The Southern Trail (Book 4)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “Let’s get the dead Corsairs overboard,” Marco spoke up, and he saw the men around him obey his suggestion, laying down their bloody weapons so that they could start the work to restore the ship. “Are any of the ship’s officers still alive?” he asked.

  “Yes,” “Here,” came the scatter responses from a few men.

  “There are more of us than them!” Count Argen shouted. “Take control of the ship!”

  “I won’t,” Marco said, and he demonstrably shoved his sword back into its scabbard. “I gave my word of honor that I had surrendered and would return to Foulata.”

  “You impudent fool! I’ll have you whipped!” Argen shouted at him, then looked around as he belatedly recognized how the fighting men on the deck looked at him. They’d all seen Marco fight and lead the struggle to win back control of the ship, to win, and they were ready to defend him from Argen.

  The nobleman recognized that he had pushed too far, and he shrank back behind Varsen, while the ship’s officers came forward. There was the faint sound of splashes, as dead Corsairs were thrown overboard.

  Marco cut off the manipulated wind that was blowing the rest of the Docleateans back towards the ship they had left. The Corsair ship was so close now that the faces of Wilh and Captain Fyld and Sergeant Hearst and all the others were clearly visible.

  “Get men with poles over there to fend off the contact!” one of the ship’s officers shouted. Several men hastened to pick up long wooden poles stashed along the railings, and extended them outward, then held on tightly as the Corsair ship drifted slowly into contact, and floated up to the edge of the ship where Marco stood. The two vessels collided with a gentle bump, and a minimal sound of a few pieces of wood breaking from the contact.

  “Lash us together!” a ship’s officer shouted, and the crew members proceeded to redo what had been undone not very long before.

  Marco watched from the middle of the deck as a gang plank was thrown down, and the nobles and the other Docleatean guards, nearly a score of people altogether, carefully trod the wide board and returned to the ship.

  “I’m pleased to report that we have the situation under control, and it’s good to see you still safe, my lord,” Count Argen stepped forward to greet the new arrivals.

  “Where were you when the fighting began?” Duchess Rhen spoke up. It was the first time he had heard her say anything. “There was no one to protect us or fight for us against the Corsairs until that soldier came to our rescue,” she pointed at Marco.

  “I was with Colonel Varsen; we barely managed to stay alive,” Argen sputtered, looking to the colonel for support.

  “They had us trapped in our cabin,” Varsen spoke up. “We couldn’t get out immediately to join the battle, and after we did finally fight our way out, we couldn’t find you.”

  “Because you were hiding, you mean,” Rhen said sharply. “That boy did more than both of you put together!” she pointed at Marco again, drawing unwanted attention to him.

  There were mutters of assent from the others who had returned from the Corsair ship as well as from those who had fought with Marco on the deck, and Argen realized how tenuous his position was at the moment.

  “There’s no doubt the boy fought for his life and fought well; I wouldn’t take that away from him,” the count said through clenched teeth.

  Marco was only half-listening. He didn’t know how to respond or what to say. He still felt at a loss, not able to understand what Iasco’s intention was when she had sent him on this journey without his memories. With his memories in place, he knew how perfidious Argen and Varsen were, and he was ready to call them out; without his memories though, he doubted he’d have the courage as a common soldier to challenge the high-ranking officer and the odious nobleman.

  “We’ll sort through these matters when we have time,” the Prince spoke up finally. “Captain, what do we need to do to preserve the ship and stay safe from a return by the Corsairs?” he asked while he pointed to the other ship on the horizon.

  “We need to clean this ship and put it back in order,” the ranking officer answered. “We may return to the safety of the company of the other two ships we started out with if we stay here a day or two. I’d suggest we see if there are any supplies we can use from the ship you’ve brought us, then set it to drift apart and burn it.

  “We’ve lost a lot of men, so we’ll need your cooperation to go forward from here,” the officer said. “The captain’s dead, and I’m the highest ranking officer, so I will make it my responsibility to assure that we deliver you safely to Tripool.

  “And I’ll start by thanking your hero, the young warrior over there,” he too pointed at Marco. “I’ve never seen a man use a sword so well for so long!”

  There was a smattering of applause, and suddenly a cheer from the men on the deck.

  “I agree, he saved our lives as well,” Captain Fyld spoke up. “The Prince wouldn’t be alive today were it not for Marco.”

  “This young man has apparently been a true savior for our party today, and we will see that he is duly rewarded when the time is right. For now though, captain, put all these men to work so that we can move on,” the Prince said. “We need to restore this ship as quickly as possible.”

  The acting captain started pointing at his men, putting them in charge of various work parties, and told them to draft the Docleateans to help as needed. He assigned the few captive Corsairs to a small boat, and sent them rowing back to the distant Corsair ship.

  “You,” the newly-elevated officer walked over to see the weary Marco, “go up to the crow’s nest in the fore mast and keep an eye out for any danger that approaches. Can you climb up there?”

  “Yes sir,” Marco said promptly. He looked around momentarily at the men who were beginning to tackle so many tasks around the deck, and then he trundled forward to the mast and began to awkwardly climb up to the small platform high overhead, where he settled in and began to watch the bright horizon around the front of the ship. He sipped water from his finger to energize his body and to help heal his wounds.

  He stood and watched and let his mind wander again, back to the discovery that Lady Iasco had turned him into a spy, an unwitting, unknowing spy in the midst of the defeated Docleateans. What was he to do? What ultimate purpose did she have in sending him on such a perilous journey? Without knowing that, he couldn’t confidently decide how to react to various actions that might occur.

  There was a brief ruckus below, and Marco looked down to see in astonishment that the Duchess Rhen was climbing up the ropes of the mast, accompanied by two sailors who seemed to have a hand on her at all times as she unsteadily lurched upward, moving from rope to mast to yardarm to rope. Marco watched in fascination, and when the trio of climbers reached his location, the Duchess peremptorily held her hand up to him.

  “You’ll be a gentleman and assist me, of course,” she spoke to Marco assertively. “Thank you for your help,” she said sweetly to the two sailors who smiled at her, then winked at Marco, and scampered back down the mast to assume other duties.

  Marco held his hands out to grasp the Duchess, and lifted her up to the top of the railing around his lookout spot, then watched in bemusement as she swung her legs easily over the railing without concern about the petticoats or flesh that she momentarily flashed before she stood next to him.

  “The captain told me the most astonishing thing, and I thought you should know,” the Duchess said to Marco.

  He looked at her, confused by the notion that a noble lady would climb the mast of a sailing ship to share gossip with him.

  “Well,” she tilted her head and looked at him expectantly, “aren’t you going to ask me what he said?”

  Marco smiled. “What did the captain say to you, my lady?”

  “That’s better,” she said. “I knew there had to be a quick wit in there,” she casually reached up and tapped his forehead.

  “The captain told me that the crow’s nest on the fore mast is the least pro
ductive place on the ship, because you can’t see through the sails to see what’s around us or behind us,” she explained, as her arms waved in all directions. “He sent you up here because no one can see you, and you’ve got a chance to take a nap. He thought you looked exhausted down on deck, and so did I, though you look better up close up here,” she told him.

  Marco smiled at her. He pointed to a pair of crates that sat on the floor of the tiny platform. “Shall we be seated?” he invited, then watched and guffawed aloud for a moment as the Duchess plopped down in a quick and careless move.

  Marco slid down to join her. “So, you’re no ordinary soldier,” she stated. The comment was a challenge.

  “I would say that you’re no ordinary Duchess,” he countered.

  “Touché,” she replied. “But you go first.”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” Marco answered cautiously. The sharp-eyed woman was someone he wouldn’t be able to easily fool, he could tell. He wished he still was under Iasco’s spell, so he wouldn’t have to try to dissemble. “I got hit in the head and don’t really remember much,” he pointed to the red mark across his forehead. “I’m from Rurita, and I‘m good at carrying luggage,” he smiled.

  “So you’re going to play canny, are you? Captain Fyld says there’s more to you than we realized. Certainly more than Varsen or Argen realize,” she said.

  “Captain Fyld seems like a good man,” Marco replied. “I’d trust him.”

  “He is a good man,” Rhen agreed. “We’ve been on this campaign for nearly a year, and I’ve watched him the whole time. He’s one of the few officers who come from among the nobility that you can trust.”

  “Why are you here?” Marco asked.

  “I thought it would be a chance to get away from Argen and Varsen. They certainly won’t climb up here,” she said. “I wanted to tell you to take a nap.

  “And I wanted to let you know that the princess is appreciative – very appreciative – of your heroism today. She is very appreciative,” Rhen emphasized the word ‘very’ as she spoke.

  Marco looked at the girl.

  “I can’t be any more blunt!” the duchess seemed exasperated. “That sweet girl is engaged to be married to Argen. She deserves better than that! If he weren’t so nasty, so similar to and so favored by the king, she wouldn’t have to throw herself away like that to strengthen her father’s position at court.

  “Do you pay any attention to politics?” she actually threw her arms up in frustration. “Marco, help her,” Rhen begged, thrusting her face towards his as she emphasized her fervor to protect the girl. “I’ve known her since we were both young girls, just a few years old. With all the heirs to the throne, and with the king being such a,” she stopped before she said anything too critical. “Well, anyway, her father had benefited from her union with Argen. I heard Varsen say that the Prince will take the blame for losing the battle at Athens, and Fyld won’t deny it.”

  She stood up. “You get some rest. I’m going to go back down to the deck now,” she told him.

  “Let me help you climb down,” Marco offered.

  “Oh you don’t have to – watch this!” Rhen told him with a smile. She leaned against the side of the crow’s nest, then raised her leg and threw it over the side in preparation for climbing down the mast.

  “Hold on, miss!” four voices rang out, and within a half a minute there were multiple sailors present to help her down to the deck.

  “Stay here and rest, and remember what I said,” Rhen looked at Marco and told him, just before her head disappeared from view.

  Marco did as she told him. He laid back and rested, closing his eyes, and thinking about the revelations from the duchess. She wanted him to do something for the princess. He didn’t plan to murder Count Argen, which seemed to be what Rhen had implied would be best, and he didn’t plan to woo Ellersbine. He stuck his finger in his mouth and thoughtfully sucked the water from the healing spring, then applied some to the wounds on his leg and his shoulder.

  His eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly, as something clicked in his mind. He didn’t have to look at the names on the back of his torq to know that Ellersbine was one of them, was the mysterious third name that was supposed to be his fated third lover!

  The revelation was shocking. Yet as he considered his circumstances, he felt an eerie certainty that the truth was revealed. Had he not awoken from Iasco’s treatment, had he not regained his memories, he wondered whether he would have felt the same sympathy he now felt for the princess, and whether he would have felt it prepare to blossom into a deeper affection, a mutual love. And he was left wondering how to proceed, how to take the right steps to mimic the steps that he would have taken if he had been in the state of amnesia Iasco had intended.

  Why would he have fallen in love with Ellersbine, he wondered. She was a princess. That was all he knew for sure. Perhaps she was nice; Rhen seemed to think so. She was engaged to Argen, and Marco felt sorry for her for that; perhaps sympathy would have driven him to step in to help her. She was pleasant looking, he thought, but she paled compared to Mirra’s extraordinary beauty. Every woman paled when compared to Mirra though, he told himself as he tried to be objective.

  He opened his eyes and stood up, then looked down at the deck. Ellersbine was there, sitting with Rhen and Fyld, and she was looking up as he looked down, while the captain and the duchess spoke to one another, oblivious to the actions of the princess. She raised a hand and held it close to her shoulder as she looked at him, then she gave a tentative wave, and Marco, caught in his study of her, waved back.

  He was not going to sleep in the crow’s nest, he knew. He slipped a leg over the top of the railing, and started to climb down. There were no masses of sailors rushing to assist him, he noted wryly, as he remembered all the helpers eager to guide Duchess Rhen safely to the deck. When he reached the deck he saw that Fyld and Rhen and Ellersbine had moved to a different location, out of sight.

  “Thank you for what you did,” a voice spoke from behind him, and Marco turned to see Sergeant Hearst stepping away from a work crew to talk to him. The man held out his hand to shake with Marco, and as they gripped one another’s hands, the sergeant asked, “What’s that spot on your hand?”

  Marco looked down, and involuntarily tightened his grip on the handshake momentarily, before he released the hold and raised his right hand to examine it more closely. A scratch near his thumb showed not red blood but golden flesh. His mind whirled through a dozen questions and recollections, but he realized that the sergeant was standing across from him, waiting for a comment.

  “It’s hard to say,” Marco said at least, trying to pass it off.

  “Are you feeling okay? You look pale,” Hearst told him. “Here, have a seat,” the man grasped his arm firmly and guided him to a wooden crate, where Marco sat down. “You still need to catch your breath after the battle. Take it easy right here. I just wanted you to know that we,” he motioned around to the soldiers who were working to restore the ship to order, “know that you saved all our lives. We’ll be your men when you need us, if you understand me,” he said in a meaningful voice, then turned back to his labors.

  Marco was stunned. He knew, or thought he knew, what was implied. The men would follow Marco if there was a mutiny against Argen and Varsen, if Marco led the soldiers in the mutiny.

  “Sergeant,” Marco called, and Hearst turned back to look at him. “I hope we don’t go there, but thank you,” Marco said.

  “We’re on your side, sir,” Hearst affirmed, and then he walked off, giving directions to men who were lifting a heavy hatch into place over an opening in the deck.

  Marco remained in place, resting, and shook his head. He hoped that Argen and Varsen would catch the subtle hints, or that at least the prince would, and would consequently command the two arrogant souls to moderate their behavior. And the time span for them to be on better behavior might last a considerable length of time; Marco had no idea.

  “Sir?” M
arco heard a voice call as he walked along. “Sir?” the voice repeated, and Marco realized that he was being addressed.

  He turned and saw a young midshipman striding to reach him.

  “Did you mean me?” Marco asked.

  “Yes sir,” the voice was high and unchanged as yet, though the boy had just been through a terrible battle experience that had undoubtedly wrung a great deal of youthfulness out of the boy’s soul. And truth be considered, Marco realized with a shock, the midshipman was really only a just a few years younger than Marco was.

  “The captain, that is the acting captain, he said that since we’ve lost officers we’ll have an extra cabin space, and he thought that you deserved to have a cabin for the rest of the journey,” the midshipman delivered his message. “You can have the foremost cabin; it’s been emptied out for you sir,” the boy finished his delivery, looking at Marco with shining eyes. “Good day sir,” he added by way of excusing himself, and he was off to his next duty.

  Chapter 12

  Marco stood for a second and contemplated the notion that he had inherited a cabin, then smiled, and decided to go visit his new home. The sun was past the zenith, and starting to descend in the afternoon sky, leaving plenty of light for the time being for Marco to see clearly below deck. And perhaps get that nap that he once again felt the need for.

  He followed the directions and went down the stairs one deck, then turned away from the side of the ship where the nobility resided in their cabins, and walked along the narrow route that passed by the doors for the cabins of the ship’s officers. The passageway followed the lines of the ship as it curved inward while approaching the bow in the front, and Marco walked until he reached the last door, before the passage came to an end as it joined the portside passage.

  He gave a cursory knock, then opened the door and entered without waiting for any answer, since he knew that no response should have come from the cabin that he expected to be empty and waiting for him. He looked forward to lying down on his new bunk, closing his eyes, and resting easily while his mind sorted through the troubling circumstances he faced.