Year of our Lord 1444 A.D.

The Month of August

 

Cambourne, Cornwall

The Blackbottom Tavern

 

 

 

“Across the ocean of turbulent tide,

A heart that loved and was loved,

Her beauty made of moonbeams and starlight,

But her longing for home was….”

 

Whack!

The troubadour had come too close.

A hand came up, fist balled, and slugged the hapless man right in the face. Song instantly ended, he staggered backwards but, to his credit, didn’t lose his grip on his citole. The instrument remained clutched against his chest even as he lost his balance and fell on his arse, blood pouring from his injured nose.

A swell of laughter rose in the tavern’s common room, men and woman cheering loudly at the troubadour’s misfortune of having sung his sappy song to the wrong woman. He’d gotten too close to her, singing his song of courtly love and other things she found offensive, so she’d balled her fist and hit him. He’d probably think twice before singing to her again.

Amidst the heat and stench of the room, with smoke from a poorly designed hearth hanging about their heads like a blue fog, the woman who’d hit the troubadour was gazing at her companion across the table. In fact, her attention had never wavered from him, even when the stupid entertainer had hung over her shoulder and sang love songs that couldn’t have possibly been more misplaced. Misplaced because the man seated across from her was not her lover.

He was hiring her for a job.

The man, a richly dressed lord that bespoke of his wealth and rank, leaned sideways so he could see the minstrel on the ground, now being helped to his feet by men who were laughing at him. If he’d had any doubts about the ability of the woman across the table from him, those doubts had been summarily dashed by her swift and brutal movement.

She was a brute, this one.

It was late on this evening and the tavern known as The Blackbottom Tavern, two miles from the sea on the deep and mysterious inland of Cornwall. This was a land of legends and beasts, which was why men sought shelter when the sun went down. No one wanted to be exposed in the dark to things that lurked within it. Even with a full moon, the wilds of Cornwall after dark were not a place fit for man.

But along with its danger, it was also a place that bred strong and unusual warriors, as evidenced by the woman sitting across from him. A mercenary, she was, with the looks of an angel. Lady of the Moon she was called because no one really knew her name. All they knew was that when night fell and the moonlight shone over the wilds of Cornwall, the Lady of the Moon moved freely and without fear. Even if Cornwall after dark wasn’t fit for man, it was certainly fit for a woman.

A most remarkable woman.

“So,” the man in silks said as he refocused his attention on her, “you do not like songs. I shall remember that so you do not do to me what you did to that minstrel.”

The woman’s gaze was steady. “Do you sing?”

The man shook his head. “Alas, I do not, and I do not intend to start with you around,” he said, somewhat wryly. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes… as I was saying, you have my gratitude for agreeing to meet with me. I am willing to pay you most handsomely for a very important task regarding my son.”

The bloodied troubadour was forgotten as the woman cocked a dark eyebrow. “Go on.”

The man took a huge drink of the cheap ale he’d purchased. He smacked his lips. “My name is Henry de Leybourne,” he told her. “I’ve not yet introduced myself and, for that, I do apologize. My home of Tyringham Castle is just south of St. Ives and I hold the lordship of Tyringham, St. Ives, and Trevalgan, which means I have the means to pay you a great deal for your services.”

The woman’s gaze moved away from him and to the several heavily-armed men who were dotted around the room, men she’d seen enter with the expensively dressed man. She didn’t doubt for one moment he was who he said he was, but she was naturally leery of such men. She’d been in this business too long to instantly warm to, or trust, any man who wished to engaged her services. She needed to speak with him more to decide whether or not she even wanted to do business with him.

“I believe you,” she said, although it really wasn’t the truth. “You went through a great deal to summon me, Lord Tyringham. I have been receiving missives from you for the past three months, each one of them asking to meet with you. So here I am; what would you have of me?”

Tyringham cocked his head in a curious gesture. “Your name, please? All I know of you is that men call you Lady of the Moon and that your stronghold is Mithian Castle. May I have your name, lady?”

“In time. Tell me of your task first.”

Tyringham suspected he had little choice; mercenaries such as the lady were often suspicious and wraith-like in the way the operated. If he said the wrong word, she would vanish like a ghost. Therefore, when he spoke, it was carefully.

It was time to get down to business.

“My son was betrothed as a young lad to a lass who lives in Penzance,” he said. “Her father, Lord de Sansen, is a great friend and we brokered a marriage between our children to strengthen our alliance in Cornwall. When our children wed, we will control the tip of Cornwall from coast to coast, from St. Ives all the way across to Penzance. You can see that it will be a very lucrative marriage.”

The woman nodded faintly. “I do.”

“Then you are an intelligent woman and my son is daft, for he does not see such an advantage. In fact, he wants nothing to do with her.”

The woman shrugged. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Abduct him.”

Now, he had her interest. “Abduct him?” she repeated, puzzled. “For what purpose?”

Tyringham folded his hands on the table, looking at her quite seriously. “You will abduct him and take him to the caves of St. Agnes, where I will be waiting with his betrothed,” he told her. “You know the legend of the caves, do you not? If you do not, the legend goes like this – many years ago in the wilds of Cornwall, a beautiful princess was born. She was so beautiful that an oracle foretold of the men who would go to battle to win her heart. Her father, being a wise and reasonable man, did not want men dying for his daughter, so he gave her over to a young page to tend, keeping her hidden from the world. This young boy and young girl grew to love each other over the years, but tragedy struck when the father pledged the princess to the son of his enemy. The page and the princess fled to the caves of St. Agnes where they took their own lives just as the princess’ father was closing in on them. It is said that if a man and woman touch the walls of the cave where the bloodstains of the lovers are, then they will fall in love. I intend that my son and his betrothed should touch those stains so that we may cement our alliance.”

The young woman was listening carefully. “That is not what I have heard of the legend,” she said. “Two people, already in love, must touch the stains of their own free will and, if they do, they will remain in love with one another for all time.”

Tyringham frowned. “It does not matter,” he said, waving his hands about, clearly frustrated with the situation. “I intend that my son and his betrothed should touch the stains. By luck or by magic, I want him to be an agreeable groom. Something will surely happen, from my legend or from yours.”

The woman eyed him, seeing that this was something that meant a great deal to him. His desperation as a father was bleeding out all over the place. “So you want me to abduct this reluctant groom and take him to the caves where you will force him to touch the stains?” she said, disbelief in her tone. “Do you then expect me to hold him at sword point until he touches the cave walls?”

Tyringham shook his head. “I will pay you to bring him to the cave,” he said. “Once he is at the cave, I will handle the situation.”

“It seems to me that you cannot handle the situation even now ‘else you would not be trying to hire me.”

She had a point. Tyringham lifted an eyebrow that suggested he was agreeing with her even if he didn’t want to. “That is, mayhap, true, but I do not expect you to force him to touch the cave walls,” he said. “Leave that to me. Now, is this a job you feel you can undertake?”

The woman sat back on her chair, putting her calloused hand on the hilt of the sword that was scabbarded at her side. She was very tall for a woman, with long legs encased in tight leather hose and a series of tunics over her torso that provided both coverage and protection for her strong, sinewy body. Her long, dark hair was mussed, tied at the nape of her neck with a strip of leather, while her hazel eyes gazed at Tyringham with both interest and doubt.

In truth, she appeared every inch the mercenary wench Tyringham had heard tale of, this Lady of the Moon. She looked like something out of a nightmare had it not been for that angelic face that seemed to distort the image of a blood-thirsty killer.

It’s that face that sends men to their graves, Tyringham thought grimly.

“I can undertake any task,” she said confidently. “But just how do you expect me to abduct him? And why can you not take him to St. Agnes yourself?”

Tyringham poured himself more ale. “Because he will run from me,” he said. “My son is wily. If he suspects I am taking him to his betrothed, then he will run. He has done it before. This time, he is going to run straight into you.”

“What do you mean?”

Tyringham downed more of the flat ale. “My plan is simple - I mean to tell him that his betrothed is coming to Tyringham Castle,” he said. “The mere mention of her will make him run. When he does, you will be waiting for him. You will intercept him and take him straight to the caves where I will soon join you with his betrothed. What is your price?”

The young woman sighed faintly as she considered what to tell him. The harder the job, the more the price; would this son of Tyringham fight her? Easily surrender?

“Tell me of your son,” she said. “Is he a knight?”

Tyringham nodded. “Rhodes de Leybourne is a very fine knight,” he said. “He has served Bristol for many years as one of his most seasoned knights. I need not go in to all of the accomplishments of my son, but suffice it to say that he is a decorated knight of the highest order. His reputation in battle is unmatched.”

The woman stared at him a moment, her eyes narrowing with realization. “De Russe,” she finally muttered. “Your son is a Lancastrian.”

“You speak as if you do not approve. Does money take sides, then? Is coinage either Yorkist or Lancastrian?”

The woman didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps trying to make that exact determination. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to her who men served these days, whether they followed the House of York or the House of Lancaster. Her business crossed those lines repeatedly and she was happy to do so. Therefore, it really didn’t matter to her who de Leybourne’s son served.

This was business.

“Money from Yorkist or Lancastrian has equal value to me,” she said. “What I want to know is if your son will resist me.”

“More than likely.”

“Will he fight?”

“I believe you can count on it.”

“Then the price doubles.”

Tyringham eyed her a moment before reluctantly digging into the robe he wore, a very expensive garment lined with fur and elaborately embroidered. There must have been hidden pockets inside of it because he pulled forth a small leather pouch and tossed it at her. Deftly, the woman caught the sack, which was jingling. There were pieces of something hard sheathed in the leather. Suspecting what was in it, she untied the top and peered inside.

It was coinage – lots of it. She even caught a glimpse of at least one gold coin among the silver. It was a substantial amount of money, probably more than what she would have asked for, so she quickly shut the pouch and tucked it away into the purse strung around her belt. For that amount of money, she would have abducted the devil himself. Now, she was far more acquiescent to do Tyringham’s bidding.

“When do you intend that I should do this deed?” she asked.

Tyringham was pleased that she’d succumbed to his money. “The day after tomorrow,” he told her. “I intend to return home on the morrow and tell my son that his intended is arriving from Penzance. That will drive him north, I promise you, on the road that will take him through the village of Trolvadden. Do you know it?”

The woman nodded. “I do.”

“That is where you must take him. If he goes any further, the road forks and there is no knowing which direction he will take. He rides a silver rouncey with long legs that can outrun any horse in Cornwall, so be aware. Unless you catch him unaware, he will dig his spurs into his horse and you shall never catch him.”

The young woman nodded, already thinking of the different ways she could knock the man off his horse. “Have no fear that I will catch him, in any case,” she said. “His name is Rhodes de Leybourne, you said?”

“Aye. My only son. Do not hurt him in any way; I do not wish to take him to his bride injured.”

The young woman shrugged. “If he tries to harm me, I will have little choice.”

Tyringham shook his head firmly. “Do not draw a weapon on him. Hit him across the head if you must, but not a scratch upon him. Is that in any way unclear? I only wish to have him abducted, not murdered. Deliver him to me unharmed and I shall double the money I paid you.”

That was an extremely attractive offer and, being that the young woman came from a family of pirates and mercenaries, she spoke that language. Money above all. She was sure it was her family motto somewhere back in the lines.

“He will not be harmed,” she assured him. “Bruised, mayhap, but I will not puncture his skin with anything sharp.”

Tyringham seemed satisfied by that. “Very well,” he said. “Now… you will tell me something.”

“What is that?”

“Your name. Tell me who you are and tell me something of your family.”

The young woman pondered his question for a moment. “Why is that necessary?” she asked. “You already know where to reach me. Why must you know anything else?”

Tyringham cocked an eyebrow. “Because I want to know who I am trusting my money and my son’s life to,” he said. “Is that too much to ask?”

The young woman was still hesitant. “You are the one who sought me out. Obviously, you know enough about me to know that I deliver what I promise.”

“If you will not tell me your name, then give me my money back. There are other mercenaries about who will not be so difficult to deal with.”

The young woman didn’t want to return the money. But she knew if she didn’t give the man at least an answer or two, there were eight heavily-armed men with him who would happily separate her from the money their lord had paid her. Therefore, she saw no harm in divulging some information about herself… limited information.

“My name is Samarra le Brecque,” she said. “My home is Mithian Castle, where you sent your multiple missives asking to meet with me.”

Tyringham looked at her curiously. “Le Brecque,” he muttered thoughtfully. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

Samarra knew why. Everyone along the western coast of Cornwall and far up into Wales, Ireland, and Scotland knew that name. As of late, most everyone had heard of it for reasons that were not particularly pleasant. Rather than have Tyringham figure it out later and want his money back again, she thought to be honest with him up front. Although she didn’t give her name freely, she wasn’t ashamed of it when she did. Nor did she lie about it.

“Poseidon’s Legion,” she said, her voice quiet. “It is the name of the commander of Poseidon’s Legion.”

Tyringham’s eyes widened. “Le Brecque,” he hissed. “Of course! The pirate Constantine le Brecque, the man who commands ships that raid all along the western coast!”

“That would be he.”

Tyringham didn’t seem pleased by the revelation. “God’s Bones, I’ve had my share of run-ins with that man. He has raided St. Ives from time to time and my army has done battle with him. Are you his wife, then?”

Samarra chuckled, bitterly. “I am his sister,” she said. Then, she leaned forward on the table, resting her forearms on it as she focused on him. “I am from a family of pirates, Lord Tyringham, which is why my sword can be bought. My brother rules the sea along with his pirate brethren but my domain is the land. I command more men than my brother and they demand to be paid well, so this coinage you have given me will make me and my men very happy. Have no fear that we will find your son and take him to St. Agnes caves. And when I do, you will, indeed, pay me double. That is the bargain you yourself struck and I never forget a bargain. If you fail to pay, I will give your son over to my brother and let him take him out to sea as a captive. Is that in any way unclear? If you are going to do business with the devil, my lord, then you had better be willing to accept his terms.”

Tyringham’s mouth was a thin, hard line by the time she was finished. “Damnable pirates,” he muttered. “I should have known that you would threaten me. Be that as it may, I will not hold a grudge. You have my money and a plan of action. Watch for my son the day after tomorrow astride his big silver beast and take him to the caves. If you do not, I will send more men than you can comprehend and burn Mithian to the ground.”

Samarra looked at him for a moment before breaking down into a grin. “Are we to threaten each other all night?”

“Do you understand any other manner of conversation?”

She shook her head, putting her hand to the purse at her waist. “I understand threats and money. Those are the only languages I speak.”

Tyringham scratched his cheek, thinking that this was an unusual woman, indeed. “I can give you both, fortunately,” he said. “Then we understand one another?”

“We do.”

Tyringham stood up, eager to be finished with this unpleasant business. For some reason, Samarra was starting to make him nervous.

“Then I shall see you at the caves in four days’ time,” he said. “My son’s betrothed and her father are already making their way there, but I must return home to make sure my son flees to the north where you will be waiting for him.”

Samarra watched the man as he stood up and straightened out his heavy clothing. “If the girl is already heading for the caves, then it seems to me that you have been planning this for a while.”

“I would not have to plan anything if my son would only be agreeable.”

Samarra was coming to wonder what kind of man this son was. But it was of little consequence; she liked a challenge.

“I will ensure that he is most agreeable.”

Tyringham believed her.