An Interesting View

Chapter 13 of "A Sword for Wellington", Book Three of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles. Now the Chosen Court seeks another Arthurian treasure. New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

Eidothea, her father and her court arrived in Caldicot to hear the news of Napoleon’s escape and to witness the departure of Craiglyn House’s residents but not before Eidothea asked questions about the sword. Llyr and Gwenddydd encountered each other.

We returned to the inn and shared our news with the others. “Overland to Dover would be faster,” Jasper advised. “You told me Sir Hugh said they wanted to catch the tide? Across to Bristol, probably.”

“Could they not sail from Bristol to the Continent?” Cychwr asked, his arm slung about Ondine’s shoulders.

Jasper considered it. “Perhaps if they headed for France or Spain, but they will undoubtedly leave from Dover.”

“But it is primarily a military port.”

I examined the two of them, my concern rising. “Brussels is at least 60 miles inland, too far for any dreigiau môr, except, as we’ve discovered, those in the Chosen Court. I am afraid—”

“I’ll come with you as far as Ostend,” Cychwr declared, divining my meaning at once. Of all of us, only he could not make the journey. “If you choose to go overland, Ondine and I will swim to Dover. We’ll be there before you.”

Llyr forced a grin. I felt his sympathy for the young couple, who would soon be separated. “Want to make a bet?”

Cychwr and Ondine won the bet. We knew even before we arrived at Dover, for Ondine’s plaintive heart turned amorous, forcing all three of us to use the shielding spell. I stared out the coach’s window, to avoid catching the eye of either Jasper or Llyr. We were jammed in the mail coach with several others, our luggage stacked precariously on top. The crowded space gave a good excuse for my coloured cheeks.

Bad weather greeted us in the port of Dover. Lady Meredith would have made better time via post-chaise than via sea packet, but we still didn’t know which route they had chosen.

On arrival, we found Dover crammed with scores of soldiers, sailors, and cavalrymen, even munitions. The papers held no hint of our government agreeing to assist the Continent, yet it seemed the militias already rallied against the renewed threat of Napoleon, ready to defend our shores. Based on overheard conversations, Dover had wound down its war-readiness last April, and here it was again on a new war footing.

We looked for Lady Meredith Rathven and her companions, but heavy fog alternating with lashing storms, restricted our search.

Very few dared to venture out, but we did. Jasper and Father had the task of finding passage to Ostend. Jasper held little hope of finding any. A new war meant the Continent would soon be off-limits to civilians. Many ships had been pressed into shuttling goods across the channel in a last ditch effort at commerce. The bay bobbed with small boats of every kind, ferrying humans and supplies out to the ships.

Fog rendered the ships near-invisible, their hulls smudges on the waterline. Their sails dissolved into the grey gloom.

Llyr and I strolled from our meagre lodgings to the Strand, which overlooked the English Channel. I tucked my flannel in a little tighter about my neck, glancing at Llyr, who seemed unbothered by the chill spring air. He almost fit in with the sailors in town, except his hair, pulled back in a queue, was much longer. His golden eyes and skin marked him as anything but British.

:What are you thinking,: Llyr murmured, :that your emotions could make me blush?:

I swatted his arm, wondering what on earth he had sensed through our bond to provoke such teasing. :You are not blushing. I merely enjoy the view.:

Llyr turned, walking backward, his hands held out for balance. :The view? Do you like the sea that much?:

I released my breath, relieved that he chose to take my words at face value. :I missed it while inland. I am glad we can be this close at last.:

Llyr froze, gazing off into the distance.

I stopped alongside him. :What is it?:

He didn’t answer. His lack of tension meant nothing threatened us. I waited, enjoying the crisp foggy sea air on my skin.

After a time, he blinked, and blinked rapidly.

:What was that?: I laid a hand on his forearm, bringing him into the present.

He startled. The jolt of his surprise echoed in my chest. He rubbed at his temples. :A vision, I think. I walked with a woman, like this, but it wasn’t you.:

:Who was it?: When Llyr dreamed, our bond’s strength dimmed, but now that he’d mentally returned, I felt the dream’s echoes: of wistfulness, grief, bitterness and a growing warmth. He felt this way about another woman?

He shook his head and began walking back to our lodgings. :I couldn’t see her clearly, only feel…: He glanced at me. Fresh uncertainty radiated from him. :Perhaps the Lady is reminding me that we don’t need to find everything and everyone all at once.:

“There’s no passage to be had,” Hugh reported to Lady Meredith. Gwen turned from looking out the window. “There’s no wind in any case. We will have to wait until the wind returns and the harbour is cleared. Do not worry. I will keep trying.”

He joined Gwen at the window. “See anything of interest?”

“Mmm,” she affirmed. “Take a look for yourself.” She pointed.

Hugh followed her direction. A man and woman walked up the street, instantly identifiable as Miss Pendyr with her eyepatch and curls, and the man with the unusually long hair and golden eyes.

Hugh muttered a curse under his breath.

Gwen darted a glance at him. “Is he really?”

Hugh reviewed his swearing. “Not literally, no, but they are thorns we do not need.”

Gwen glanced back at his aunt, who flipped through a ladies magazine. “How do we take care of them?” She eyed his walking stick and drummed her fingers on the sword’s carrying case.

Hugh smothered a grin. Trust her to think of the most violent way. ”That would cause even more complications, especially in a busy port like this.” He leant against the wall. “You should stay out of sight. They cannot know we are also here…”

“And yet here they are.” Gwen retreated from the window, sitting next to his aunt on the small sofa in in their chamber. “And what about you?”

“I still need to secure us passage.”

He glanced at the wide bed. If only he and Gwen could share that bed instead of he taking the floor, but since that almost kiss Gwen tolerated him at best, and treated him like a comrade-in-arms. Her occasional shy smiles gave him hope.

“Woolgathering, nephew?” His aunt’s sharp voice cracked open his reverie.

Hugh’s cheeks heated. “There’s little to do until tomorrow,” he offered as an excuse.

His aunt harrumphed. “See about our evening meal.”

Hugh bowed and left. The inn’s narrow hallway rose and fell at irregular intervals, having been added onto over the centuries. Black wood beams intersected the whitewashed walls. Twice he put out a hand to the wall to prevent a stumble. He navigated the steep narrow stairs, entering the inn’s main level.

A large fire crackled at the far end of the low-ceilinged chamber. An oddment of darkened supporting beams riddled the space along with tables of all sizes and shapes. Some naval officers claimed one long table, drinking hard. None of them looked up as he passed. In a booth near the fireplace, three men sat talking but in the dim light, Hugh saw them as little more than shadows.

Hugh leant against the bar. Less than five feet long, it divided the main room and the kitchen. Another man stood at the bar with his back to him.

The owner swiped a damp rag in front of Hugh’s elbow. “What’ll it be?”

“The ladies wish for supper in their room. I cannot manage it with this.” He tapped at his thigh. “I will have a pint of your best.”

The man next to him turned, a quick glance before returning to his not-quite-full tankard. Hugh caught a glimpse of the crutch beneath his armpit.

“Where did you serve?” Hugh asked in a low voice.

The man’s auburn hair glinted in the candlelight. “Never had the chance to.” He shuffled his feet, facing Hugh, his gaze sliding over the scar. “You?”

“On the Peninsula.”

“You are going back to serve? Are we, pardon me, but is the situation that desperate?”

Hugh took his time swallowing his gulp of beer. It rankled against the back of his throat. He’d had worse. “No. Not yet. But I can put my brains to use.”

The man nodded. “You’ll be sailing with the rest then?”

“No.” Hugh tapped his fingers on the bar’s scared but polished surface. “Active soldiers get the priority.”

“You’re in need of a ship.”

Hugh lifted a shoulder, not wanting to reveal his hand. “The port might look busy now but once the militias are activated, it will get a lot busier. It would be nice to get out ahead of that.”

The man took a small sip. “Reckon I could help you with that.”

“Oh?” Hugh’s dark eyebrows rose. “For me and my two companions?”

The man made a series of short nods, as if he made some internal calculation. “As it happens, I have some connections here in Dover. We need to wait a few days but I believe I can secure you your required berths.”

Hugh made his own risk calculations and realised he needed more data. “Perhaps I should introduce myself? The name’s Sir Hugh Devenish.” He held out his hand.

The man grasped it, giving it a brief shake, but not before Hugh felt the clamminess of his palm. Was the man unwell or an unpracticed rogue? His gaze shifted. “M’name’s Tregallas. Jasper Tregallas. No title.”

“Tregallas,” Hugh mused. “Cornish?”

Tregallas shook his head. “Some generations back, mayhap. Welsh, but I studied at Oxford. That’s the lilt you hear.”

The Pendyrs were Welsh. Was this man connected? The worry prickled him. “How does a Welsh man from Oxford have connections here in Dover?”

“Family business takes me to the Continent frequently. The wars often made that difficult. There are ways—” He broke off.

Hugh managed a thin smile. “I am desperate enough to know not to ask any more questions. However, should there be any attempt on my person, or on that of my companions, know that while this leg doesn’t work well, I possess a highly proficient sword arm.”

Tregallas sipped from his tankard. “I trust these people with my life and I am.”

“You are going too?”

“There might be another war, but business continues.” He drained the rest of his beer. “I will be back here the night before we sail. Be ready. We might have to leave on the next tide.” He gave a brief bow and hobbled off, stepping awkwardly out the inn’s door. The action was so painful to watch. Hugh felt each tremor, each sharp pang, in his own leg.

At least he had secured them passage. He called the tavern keeper over and ordered a meal for himself, limping to the nearest vacant table.

“We need to keep a low profile,” Jasper declared on entering our room. The four of us had been forced to share accomodation in the bustling port town. “Or rather, the three of you should remain in here.”

Llyr’s gaze narrowed. “What are you plotting?”

“Tomorrow, I will make sure Sir Hugh Devenish and his two companions join us when we set off for Ostend. Once we’re at sea and they see you, they can hardly complain, but before might undo that.” He grinned then, boyishly triumphant, the expression at odds with his broken, flattened, nose.

“How?” I knew Jasper had connections but what had he risked to accomplish this?

“Met him at the Long Shore Inn.” He tapped the wooden crossbar of his crutch. “This thing came in handy for once.”

“How long must we hide?” Llyr’s gaze already tracked across our small room through the small window to the sea beyond.

“A few days. This news about Napoleon has the port in a frenzy.”

“A few days?” Llyr echoed. “What are we meant to do for all that time?” Llyr’s distress reached me. I felt his frustration like my own.

“I will write,” I said, pulling out the tiny portable writing desk. “I have much to catch up on.”

“I’ll teach you whist,” Father declared, “and when you get the sense of it, Eidothea and Jasper may join us to make a four.”

“Do not rob him out of house and home, Father,” I warned, unable to stop myself from teasing him.

“He has neither,” Frowning, Jasper flopped onto the room’s only bed. Both Father and Llyr declared they’d sleep in the middle between Jasper and I.

“Neither do you,” I reminded him. “Be nice.”

Gwenddydd lay on the floor, a hard cushion from the narrow sofa cradling her head. No matter how hard she tried, the too soft beds threatened to drown her. She lay atop her cloak, with Hugh’s laid over her.

She stared up at the ceiling, rendered invisible in the darkness. The waves had shallowed, the very sea becalmed. The lack of wind created a dense fog, making it difficult for anyone to see more than two hand spans before them. She’d experienced sea-fog like this and knew it could be hours or days before it lifted.

Hours and days separating them from reaching Wellington, from completing her mission.

She rolled onto her side, her nostrils catching the warn spiciness of Hugh’s scent in the wool. He slept on the floor on the far side of the bed although she could not make out his form in the dark.

How much longer would they have to wait?

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