”
“Oh yes. Pieter said at breakfast that the English lord has gone to talk with the mayor.”
Fenella sank down on the edge of the bed, a little shaky from the exertion, the relief. Adam was still here. She knew she had no business being happy, but happy was how she felt.
There was a scent of pear blossoms in the air. Four days had passed since La Marck’s fleet had left, and Fenella was very glad to be outside after so long in bed. She reveled in
the freedom of the open air as she and Adam climbed the stairs from the street up to the city wall. She didn’t mind the weakness she still felt, for it gave her an excuse to take his arm.
“Sure you want to go to the top?” he asked.
She nodded with a smile. She wanted to see the harbor and could wish for no better guide. Adam had stayed to assist the people of Brielle in resuming their daily lives.
He and Fenella reached the top. They were alone on the wide walkway. Throughout the city spring greenery frothed the gardens of citizens’ homes and the monastery precincts. Fenella drank in the pear blossom scent. In the harbor, boats skimmed to and from the pier, sails atilt in the fresh breeze. Bright sunshine beamed, then darkened as a flotilla of clouds sailed by, then beamed again. In the quick-shifting play of light and shadow Fenella fancied the sky was displaying the emotions that wheeled through her. She could not have more of Adam and that was something of a torment, but just to be near him satisfied her heart.
“You look well,” he said. “You look . . .”
She pushed back her hair tickling her cheek in the breeze. “Look what?”
“Happy,” he finished.
She could not tell him that he was the reason. She covered her feelings with a cheerful change of subject. “As happy as the Admiral’s men?”
He smiled. “Aye, there won’t be a drop of wine left in Vlissingen tonight, I warrant.”
She laughed. “True, they’re a thirsty lot.” The news had reached them this morning. The Sea Beggars had taken Vlissingen! The city was a strategic port that guarded the entrance to Antwerp, the trading capital of Europe, and it had opened to them, just as Brielle had. Astonishing! And wonderful. Immediately after, word came of a proclamation by Prince William from his exile in Dillenburg. Praising the victory, he called on all the Dutch people to rise up against their cruel and bloodthirsty foreign oppressors.
“Do you think the Beggars can do it?” Fenella said, looking out at the wide river that led to the sea. “Take back their country?”
“It could happen, if they can hold these naval bases, Brielle and Vlissingen. They’ll have access inland, and access to the sea for arms and supplies and food. And men. Victory is a great recruiter.”
She nodded, delighted by the possibilities. Already rumors were galloping in from other towns that they, too, were eager to open to the Beggars.
“But Alba will strike back like Zeus from Olympus,” Adam said. “He’s got battle-hardened armies, and his rage will be fierce.”
As if hearing Adam, the clouds suddenly blotted the sun. Fenella shivered. She had personal knowledge of Alba’s ferocity. Memories of his dungeon chilled her.
“You’re cold,” Adam said. “Shall we go back?”
She turned to him. “Why didn’t you go with La Marck?”
He looked at her soberly. “It’s time for me to go home, Fenella. Past time. I must report to the Queen. I shouldn’t even have stayed this long, but I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Part of her was thrilled at his last words, but another part felt like she was falling, tumbling off the wall as Berck had tumbled. She had known that Adam would eventually go, of course, but she had pushed that reality to the back of her mind. It lurched out now, and the blow spun her like chaff in the wind.
“Will you stay here?” he asked. “Until . . .” He didn’t finish. Until your husband comes back.
“No. My gold is still with the Antwerp banker.” She forced a smile. “I’m quite rich, you know.” She looked out at the water. Her smile faded. “I’ll go to Antwerp.”
“Good, I’ll leave some men to escort you. After that you’ll go to England, I hope. As long as you’re in this country you won’t be safe from Alba. Doorn must understand that.”
She needed no persuading. She had already given this a lot of thought. From England she would send word to Claes that she had gone there to wait for him. Her stay would be temporary. As soon as he sent for her to rejoin him, she would do so.
“You know I’ll do anything I can to help you in England,” Adam said.
“I know. Thank you.” Anything, she thought sadly, except be my love.
That night, she could not sleep. A shutter somewhere in the house kept banging. The wind had built all day. It moaned past Fenella’s window. She tried to ignore it, but sleep still evaded her. Her body had almost healed, but she doubted her heart ever would.
A knock on her door startled her. Who would come knocking so late? It was closer to dawn than midnight. Perhaps . . . news from Claes? She got up and whirled on her robe. She opened the door.
“Fenella.” Adam’s voice was an urgent whisper. “I must talk to you. Can I come in?”
“Of course, what is it?” He strode past her. She had never seen him so agitated. She shut the door.
“This letter came,” he said, holding up the paper. He plowed a troubled hand through his hair. “I had to tell you. Before I go.”
“Go . . . to England?”
“To Brussels. I’m riding out tonight. Now.” He thrust the letter at her. It was grimy and crushed from its travels. “Read.”
She quickly scanned the few lines.
Dearest Father,
Brussels is in an uproar. They say the Sea Beggars have taken Brielle. They say you led them to victory. I pray it is true and that you are safe. And I pray that this letter finds its way to you there. Yesterday Robert and I escaped the duke’s palace. We want to go home to England and be with you! My hope was to get us to a ship bound for London, but we had to run from the palace before I could get any money, so we came to Uncle Carlos and Aunt Isabel’s house. But we found they had gone and the house was closed. We got inside and are hiding here. But we cannot stay. Mother will surely come to look for us. Can you come for us? Please? We will wait here until the Feast of Saint Hedda. If you cannot come by then we will set out for Brielle to find you. I do not know what else to do. Please, Father, come for us.
Fenella looked up in wonder. “Clever children! Adam, you can get them back at last!”
“Or get killed. It may be a trap.”
“What? How?”
“My wife used the children to bait me before.”
Fenella gasped. “But why would your daughter agree to such a thing? She and Robert were both ready to flee with you.”
“I don’t think she did agree. Frances likely made her write this. Or Frances may have written it herself.” He shook his head, bewildered. “Or maybe it’s all true and they really have escaped. That would be wonderful. But I just don’t know.” He slipped the letter into his pocket. “Either way, I’m going to find out. I only came to tell you. If they are on their own I have just two days before they start tramping here on foot, with no money, prey to every evil on the road. I have to get to them before they leave the house.”
“But if you’re right about your wife she’ll be lying in wait for you. Adam, you must not go alone. You need help.”
“No. I’ve told Curry I’m going, but my men didn’t sign on to risk their lives for this. Besides, I may have a better chance alone.”
“No, you won’t. Your wife will be looking for you, expecting you.” She tugged off her robe. “Just give me time to get dressed. Saddle a horse for me.”
“What? No, Fenella, don’t even think of—”
“I’m coming with you, and that’s that. You need someone your wife doesn’t know.”
23
The Commander’s House
Rainclouds threatened Brussels, darkening the evening sky. The air was sultry, humid, sticking Fenella’s thin muslin skirt to her legs as she reached the walled property of Carlos Valverde’s house. She stopped where the line of bay trees stood like sentries along the wall. She saw no armed men standing guard. Saw no one at all except an old woman on a donkey plodding farther up the street. The gate to Valverde’s house lay open.
A trap? That’s what Adam believed, and maybe he was right. Maybe his wife had left the gate open to lure him inside. On
the other hand, if Kate and Robert were hiding alone in the house they might have left the gate open in the hope that Adam was coming for them.
If they’re even here, Fenella thought. That was what she had to find out. The only thing she knew for certain about the house was that Valverde and his family were long gone.
She tramped through the gate and into the courtyard, her gait a little unsteady, not from the few swigs of brandy she’d taken, which hadn’t been enough to make her drunk, but from the clumsy wooden clogs on her feet. And she was terribly nervous. Despite the evening’s humid warmth she felt chilled in her thin, drab dress. The muslin, once poppy colored, was faded to a dingy pink, and grease stains mottled the bodice, cut low almost to her nipples. Passing through the twilit courtyard she pushed her mobcap farther askew on hair made blowsy to complete the effect. She saw no one, heard no sign of life, not even a dog. She reached the front door. The windows visible from here were dark, including the ones upstairs. She felt a sliver of hope. If Kate and Robert were camped inside they would be careful not to proclaim their presence with light. She took a deep breath. Do it.
“Let me in!” she yelled. She made her eyes lazy like a drunk’s, raised her fist, and banged on the door.
It opened. A grizzled man glowered at her above his breastplate, one hand on the handle of his sheathed sword. Fenella’s heart jumped to her throat. Adam was right: soldiers! Beyond this one three more stood watching in the dim hallway, a small lantern casting the only light. Boots thudded behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see five more soldiers fall in between her and the street. Where had they come from? If they arrest me it’s the gallows this time. Her mouth was so dry her lips stuck together until she forced out her voice. Fear made it easy to slur the words. “Where’s the poxy commander? I’ve got a bone to pick with him.”
The grizzled soldier glared at her. “What do you want, woman?”
