Chapter Twelve
Eynon Bay had a small village just off the sand where there were a few businesses before the forests of Wales closed in on them. It was a nice, cozy little village, with smoke from chimneys streaming up into the sky now that the storm was easing, pewter-colored clouds blown away by the crisp breeze.
But the village was empty. Or, at least, that’s what Constantine thought as they came up the path from the sandy beach and entered the town proper. There was absolutely no one moving about in the early afternoon, but it occurred to him that they were probably all in hiding with the Gaia sitting out in the bay. It was a recognizable ship along this coast. They were fearful that Constantine le Brecque and his legion were coming for their women, their money, and their blood.
Pulling his silver steed to a halt as he came to the edge of the town, Constantine motioned Lucifer forward. All the while, he was looking around, concerned with the fact that everything seemed unnaturally still. The only things moving seemed to be the birds overhead and the soft lap of the waves against the shore.
“My lord?” Lucifer asked as he came alongside.
Constantine was looking over the soggy, wind-swept village. “I fear our reputation has preceded us,” he said. “I was hoping for a hot meal on a table that wasn’t rocking from side to side.”
Lucifer was looking around because Constantine was. “I do not think anyone is open for business.”
Constantine cast him a long look. “Let us see if we cannot change their minds.”
With that, he charged into the town and raced up to the first establishment, a shuttered tavern with the name “The Sea Hag” carved into a piece of driftwood above the door. Clearly a tavern of some kind, Constantine kicked at one of the shuttered windows until the wood splintered. He could hear gasps of fear inside, which told him that people were, indeed, hiding from the pirates out in the bay. But he was used to dealing with such fear; the only way to combat it was to give them what they expected and then leave them in peace, causing them to feel as if they’d been spared by that which they feared. It was a cruel, if not effective, tactic.
“I want hot food and cold drink,” he bellowed into the broken window. “Let me in and you shall not suffer. But if you do not unbar the door, I shall burn this place over your head. The choice is yours.”
By this time, Lucifer and the others had come riding up behind him, including Gregoria. She was a little wide-eyed at Constantine’s tactics, but they had the desired effect – in short order, the door to the tavern was unbarred and Constantine dismounted his horse, securing the animal before he made his way inside.
Lucifer, Gregoria, Augustin, Remy, and the men that had been selected as an escort followed. But it was a hesitant group, suspicious of what might be waiting for them inside. But when all seemed safe enough, they proceeded deeper into the structure.
The tavern was dark because the windows were shuttered, but they managed to find a table near the hearth. There was a lot of fumbling and banging going on because it was so dark. When Augustin smacked his knee on the edge of the table, he roared.
“Open the bloody windows!” he boomed, rubbing at his pained knee. “And bring us some candles before we break our necks in this place!”
In the darkness, Remy smacked into him, accidentally. He reached out quickly, grabbing Augustin’s arm to steady him.
“That is probably what they are hoping for,” he muttered.
Augustin cast the man an annoyed expression but he kept his mouth shut, more or less presuming that Remy was correct. He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t thought of that. As they took their seats at a large, heavy table near the hearth, which was being stoked to bring forth some light into the room, an old man and his equally old wife approached the table.
“I haven’t much by way of a hot meal, m’lord,” the old man said nervously. “What we had this morning is almost gone and the meal for tonight is not yet finished cooking.”
Constantine sat on the end of the bench, wearily, pulling Gregoria down to sit next to him. “Are you the tavern owner?”
“I am, m’lord.”
“What do you have to eat that is plentiful?”
The old man, round and rather slovenly, was wringing his hands. “Bread and cheese,” he said. “I have stewed apples.”
“What do you have to drink?”
“Ale from Swansea.”
“Bring it all. Whatever you have, we will eat it.” He caught Gregoria’s worried expression and had an idea why the woman was concerned. They were pirates, after all, and their intentions when it came to demanding service were never predictable. “And… we mean you no harm. We are not here to steal anything from you or roust you. Provide a good meal and I shall pay you handsomely.”
The old man nodded and dashed off, back to the rear of the establishment with his wife shuffling after him. Constantine reached out and poked Remy across the table, pointing to the couple that had run off into the kitchen.
“Go with them,” he said. “Make sure they do not poison whatever they plan to feed us.”
Remy nodded and stood up, a dagger in one hand and the other hand on the hilt of the sword at his side. Gregoria anxiously watched him go.
“He is not going to hurt them, is he?” she asked.
Constantine shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But we want to make sure they do not try to hurt us, either. There have been times when hosts have tried to rid the world of our type of menace.”
Gregoria suspected what he meant, especially since she’d heard the order he’d given to Remy. “They believe they are doing the world a service by poisoning your food and drink?”
“Aye, something like that.”
Behind them, more of the shuttered windows were opened, allowing the light and breeze to infiltrate the common room. The temperatures were mild enough that the windows could be open, ventilating the otherwise smelly room. The other patrons of the tavern, who had been hiding in the shadows, crept out to resume their seating now that it had been established that Constantine and his men were only here to have a meal. Slowly, things began to return to normal as the ale and bread and cheese began to make it out to the table.
Conversation was quiet for the most part as the ale was passed around. Constantine went to pour some for himself, thought better of it, and moved to pour it for Gregoria first. It was the polite thing to do, but he was so unused to being polite around women that he had to stop and think about how to behave. He didn’t want her thinking he was a barbarian. He tipped the pitcher over her cup, but she suddenly put out a hand, stopping him.
“I… I do not think I want any ale,” she said.
He looked at her, realizing she seemed a little pale. “Why not?”
She swallowed, looking at him strangely. “Because ale makes my head swim,” she said. “And even as I sit here, I feel as if I am still on the ship.”
He noticed she was holding on to the table with one hand and he grinned. “I understand,” he said. “That happens to most of us when we come onto dry land after being on the sea. Remember? I told you I did not like being on the land very much because it made me sick.”
She smiled wanly. “Now, it is making me sick also.”
“That is exactly how I feel every time I disembark the ship,” Augustin said from across the table. He had heard their conversation. “I have been at sea for several years and, still, it makes me ill, so I know exactly how you feel.”
Gregoria found some hope in that statement. “What do you do for it?”
Augustin held up a finger as if to beg her patience as he turned to the tavern owner, who was standing at the end of the table, ensuring everyone had enough to eat and drink.
“You, there,” Augustin said to the man. “Do you have any peppermint or ginger? Even cloves would do, either mashed up by itself or used as an ingredient in something.”
The old man considered the question seriously. “The boiled apples have cinnamon and cloves in them,” he said. “And a touch of honey and onions and vinegar.”
Augustin waved the man on. “Bring two big bowls,” he said. “One for me and one for the lady.”
As the man dashed off, Gregoria looked at Augustin was some fear. “Apples and onions?”
Augustin nodded. “Trust me,” he said. “Eating them will settle your belly, especially with the cloves.”
Gregoria didn’t argue with him; she assumed he had much more experience in this kind of thing than she did. “How long before the world stops rocking?” she asked.
Augustin grinned. “An hour or less,” he said. “Give it time. Soon enough, it will settle down.”
It was encouraging to hear that because, at the moment, she was quite uncomfortable with the way everything was moving about. Underneath the table, she could feel Constantine’s hand on her knee, giving her a squeeze now and then, and she couldn’t even enjoy it.
“I fear that I would make a terrible seaman,” she said to Constantine. “I like it much better on land.”
He chuckled. “It probably would not be so bad had we not run into the storm,” he said. “When the seas are smooth, there is nothing more wonderful.”
Gregoria watched him as he spoke, seeing his love for the sea in his face as he did so. It was the first time she’d really noticed that, a softening of his features when he spoke of the ocean. Like a man speaking of a lover, almost.
“I can tell that it is something you love to do,” she said quietly.
Underneath the table, he squeezed her knee again. “I have since I was a wee lad,” he said. “My father used to take me aboard his vessels, as I told you, and we would sail the seas. It is where I am most at home.”
“Have you not heard what he is called, my lady?” Augustin entered the conversation again. “It is said that Constantine was borne of the waves and lifted up by the gods of the sea as their most prized possession. Everyone believes that, you know.”
Gregoria’s smile turned genuine as she looked at Constantine. “Is that true?” she asked. “Is that really the story of your immaculate birth?”
He laughed softly. “Not exactly,” he said. “But sometimes it feels I was borne of the sea. That is my home, more than anywhere else on the earth.”
“Then mayhap you’ll leave Perran Castle to me,” Augustin said, winking at Constantine when the man frowned at him. “I’ll have use of the castle while you spend your time in the halls of Poseidon.”
Gregoria grinned as Augustin and Constantine traded mild insults after that; evidently, Augustin wasn’t worthy of Perran Castle but Augustin thought differently. Gregoria had never really seen Constantine interact with his men on a casual basis, and it was a noteworthy occasion. Considering what she’d always heard of pirates – a rough, uncouth group of murderers, filthy in their habits as well as in their outlook on life – to watch Constantine and his men at this moment, one could have never guessed what their vocation was.
To Gregoria, it seemed as if they were simply normal men in the course of a normal day. But for the fact that everyone in the town of Eynon Bay seemed to be hiding from them, there was nothing different about them, as least to the casual observer. But a noble vocation was far from the truth for these men; this was Poseidon’s Legion, the most feared group of English pirates in these waters, something that had been hammered into her by her brother and by Lord Wembury. But they didn’t know these men like she was coming to; it was possible that everything she’d been told about them was wrong.
She wanted to believe that.
One of the things that made this situation appear so normal was the easy rapport between Constantine and his men. They taunted each other, or spoke seriously to each other, without a blade or blood drawn. Their conversation was, for the most part, quite civilized. Even the lesser-ranking men seemed civilized. Gregoria rather liked Augustin, for he spoke to her politely, but when Lucifer entered the conversation, she turned her nose up and looked away. She wasn’t going to pay attention to a man who had threatened her life should she betray Constantine.
Even if he had every right to.
The reality of the situation was settling once more, biting at her now, nipping away at the angst and confusion she felt. God, was it possible Lucifer knew something of her true objective? She wasn’t sure how he could know, but the way he looked at her suggested that he knew something. He didn’t trust her. He had every right to threaten her but she still resented it. How could she explain she’d been sent to betray a man because others wanted him dead, not because there was anything personal? But that had been before. This was now.
There was something very personal about it now.
Foolishly, she’d brought the holy relic with her. She’d entertained the thought of throwing it overboard and telling Constantine it was lost, but she’d decided not to do it, afraid she’d be seen or somehow get caught up in yet another lie. Now, they were on land and it was less than a day to Three Crosses where the Earl of March was waiting.
… but what if she kept them waiting?
What if she could delay their travel enough so that the Earl of March believed they were never coming? She knew the English had already been in Wales for a couple of weeks; they were in Wales when she and her brother and Lord Wembury made it to Perranporth to seek out Constantine. That was well over a week ago. Was it possible she could delay enough so that the Earl of March would grow weary of waiting and simply leave? That would involve quite a delay on her part, perhaps faking an illness. Anything to save Constantine.
But perhaps instead of elaborate lies or plans, she should simply summon the courage to tell him what she’d done. Perhaps he would hate her but, in the end, at least she could live with herself.
Perhaps that was what this was finally about… her self-respect. The neglected, bullied woman who had hoped for a house by the sea was finally finding her self-worth in the arms of England’s more feared pirate. He seemed to believe in her, misplaced as his trust was.
But perhaps that meant she could believe in herself.
More food came as Gregoria stewed in her thoughts, listening to Constantine and Augustin and Remy laugh about something. She didn’t really understand much of what was being said; something about a Scottish pirate friend lusting after a woman who turned out to be a man. They seemed to find that quite hilarious.
The second pirate that had been sent into the kitchens to watch the food emerged, sitting at the table as boiled apples and onions and even porridge was put on the table. Everyone seemed to be grabbing for their own bowls of food, but Constantine and Augustin made sure Gregoria had the first serving of the apples and onions. The compote smelled heavily of cinnamon and cloves, and Gregoria sampled it timidly, soon realizing that it was delicious. Warm, spicy, sweet… it filled her belly and made her feel much better than she had in a while. Augustin had been correct; the clove and cinnamon seemed to help her nausea. By the time she finished the bowl, it was almost completely gone.
She was also able to eat some of the bread and butter that the tavern keeper’s wife brought out after that. The bread was fresh and the butter salty, and she enjoyed it a great deal. The old wife seemed to be fussing over her quite a bit, making sure she received the first pick of the bread before anyone else did and bringing her boiled apple juice to drink because she didn’t want the ale. She was a big woman, busty, smelling of strong perfume mixed with body odor. Every time she moved, the rather pungent scent filled the air. Had she not been so nice, Gregoria might have tried to move the woman away from her. But as it was, she was being very kind. Gregoria appreciated it. The woman was bending over the table to take away an empty bowl when Constantine suddenly stopped her.
“You,” he said, pointing at her neck. “Let me see that cross you are wearing.”
The woman looked down at her chest; she was wearing a few chains, one of them even bearing keys, but she singled out the necklace Constantine was referring to and held it up to the light; it was a magnificent silver cross inlaid with dark blue sapphires. The old woman seemed to be more at ease with the men than her husband was by this point and she spoke up.
“This?” she asked, watching Constantine nod. “Aye, laddie, my husband gave this to me years ago. It had belonged to his mother, the old bat, but then it became mine. It looks better on me!”
She was snorting at her own humor, causing Gregoria to laugh. She had about two teeth in her head but that didn’t stop her from smiling broadly.
“It is beautiful,” Gregoria said. “I have never seen such a lovely piece.”
The old woman held the cross nearer so that Gregoria could get a closer look at it. “Sapphires from the orient, I’m told,” she said. “My mother-in-law said the necklace was made for a queen in ancient times but, somehow, it ended up on the neck of a poor old fish wife. I don’t know how she came about it, but I’m sure the Queen of Sheba didn’t give it to her. She must have stolen it.”
She was chuckling at her humor again as Gregoria smirked. “Well, it is quite beautiful,” she said. “You must be very proud of it.”
As the old woman shrugged, Constantine seized on it. She didn’t seem particularly attached to the necklace but he, on the other hand, knew it was a very expensive piece. He’d seen enough jewels to know that it was a rare find. Either the old woman didn’t know what she had around her neck or she didn’t care. In either case, Constantine was about to do what he didn’t normally do for a piece of goods – barter.
He wanted it.
“I will give you four gold crowns for the necklace,” he said, watching the humor drain from the woman’s face. “I’d wager that you cannot find anyone around here to pay you what that necklace is worth, but I can. Sell it to me and keep the gold. I am sure you can use the money more than you can use that necklace.”
The woman was shocked. She looked at the necklace in confusion before returning her attention to Constantine.
“Four… four gold crowns?” she repeated. “For this?”
“Five.”
That caused the woman to pull it right off her neck and hand it to him. Constantine took the necklace swiftly as he dug into the purse at his belt and pulled forth five gold coins with the face of Henry VI stamped on them. They were newly minted, not a mark on them, part of a larger haul he’d come away with the year before when he’d ambushed a royal treasury vessel heading for France. He handed them over to the old woman, who gleefully rushed off to show her husband the deal she’d made for the necklace. Meanwhile, Constantine turned to Gregoria.
“Here,” he said, lifting the necklace over her head and settling it on her neck. “For you. For bravely enduring a terrible storm and living to tell the tale. You deserve to be rewarded.”
Gregoria was greatly surprised as he put the necklace on her and she looked at it in shock, stunned by his generosity.
“I do not know what to say,” she said, awe in her voice. “It is so beautiful. I have never had anything so beautiful, ever.”
Constantine watched her features as she spoke. He could tell how deeply sincere she was and it gave him a good feeling, knowing he’d made her happy. As a man who had experienced a great deal in life, it gave him the most satisfying feeling he’d ever known. Mostly, all he ever gave people was a sense of terror. But to give joy… that was a better feeling altogether.
“It was made for you,” he said, lowering his voice. “Not that old bird with the missing teeth. It was made for someone of your beauty and grace, the definition of a true queen.”
She looked up from inspecting the cross. “Beauty and grace are the definition of a queen?”
He shrugged, rather embarrassed because not only were his men listening in, but he wasn’t used to speaking flattering words that were actually true. He was a master at telling women what they wanted to hear and not meaning a word of it. But in this case, he meant everything he said and was embarrassed for it.
“Con, we have an entire vault full of jewels and finery,” Remy said from across the table. “She could have had her pick of anything there.”
Constantine looked at Remy, unhappy that the man had interrupted his moment with Gregoria. “And she can still have her pick,” he said. “She can have it all if she wishes. But this…” he chuckled nervously. “I wanted to give her something that I actually paid for. Something that I bought just for her.”
It made no sense to Remy, but it made some sense to Augustin and Lucifer. There was a difference between giving a woman something that you acquired through battle or theft and something you took the time to purchase. Items you stole had no meaning because they were mere possessions. But to buy something specifically for that woman… well, that meant something.
Lucifer passed a long glace at Augustin, who merely lifted an eyebrow and turned back to his drink. The Constantine who had departed Perranporth those days ago was not the same Constantine they saw before them. Considering the man had admitted it to Lucifer, he already knew what was going on, but Augustin was starting to realize how much had changed. Constantine was buying gifts rather than stealing them.
Times were changing, indeed.
And they had changed for Gregoria, as well. She couldn’t take her eyes off the magnificent cross. When she heard arguing in the kitchen of the tavern between the owner and his wife, she knew it was over the necklace, but she didn’t care. The only way they’d get it back is if they cut it off her cold, dead body. She’d never had a man give her anything at all, and certainly not a gift so special, and she held on to it, the sheer act of the gift touching her more deeply than she’d ever been touched before. It meant something. Constantine meant something.
Tell him he cannot go to Three Crosses!
A voice was screaming in her head. My God… the man was being kind to her, buying her gifts and, still, she was selfishly keeping silent about his fate. But the necklace had become the tipping point, toppling her right over onto the side of truth. She could keep silent no longer. Now was the moment she’d been dreading, but she had to summon her courage. Constantine’s life depended on it.
As she opened her mouth to tell the man she needed to speak with him, alone, Lucifer suddenly stood up.
“Look,” he said, looking around what was now a barren common room. “Everyone has left.”
It was a shocking observation. Abruptly, everyone was on their feet, weapons being unsheathed. There was instant tension in the air as Constantine and his men reacted to an abruptly empty tavern.
“Where did everyone go?” Remy said, broadsword in hand. “Did anyone even see them leave? Where are the owner and his wife?”
Gregoria had been caught off guard by the sudden movement around her, men who were now apprehensive that something was amiss. Somehow, someway, everyone in the room had slipped out while they were eating and drinking, and the usually observant men hadn’t noticed a thing. They had been focused on apples and onions, or silver crosses. As she looked to Constantine to ask him what had happened, he grasped her by the arm and began to shove her down under the table.
“Get under the table,” he told her. “Quickly, now. Do not come out until I tell you to.”
Gregoria didn’t argue. Frightened, she slipped down beneath the table, on her knees on old food and old rushes. It smelled horrible down under the table, but she crouched down, watching the feet of Constantine and his men move around the table, fanning out. She even heard Remy calling to the tavern owner and his wife, receiving no reply. Just a she heard Constantine mention that they should leave immediately, it was as if the entire world exploded.
It was a deafening sound. Wood went flying, splinters scattering all over the floor, and Gregoria shrieked as a full-scale battle suddenly waged over her head. The table was heavy, fortunately, but that didn’t stop from getting it bumped around significantly. When it moved, she moved, fearful that the table was going to tip over or come down on top of her. Absolutely terrified, Gregoria covered her head with her hands and prayed.
She wasn’t the only one doing the praying. Constantine and his men were outnumbered; Constantine could see that from the beginning. Men with swords and axes had come charging in through the front and the rear of the tavern, with a few even barreling in through the windows, causing the shutters to snap and wood to fly.
It seemed like an organized assault by an organized army, but Constantine very quickly realized that these weren’t soldiers. Some of the men were carrying clubs or pitchforks, looking as if they’d never seen a day of battle in their life. Some of the men simply stood on the fringes, letting the men with bigger and better weapons go after the pirates who had infiltrated their town.
But those men were being cut down quickly, especially by Constantine, Lucifer, Augustin, and Remy. These were men who had trained as knights most of their lives and they knew how to fight a battle. Constantine had leapt up onto the table, the one Gregoria was huddling beneath, and he’d managed to slash, kick, or gore several men right at the onset of the fight. Unlike a knight, however, Constantine and his men didn’t wear any armor or protection, which was to their disadvantage in close-quarters flighting like this. But that knightly instinct was felt in their sword as they fought off what seemed like the entire town.
“This isn’t an army, Con,” Lucifer said, jumping onto the table next to him. He kicked a man to the ground who charged at him. “If I had to guess, I would say the town banded together when they saw the Gaia in the bay. We made it easy for them to corner us by coming into the tavern.”
Constantine nodded. “That was my thought, also,” he said. “But the fact remains that there are more of them than us and unless we intend to kill the entire town, we had better find a way out of here.”
Lucifer was surveying the scene, watching Remy and Augustin kill a pair of men who had rushed them with shovels. “Shall I tell the men to start moving out?”
Constantine barely avoided having his ankle cut into by a man with a big, broad blade. Kicking the man in the side of the head, he used his sword to gore him in the back between the shoulder blades in a clean kill.
“Aye,” he said, yanking his sword from the man’s body. “Have them back away and get to their horses. Tell them to head out of town and we will regroup on the road to the north.”
Lucifer took his orders and began to move. It was mayhem in the little tavern as tables were kicked over and chairs broken. Somewhere over near the hearth, one of Constantine’s men had shoved an opponent into the fire, and the man screamed as flames began to consume him. That had Constantine’s attention until he saw someone whack Augustin on the back of the head, sending the man to his knees. Another man was coming up behind Augustin, preparing to stab him, but Constantine went flying off of the table to put himself between Augustin and his attackers.
In short order, he fought off the men with the blades, goring one and badly injuring the other. By the time he turned to Augustin, the man was struggling to his feet.
“Are you well enough?” Constantine asked, grasping him by the arm to steady him. “That was quite a hit.”
Augustin’s right hand was on the back of his head. “That was nothing,” he muttered. “My wife hits me harder than that. But thank you for preventing those fools from using me like a pin cushion.”
Constantine flashed him a sly grin. “I did it for your wife, not you,” he said. “If you are killed, she would probably try to whack me in the head because of it.”
Augustin grinned weakly, feeling dazed and sick but still able to fight. “Merryn is bold that way,” he said. Then, he started looking around. “We would do better to get free of this confined space, Con. We are boxed in here.”
Constantine wasn’t hard pressed to agree. Making sure Augustin wasn’t going to totter back to his knees again, he let the man go and fought his way through the group. Some of the attackers were fleeing now, confronted by men who truly did know how to fight, and the floor was littered with wounded, but none of them were Constantine’s men, thankfully. He was nearly to the heavy table shielding Gregoria when something quite terrible happened.
Lucifer was fighting a very big man who had two hammers in his hands, swinging them at Lucifer and trying desperately to make contact, but Lucifer managed to stay out of the way. But the big man with the hammers somehow tripped, fell back onto the big table, and the legs snapped, sending the whole thing crashing right down on top of Gregoria.
In a panic, Constantine rushed the table and tried to shove the big man off of it, but it wasn’t so easy. He was still fighting, rolling around on the slanted table like a turtle on its back, swinging those hammers violently. Constantine finally had to brain the man with the hilt of his sword simply to stop him from moving so they could pull him off the table. Once he was down on the floor, it took both Constantine and Lucifer to lift the table off of Gregoria.
The force of the table falling had knocked her cold and she lay on the floor, amidst the scraps and old rushes. Gravely concerned, Constantine rolled her onto her back to survey the damage, but there wasn’t anything he could see. He wasn’t going to take the time to fully inspect her, either, so he moved to gather her into his arms.
“I must remove her from this place,” he told Lucifer. “Clear a path to the door for me.”
Lucifer was on his feet, shoving men aside with his big arms and big weapon. Augustin and Remy, seeing the unconscious lady in Constantine’s arms, moved to assist, fighting their way through the crowd and helping Constantine make his way to the door. It was blind chaos in the room, now with flames from the disturbed hearth creeping up one of the walls, and Lucifer began to bellow to the men to retreat. Everyone began moving for any opening, windows included.
Lucifer was nearly to the door when he suddenly grunted and listed sideways. He wasn’t moving forward any longer and Remy and Augustin had to rush forward to see why the man wasn’t moving, but they couldn’t quite see what had the man hobbled. All they knew was that they had to get out of the fighting, so they each took an arm and dragged Lucifer out as Constantine, carrying Gregoria, came up behind them.
Now, they were out of the tavern and in the street. Several of Constantine’s men were mounted already, trying to fight off the tide of opponents that were now spilling out of the smoking building. Constantine was greatly concerned for Gregoria but he was also greatly concerned for Lucifer, who was on his knees. When he came around the front of the man, he saw why.
A long dagger hilt was protruding out of his left side, right at the base of his ribcage.
“Damnation,” Lucifer hissed as Augustin and Remy dropped to their knees to assist him. “I almost made it out before someone threw a knife at me.”
Constantine took a moment to visually inspect the wound, as much as he could without actually touching anything. He was still holding Gregoria.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered when he saw the size of the hilt. “The blade has to be a least the length of the hilt.”
“I will remove it,” Remy said, moving in to get a grip on it.
“Nay!” Constantine snapped. “There is no time to do it here. Get him back to the Gaia. I will take Augustin with me to Three Crosses. Move.”
They did. Remy slung Lucifer’s right arm across his broad shoulders, practically carrying the man back to the sandy beach where the Gaia hopefully hadn’t moved too far off shore yet. There hadn’t been enough time to really move the vessel very far and that’s what they were counting on. But Remy was having trouble dragging Lucifer’s dead weight along with him, so another of Constantine’s men came to his aid, helping him evacuate Lucifer to the beach.
Meanwhile, Constantine had to move quickly. He had to think of himself, of Gregoria, and of getting clear of the fighting. His silver steed was still tethered where he’d left it and he raced to the animal, heaving Gregoria up into the saddle as gently as he could before leaping onto the saddle himself and taking hold of Gregoria before digging his heels into the animal and tearing off out of town.
He hoped Augustin and the remainder of his men were following because he couldn’t take the time to look back. His only concern at the moment was removing Gregoria from the battle and taking her someplace safe to assess her injuries. It could have been nothing more than a knock on the head when the table fell, or it could be something substantially worse. All he knew was that he had to get her to safety. He didn’t even care about himself at that moment; only her.
The dark forests of Wales swallowed them up as the road disappeared into the trees.