Age of Gods and Mortals Read online

  As his words drifted off, her struggles lessened. In fact, they came to a stop altogether and a brittle silence settled. It was tense, as if waiting to start fighting again. But she didn’t. In his arms, Tarran felt her sigh heavily.

  “’Tis not that I dislike you,” she said. “That was never the case.”

  “It does not matter what your reasons are,” he said. “That was not my attempt to discover them. It was simply a statement of fact.”

  She fell silent and even though she wasn’t actively fighting him, there was something about her that was still coiled.

  He could feel it.

  If he let his guard down, he’d find out just how coiled.

  “You are an abrasive man,” she finally said. “You and I have known each other for many years, have eaten together, have shared many experiences at Snow Hill together, but still, it seems that you have ever kept hard and aloof to me.”

  Tarran wasn’t sure what to say to that. Something was threatening to take this conversation into a confessional, and he had no intention of crossing that line. He couldn’t imagine that it was possible that she’d never realized, long ago, that he’d been attracted to her. She wasn’t stupid. But that had been years ago and he had absolutely no intention of entertaining that subject again.

  It had taken him years to forget it.

  Hard and aloof? He had been. It had been self-defense.

  It was part of him now.

  “Go to sleep, my lady,” he said. “Things will look better come morning.”

  She acted like she hadn’t heard him. “You are my husband’s greatest warrior,” she said. “As he respects you, so do I.”

  “Then if that is true, obey me. Obey me until your husband returns.”

  “Teague trusts you, too.”

  “Aye, he does.”

  She fell silent for several long minutes. He thought perhaps she had fallen asleep. But her soft voice floated between them once again.

  “Du Reims, I promise not to run if you will release me.”

  He instantly let her go, though he would admit, deep down, that he was sorry. He rather liked the feel of her, cursing himself for even thinking such a thing.

  It was stupid and destructive.

  Rising from the bed, he planted himself back in his chair. Tresta lay upon the pillows, her lovely face thoughtful and serene as she looked at him.

  “Do you really dislike me?” she asked.

  There she was, on that subject again. She’d been trying to fight him for six days. This was just another tactic in her arsenal, he was certain. He wouldn’t be fooled.

  He cleared his throat quietly.

  “Mayhap that was too strong a word, my lady,” he said.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I simply meant that you are a willful lady and, at times, I have found that disagreeable.”

  “I see.” She propped herself up on the bed, sitting up to face him. “Tarran, you must understand something. Accompanying my husband to The Levant is not a matter of being willful. It is a need.”

  “A need?”

  She nodded her head, her expression tense. “It is a matter of life and death that I go with Teague. I need your help, not your hindrance.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I am sworn to your husband, my lady. I must follow his orders.”

  She sat, lost in thought. Then, she stood up, pacing to the fire, now burning brightly in the hearth. There was resignation in her shoulders.

  “I will never see my husband again then,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I will be dead before he can return home, if ever he does.”

  Tarran’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? How would you know that?”

  She looked at him then, her eyes intense. “Tarran, though you and I have never gotten on, you must put that aside. I must ask you for your word of honor now. What I tell you must never leave your lips.”

  He stood up, slowly, his pale blue eyes focused on her. “I am not sure what you…”

  She cut him off. “Listen to me, Tarran,” she said. “Please. Did it ever occur to you that my desire to attend Teague was something more than wifely devotion? Something more than a spoiled whim?”

  He looked confused, perhaps suspicious. “I do not understand, my lady.”

  Passion filled her manner. “I will never see my brother or my husband again if I do not go with them to The Levant,” she said. “It is not a matter of fearing for their deaths. It is a matter of knowing that I will be the one to die, not them. Teague will return home to a dead wife and four motherless boys. I must go with Teague because if I do not, I will die alone, at Snow Hill, with my husband years away from me. It is because when I die, I want it to be in Teague’s arms, not our bed in a cold chamber, alone. His face must be the last one I see before meeting our Lord. Do you understand that?”

  Tarran stared at her. “I am afraid that I do not. Why are you going to die?” He suddenly looked stricken, furious. “Do you intend to make this so?”

  She looked away, sorrow etching her lovely face. “Your oath, Tarran,” she said softly. “You must swear to me that you will never repeat what I am about to tell you.”

  He’d known Lady Tresta for many years. He had never known her to be manipulative, or a truth bender. In fact, she had a reputation for being exceedingly honest and forthright. But, at this moment, she had him on edge.

  “You have it, my lady,” he said. “But I will not allow you to kill yourself.”

  She closed her eyes, briefly, before turning to him. “The physic is concerned for my health,” she said. “The cough, you see… he believes that it is something more than a cough. A disease, I’m told. It is very possible that I will not be alive when Teague returns. Now do you understand why I must be with Teague?”

  The longer he looked at her, the more he began to comprehend. Aye, she’d had a nasty cough since her bout with illness some time ago. Sometimes she coughed so violently that she would faint. Teague had always been gravely concerned for her health, always watching over her activities and rest habits. They all knew this; there were few secrets at Snow Hill. He could not have imagined that Teague would have left for the Holy Land had he known her cough was something more than just a spasm.

  “Lord Teague does not know any of this,” he said softly. It was more a statement than a question.

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged, wrestling with a question she had been asking herself for a year. “Because it would destroy him,” she said. “I told the surgeon not to tell him, either. What good would it do? Why punish him with the knowledge that I may not grow old with him? Why torture him with the awareness that, someday, he may have to face the world without me, and tell our sons of their mother as he once knew her? I cannot do that to him. It is too painful.”

  Comprehension settled on Tarran. “And you thought, by sheer pleading, that he would allow you to accompany him on the quest,” he said. “You thought he would leave it at that and never ask why you wanted to come so badly.”

  “I would hope that he would assume it was because I love him.”

  Tarran inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. This was not a burden he wanted, this knowledge. He began to wish she had never told him and that he had never promised to remain silent about it.

  “So you curse me with this secret,” he said, feeling his anger rise. “You encumber me with the information and hope that it will change my mind about taking you back to Snow Hill.”

  She was honest. “That was my hope, aye.” She could see he was wavering. “Think whatever you like about me, du Reims. Hate me for being stubborn and willful. Hate me all you like for the bad qualities a woman may possess, only help me get to my husband. Help me to see him before this disease inside my chest kills me.”

  He struggled with his wants versus his directive. Help the lady and disobey her husband. Obey the husband and watch the lady die wi
thout him, knowing the separation would probably hasten her passing. He knew that Teague and Tresta had been inseparable for ten years, shadows of each other, happy together as few people ever are. Even though their passion had cooled with time, the affection, the genuine love, was still there.

  Everyone knew that.

  But Tarran could not see beyond his orders. He could not take the lady to her husband and then not explain why he had done so. He would only be seen as a weak, disobedient knight. That, he could not allow.

  Tresta could see her answer coming before it left his lips.

  “I cannot.”

  Outside, a thunderclap rattled the very building down to the foundation.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The end didn’t come on the sands of The Levant.

  It came before they even reached their destination.

  The night the Earl of Somerset’s fleet left Calais, a storm rolled in from the west. At first, it wasn’t a terrible storm. The boats rocked and took on water, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be tossed out in one of the many bucket brigades organized for just such a thing. There was a pump, manned by the ship’s carpenter, that flushed out as much water as the ship took in but, at times, it was a losing battle. Down in the hold, the horses were up to their knees in salt water and the knights joined the bucket brigade to help remove the rising water.

  The horses were nervous with the rolling of the ship, distracted by masters who fastened feedbags to their faces so they’d have something to munch on. But the water kept coming as the storm grew worse. The gentle rain and wind the first day turned into a pounding torrent and a tempest on the second.

  And the third.

  The fleet of the Earl of Somerset struggled through the weather, but it was impossible to gain much headway. The ships were rolling violently and the bucket brigades had fractured because no one could stand on such a rolling deck. Everyone had retreated for the most part except for some stalwart knights and squires who remained in the hold with their horses.

  And the water kept rising.

  On the morning of the fourth day, the storm was worse than before and the water in the hold was up to the chests of the horses. Some of the smaller animals were up to their necks, saved from drowning by swift-thinking squires. By the captain’s estimates, they were just off the coast of Dieppe, perhaps even closer to Le Havre, but he couldn’t be sure. They were hugging the Normandy coast, but the wind and waves were working against them. Instead of the situation improving, it was only growing more severe. No one wanted to think the worst, but conditions were terrible.

  It was possible their quest would be over before it began.

  Hallam had just come from the top deck where the captain was trying to keep his ship afloat. He pulled himself along the rolling deck, smashing into the bulkhead as he struggled to reach the area where Teague and the others were. When he finally spied Teague, on his hammock, he struggled towards him.

  “Teague,” he said, grabbing hold of a support beam. “Two of the ships have already foundered. The Uriel went down with all hands not fifteen minutes ago. We spied horses swimming in the sea, but no men.”

  Teague’s features were tight with concern. “What does the captain intend to do?”

  Hallam wiped the rain off his face. “He’s trying to move closer to land,” he said. “He thinks… he thinks we may have to abandon ship if we want to survive.”

  Teague grunted with the realization. “How close are we to land?”

  “Close,” Hallam said. “When the lightning flashes, we can see the white of the chalk cliffs in the distance.”

  In the distance. That meant men would have to swim that distance to make it to shore, and in a sea like this, that would be nearly impossible even for the strongest swimmer. Waves were crashing, the wind was howling, and the sea was churning as if stirred by some great, unseen hand.

  The moment of truth was upon them.

  Teague looked at his men. Sheen, Gilbert, William, Hallam, the squires… he could see the fear in their eyes. Especially Gilbert and William, both of whom couldn’t swim, and the squires were terrified. He couldn’t simply sit and wait for them all to drown. With Hallam’s report, he felt as if he had to take action.

  He had to do something.

  “Hallam,” he said. “Get the horses out of the hold. They’ve got to be up to their necks in water by now, so get them up to the top deck. All of you, go with him, and if anyone stops you, kill them. Get them out of that hold before they drown.”

  The men started moving, rushing down to the hold where the horses were, indeed, up to their necks in cold sea water. They had a wild-eyed look of panic about them, and the men started moving them up the slippery, narrow ramp to the living level. It wasn’t an easy task because they were heavy beasts, and more than once they slipped back down the ramp, but the carpenter saw what the men were trying to do and he was determined to help.

  Quickly, the carpenter and his apprentices hammered strips of wood along the ramp so the horses would have something to gain traction on. It worked; they were able to get all nine of their horses out of the hold and into the living level where men were huddled in prayer, crying out every time the ship rolled. But several other knights saw what Teague’s men were doing and they, too, went into the hold to save their horses.

  Before long, every animal in the hold had been moved to the open deck as the elements lashed the boat. At least now they had a fighting chance and wouldn’t drown in the bowels of a ship that was beginning to list heavily to the port side. Teague was on deck with his silver charger, a horse he’d had for twenty years. Arion was his name. At least now, if the ship went down, the animals would have a chance to survive and swim to shore. He petted the big beast, silently apologizing for the hazard he’d brought upon him.

  When the captain saw all of the men and animals coming onto the deck, he made his way from the rudder to find out why the animals had been brought to the top deck.

  Teague saw him coming.

  “How close to shore are we?” he yelled above the wind and rain.

  The captain was a big man, round and ruddy, having fought the seas for almost four decades of his life.

  “What are these animals doing up here?” he responded with a shout.

  Teague blew rain out of his mouth. “They’ll drown in the hold,” he said. “It’s full of water.”

  The captain shook his head. “You remove our ballast when you remove the animals,” he said. “You’ll make the ship top heavy with them on the deck. Get them back below!”

  Teague stood his ground. “I’m not going to let these horses drown,” he shouted at the man. “Get us close to shore so we can take them off!”

  The captain was quickly growing furious. “There are rocks towards the shore,” he bellowed over the storm. “They’ll tear the boat to pieces!”

  Teague grabbed the man by the front of his tunic. “Look around you,” he boomed. “This cog is listing. She is going down whether or not you like it, so get us closer to shore so we at least have a chance to survive!”

  The captain didn’t like being manhandled and took a swing at Teague, who easily ducked the punch and threw the man to the deck. Seeing the captain try to hit his brother, Sheen jumped on top of the captain and began throwing punches as Teague struggled to hold the panicking horses. William and Gilbert, sensing the captain was trying to get them all killed, went to the stern of the ship, knocked both rudder men out cold, and took hold of the rudder. Using brute strength, they managed to turn the ship and aim it for the shore.

  At least now they were going in the right direction.

  It was chaos on the Michael as men began to fight for their lives. So many of them were up on the deck now that it was listing dangerously. There was a full moon behind the clouds and every so often, light would fall upon the waves and show them just how terrible the storm was. There had been a fleet of twelve ships that had left London, but now they only counted eight. Four of them, including the Uriel,
were gone. The Gabriel, off the starboard bow, was nearly on its side as the storm pummeled it into the sea, and the Rafael seemed to be far off the port side, heading for the shore.

  All of them foundering.

  Teague could see William and Gilbert wrestling with the enormous rudder, keeping the boat heading for the shore. Even so, he suspected they were going to end up in the water before they got close and he braced himself. He could swim, but so many others couldn’t, including his own men. He had no idea how he was going to save them and save himself. He couldn’t believe his trip to The Levant was about to end in a watery grave. Perhaps it was God’s will, angry that so many Christian men were flocking to The Levant to purge the infidels. Perhaps it was his way of punishing them for answering Richard’s call.

  So many good men were about to be lost.

  What was it he’d said to his wife?

  My thoughts from this day until the moment I return will be only of you and our children. Memories of you will give me the strength I need to succeed.

  If this was really where it was all going to end, he would have done better had he remained at home. If he was going to die in battle, at least that was a glorious death. An expected death. A death for a cause. But dying in the brutal sea, within sight of land, was a reckless waste of men and material.

  In his clothing, against his chest, he could feel the purse with the doll that Tresta had given him.

  Remember me.

  God, his heart hurt.

  But he couldn’t think of her at the moment. He had to think of surviving this event. The lightning flashed again and he could see the white chalk cliffs of the shore, closer than he thought they might be. They were far closer, which was good news considering how badly the ship was listing. Any further and it would be on its side.