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“Volunteers to be burned alive?”
He shrugs again. “We already know some of us are going to die. Maybe some can wrap their minds around it early and be of use.”
“There will be few volunteers willing to burn to death,” Maraud mutters.
“Maybe,” I say slowly, “they won’t have to.”
“Please saints.” Beast scrubs his face. “Tell me you have a solution.”
“Not me, but the abbess of Saint Mer. What if we use her initiates? They are as comfortable in the ocean as otters. Is it possible that enough of them could steer the ship from the water?”
“Like human rudders,” Maraud says thoughtfully.
“Not so sure about the human part,” one of the queen’s guard mumbles. He was with us the last time we came to Morlaix and has seen the Mer maids for himself.
“That would work,” Lazare says, and Beast looks as if he might weep with relief.
“Now all we must do is see if the abbess of Saint Mer is willing to help.”
“And find Rohan’s men. If we eliminate them before they get a message to Rohan’s larger forces, we can be in and out of here without Rohan even knowing it.”
Or Pierre, I think. I glance at Maraud. Pierre will not forgive Maraud’s betrayal.
Chapter 85
Gen casts her gaze to the rocky shore and the sparkling blue sea just beyond. “I have never seen anyone who serves Saint Mer.”
I smile, remembering how I worshiped Saint Mer as a girl, reveling in her wildish nature, her command of storms, her disregard of men. “You will not forget once you have.”
As we draw closer to the ancient stone abbey, the tang of the sea and smell of fish and rotting seaweed grow stronger. Before we can dismount, the door opens and two of Saint Mer’s initiates come out to greet us. I glance at Gen, who is working hard to keep her mouth from hanging open. Even I, who have seen them before, must make an effort not to stare. The most noticeable thing about them is their skin, its almost translucent quality. The second is their webbed hands and feet. Gen is so busy staring at those that it takes her a full moment to finally look up into the face of the girl greeting her and see her slightly pointed teeth.
The abbess’s office is spare and barren, with clean, whitewashed stone walls. She sits behind a desk in the room’s single chair. She is as old as I remember, small and wizened. Around her neck are strands of cockleshells, and she holds her sacred trident in her left hand. She does not rise, but coolly looks us up and down, her eyes as shifting as the sea.
As is her due, we all bow and wait for her to speak first.
“What brings you here?” She addresses her question to Beast.
Beast bows again. “I regret if we have displeased you by coming.”
“Displeased me,” she snorts. “As if you have chosen not to invite me to some ball, when what you have actually done is place us in the hands of a foreign power.”
Merde. She is unhappy with the queen’s marriage. She rises to her feet and thumps the butt of her trident on the stone floor. “No one asked me what I thought of such a union. No one asked Saint Mer if she wished to be part of France.”
“Forgive us, Reverend Mother. There was little time to consult with anyone, with war at the gates.”
“You consulted with her.” She points her trident at Aeva.
Aeva inclines her head in polite greeting. “They consulted us on the one weapon—one that belonged to Saint Arduinna, herself—they had that could prevent the needless loss of life. And we agreed. What choice did the duchess have?”
The abbess sniffs and looks out the window toward the sea. “War does not distress us as it does the landlocked.” She shifts her sharp gaze to me. “And you? Of a surety, death is partial to war, they often go hand in hand. Was it a difficult choice for you?” Her smile borders on cruel. She knows Mortain fell that day.
“Indeed not, Reverend Mother. As you have no doubt heard, my god set aside his godhood rather than see death take so many for so little reason.”
Her smile grows mocking. “That is not why he set aside his godhood. It was the girl, not some noble wish to save lives.”
“Can it not be both?”
She shrugs, setting her seashells tinkling. “For some, mayhap, but not us. Ships that founder and sink, sailors and soldiers who cannot swim, these are riches to us. Offerings, if you will.” She turns her turbulent eyes back on us and, for a moment, they do not look like human eyes, but as if the sea lives inside her. “For those of us who serve Saint Mer, there is much to be gained.”
Beast folds his thick arms across his chest and smiles. “Then you will be most interested to hear of our latest venture. Lazare?”
The charbonnerie steps forward and bows respectfully before telling her of our plans.
“A fire ship,” she breathes when he has finished. “Won’t that be an extraordinary sight. We want the right to whatever falls into the sea,” she demands. “Dead or alive.”
Maraud looks uneasy. “What would you do with the men? The live ones?”
“They are your enemies, what do you care?”
“It is because they are my enemies that I care. I do not wish to have to kill them twice.”
The abbess laughs, a gushing sound from deep inside her chest. “I like this one. Don’t worry. We will only amuse ourselves with them for our own enjoyment. Saint Mer’s daughters grow tired of poor fishermen.”
It takes a moment for Maraud to grasp her meaning, then a faint tinge of pink colors his cheeks.
“That has always been the law of the sea, has it not?” I ask.
Her gaze shifts to me. “Yes.”
“We do not have any intention of changing the laws that have governed Saint Mer since time out of mind,” I assure her.
She smiles and some of the tension leaves her. “Then yes.” She thumps her trident once more. “Whatever you need from us you shall have.”
* * *
The next thing Beast does is speak to Morlaix’s garrison commander. While the man is unhappy to hear about the approaching English ships, he is eager for a chance to strike back at them. It sat poorly with him that we welcomed them on our last visit. He is only too glad to show us the town armory, and Beast is eager to see what—if any—weapons we will have at our disposal.
We are in luck. Morlaix’s armory has all manner of firing weapons and a surprising number of siege weapons as well. At Beast’s questioning look, the garrison commander shrugs. “They’re most effective against the English pirates constantly trying to raid our coast. Can’t use a sword—or even a pike—on a bloody ship.”
Beast chortles with glee when he sees the rows and rows of pikes. At Lazare’s questioning glance, he tosses him an amused grin. “Because pikes are simple to use and effective, even in an untrained man’s hand. It takes years to make a competent archer or skilled swordsman, but give me half an hour with a willing man, and he can wield a pike with devastating effect.”
While he composes love poetry to the simple pike, I go to examine the firing weapons, many of which are small, shorter than my arm. “Hook guns,” Lazare explains, picking one up. “You rest the end of it against a wall, like this. Then light the powder inside here.”
“It looks much like a crossbow.”
He gifts me with an approving smile. “It’s built on a similar frame.” He sets that down and goes to e
xamine a longer iron tube, this one longer than my arm by half. “Culverins,” he says, his face alight. “These, now, these are a rare find.”
“Are they not just bigger hook guns?”
He shakes his head. “They are more like handheld cannon. But they can also be engineered to fire arrows.”
“And what good would arrows do against a boat?”
“We will make these arrows with shafts of iron. And if we fill that shaft with our powder, we can fire it at the ships and—” He makes an exploding noise.
That afternoon, preparations begin in earnest. Beast sets two lines of men digging trenches two hundred paces in front of the city walls. “I’m telling you,” Lazare says, “the English won’t make it this far when we are done with their ships.”
“I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about Rohan getting impatient when he doesn’t hear from the scouts he had in place to alert them to England’s arrival.”
The charbonnerie wagons begin arriving the very next day, cordoning off the armory and artillery to set up their shop as they begin preparing their weapons for their feu de Mère Noire—the Dark Mother’s fire.
Chapter 86
I stand next to Lazare, waiting. Rohan’s banner was raised nearly an hour ago. The tide is high, and the wind is at their backs. Why aren’t they coming?
At first, we fear they have somehow managed to sniff out the trap and will not enter the bay. But at last two of the smaller ships draw anchor and head toward us. The cannon at the mouth of the bay remain silent, the charbonnerie positioned behind them hidden, as the ships come through. Once Lazare confirms that the rest of the fleet is following, we get on our horses and gallop the four miles down the coast to where we have set the trap.
Along both shores, the charbonnerie have set up all manner of siege engines and artillery. The cannon with the longest ranges are positioned at the widest points of the river, but are hidden for now with branches and other bracken.
