Vampire Hunt

Part I

Tainted Love

Mid-17th Century, England

Chapter 1

Twilight of the Gods

The brass plaque at the rear of the ship bore the name of The Bloodcrow and built into the bow was the carved, painted figurehead of the large crimson bird. It dipped lower as the prow carved through the calm water. Seagulls keened mournfully and rode the high air currents against the clear blue sky, their shadows flitting above the four masts with vertical spars that supported sails, rigging and flags hanging down limply on the galleass.

Twenty-five guns were interspersed between the forecastle and aftcastle, and below the main deck were cabins, the armoury and unusually three levels of sweeps containing a maximum of sixty-four oars, which drove the vessel on with smooth rhythmic strokes, skirting around the steep, high cliffs of the mainland.

Standing in the crow’s-nest, the burly lookout leaned on the swaying rail with a glazed expression, his eyelids drooping with weariness as he tried to stay awake, failing to notice at first the white speck come into view against the sun sparkling sea. He shook his head to clear his mental cobwebs before becoming more responsive and shouting down to his lethargy crewmates on the gun deck below. A man dunked his head in a drinking barrel to cool himself off and water dripped from his plastered hair as he raised his head.

Ship ahoy off the starboard bow.

Feeling the galleass slashing through the water underneath him, the bosun uncoiled his corded whip and lashed out with the cat-o’-nine-tails to enliven the bare-chested sailors amidships, a couple of whom had dark lines on their ragged breeches where they had earlier slept on drying oakum and tar that had been used to seal holes in the deck planking. Not completely snapping out of their trance-like state, the handful of sailors opened a chest containing women’s clothing and accessories, but surprisingly didn’t grumble or swear as they quickly slipped on ruffled petticoats and dresses, tried on hats and opened parasols to shade their stubbled faces.

More compelled seamen appeared from below deck, carrying large amounts of sail cloth, which they unfolded and draped over the cannons to disguise them before lashing down each one with ropes. On the forecastle, an older sailor was using a brass sextant to determine the ship’s latitude and longitude by the angle between the horizon and the sun.

We’re still holding course, Sir, he said dully.

Behind him, the taller of two officers encased from head to toe in medieval armour nodded and raised a spyglass to the narrow eye slot ventilating his close helm and trained it on the distance, focusing upon a large, three-masted sailing ship.

What did the thrall see, Einhorn? asked the broader man with interest, raising a gauntlet to protect his vision against the after glare of the sunlight reflecting off the half-silvered mirror attached to the sextant. "Is it our target? The Jeanne De Navarre."

It’s a galleon right enough; she’s under full sail and itseems her hold is weighted down with cargo because she’s riding low in the water, Thackeray, Einhorn replied, watching the galleon’s present course as he measured the distance between them as a sudden powerful rush of wind started to flap the motionless sails and billow them out. ‘Tis suppose to be armed with the demi-culverin cannon, but I can’t tell from this far out.

Our ship is faster, ‘twill be an unequal contest.

Einhorn nodded. Our presence hasn’t caused the French captain to change the galleon’s heading yet, so that’s a good sign. Send the gun captain to me.

I shall tell the oarsmen to crease rowing and rest, now we have our wind again, Thackeray said in mid turn.

Aye, he said, watching the French flag in the spyglass waved gently in the increasing wind. Alert the captain that we have a sighting of the target and instruct Rourke to set a pursuit course.

Aye, Number One.

* * *

I feel full of energy and vigour, Cousin, Nicholas Arden said enthusiastically, glancing at the unfamiliar labour about him, and with a zest and interest in life that I’ve never had when I was alive. I nay thought that I’d be better off being undead.

Thou have joined us at an auspice time yesterevening, Nicholas, John Foulkes grinned. A head taller than his companion and wider in the shoulder, he slapped Arden on the arm with a gauntlet and guided him along the swaying gangway between the oar benches occupied predominately by bare-chested men, but a good number of young scantly-clad women were sprinkled here and there, their eyes sparkling with unearthly vitality, spared a glance at the approaching pair as they swung their bodies energetically, their arms transferred the weight and power to the motion of the oars. "For this is one occasion we haven’t had to hide and lay in ambush in a cove to attack unsuspecting prey. The information is a few days old, but we learned from a wagon master Einhorn captured that he supplied fruit to a merchant vessel named the Jeanne De Navarre a former queen consort of France, I have been told by Silas. Anyroad, she is sailing the local trade route with a full crew complement that shall have its uses to us, but the reason our ship is even now chasing the galleon down is for its precious cargo of muskets, powder and shot."

But John, I have no skill in gunnery or seamanship, Nicholas said in concern, glimpses of the sea flickered at the edges of his vision through the oar ports. I be only a miller belike my father before me; what will I and Sarah do onboard thine galleass?

Ye must pull thine weight by serving in wherever capacity I choose. Thou will start by manning an oar and learning to fight in an armoured suit belike my marines, Foulkes replied, coming to a halt and gesturing at an empty space adjacent to four other rowers sitting together on the bench, as swaying ceiling lamps pushed the shadows from his short cropped hair and stubbled face. "I have found room for Sarah in one of the cramped cabins, regardless of thee being my kin I can show ye no such favouritism for the reason my loyal subordinates have served me longer. Sleep on the floor or in a hammock if’n ye can wrestle one off one of my other minions and in time if thee survives to eventually deserve a place among my fittest warriors, thine achievement will earn ye a special privilege that is to be cherished: to feast and doze on land when ever The Bloodcrow makes a friendly port."

Suddenly the ship’s bell sounded as a series of rapid, successive strokes rang out from the gun-deck running over the rowers’ heads.

What is that? Nicholas asked as he sat down and contemplated what his cousin had said. The rowers slowed their bodies in mid-stroke and the endless beat of the oar blades faltered and slipped out of sync as their owners bent over the looms.

Six bells at this time of the day is the signal for stop propelling the ship, Nicholas, Foulkes watched as the rowers withdrew the looms into the sweeps, the long wooden poles slid over the laps of the rowers to Arden’s surprise and then the men and women leaned on the oars and panted as they rested. The wind fills our sails again.

The ship’s bell echoed once more with a number of strokes.

And that signal?

Nine bells isn’t a signal, it’s a summons for me to return to the bridge, Foulkes grinned. "The Jeanne De Navarre has been spotted. First I must go to prepare the boarding party."

* * *

Einhorn glanced to the left as the gun captain, also wearing full-body plate armour, strode heavily to a halt before him. Volkner, have the men hiding below deck to stand by. Are the cannons already loaded to disable the galleon as Master John wants? Flying the fake colours should hoodwink its captain to permit us to approach her unmolested.

Aye! Except for the bow chaser, the other cannons are only crammed with bar shot and chain shot. The Frog will be fooled, of that I have no doubt, Volkner said with confidence. "The ruse de guerre is a strategy that’s been successful for us in the past, why should it not again? As Master John says, fortune favours the bold. Our ship isn’t the typical pirate sloop. From a distance our guns are covered to resembled cargo stowed on deck and furthermore we carry passengers so what harm can we really be to a behemoth like that?"

I am not a man that finds comfort resting on his laurels, Volkner. Complacency can get folk killed. Relay to Thackeray that when I signal he’s to hoist our true flag.

The blazing sun was at its zenith on the longest day of the year and the continuing wind propelled the lighter galleass forward at a good clip out to sea. As the temperatures rose, the sky began to haze over and the featureless mainland, shimmering in heat waves, soon receded into the furthest distance. The Bloodcrow skirted lines of whitecaps breaking on a reef just above the surface as it drew closer to the merchant vessel. A group of bottlenose dolphins were attracted by the motion of the pirate ship and went with it for awhile, leaping alongside the hull and riding the high waves formed by the bow before they were left far behind. The chase began to lengthen in time and nautical miles, but the Jeanne De Navarre Einhorn saw continued on it’s original course. There was not a trace of another ship in sight from horizon to horizon. Currents had formed high sandbars beneath the galleass and its keel sliced through one ridge and barely clearly another.

Ahead, the galleon was still making headway, but it gradually grew taller as The Bloodcrow continued to bear down on it and before long the pirates could make out its most distinguishing features with the naked eye. The merchant vessel had a lower forecastle and a longer, lower and narrower hull, with a square tuck stern and a long beak forward of the bow. Men were now seen clambering up the rigging to the faint sound of a drum while the crouching shapes of other crew members bustled about the deck in preparation for something, but the Jeanne De Navarre didn’t show any sign of slowing, despite there being a reflected flash of sunlight on a spyglass as its owner took a closer look at the galleass’ French flag and at the sailors wearing dressers, twirling their parasols and walking along the deck beside the longboat and the utility boats like it was a Paris boulevard.

Faith, Einhorn said at length to echo his unspoken conviction. Yon captain isn’t deceived by our ruse and he is beating to quarters. He turned his gaze to gesture at Thackeray while shouting first to the helmsman and then addressing the gun captain. Rourke, keep on this bearing. Volkner, get thine men to uncover all broadside cannons and fire a warning shot from the bow chaser.

The Bloodcrow’s progress was effortless and the distance between the ships was becoming less apparent with each passing second. Sailors came on deck, cut ropes with knifes and yanked off the sail cloth from the cannons before manning them. Thackeray’s whip cracked again and two of the sailors discarded their ladies accessories and grabbed the halyard rope to lower the French standard before raising a flapping black pirate flag depicting the white skull and crosswords above an hourglass indicating that time was quickly running out for the galleon’s crew. The word Bloodcrow was written beneath the cutlasses. More sailors grabbed muskets from the racks between the rowboats and then climbed the rigging for a location that provided them with a broad view of the galleon’s weather deck.

Standing beside the cannon barrel of the bow chaser, Volkner brought the smoldering linstock over to the porcupine quill sticking out of the touch hole and ignited the priming powder inside it with the match. There was an obvious delay and thereafter the two ton cannon belched flame and smoke, shooting backwards as the cannon ball flew on a high trajectory several ship lengths and came down to hit the sea with a resounding splash, heaving up a tall waterspout within a couple of feet abeam of the Jeanne De Navarre’s hull, rattling the pine masts and drenching the forecastle with spray. Cordage dipped with water and dead fish emerged from the depths to float on the surface.

Rather than striking its colours and surrendering to the pirates, the galleon abruptly yawed as the captain of the Jeanne De Navarre rotated the steering wheel clockwise. Because of its overall weight and size, the multi-decked ship looked like it was cumbersome built and unwieldy for the crew, but it was anything but. The wind slipped from the sails and the bow wave fell away, protesting timbers groaned and vibrations racked the merchant vessel from bow to stern as it tilted and came about, positioning its two tiers of cannons for a broadside at The Bloodcrow. The French and English snipers started exchanging musket fire at one another and a casualty from both sides fell to the deck with a meaty thump.

In the intervening time, scrutinizing the order of events on board the onrushing galleass, Einhorn grasped the French captain’s intent and ordered Rourke to mirror the manoeuvre.

Helmsman, bring our port broadside cannons to bear, he said, counting the gun ports on the galleon. "Ye gods and little fishes, the guns of the Jeanne De Navarre easily outstrip our own."

The keel of the galleass pivoted, the bow carving across its swell as skulking English snipers began picking off enemy deck hands, but before the pirate ship had managed to bring its guns to bear, the Jeanne De Navarre opened fire with a thunderous report. A few of the barrage streaked over The Bloodcrow’s rail with a flat trajectory to pierce sail cloth or shattered belaying pins and the running rigging lines secured to them unravelled as the rest of the cannonballs smacked into the hull, ripping paths of destruction and causing the lost of life and limb.

More musket balls flew from The Bloodcrow’s rigging, but clouds of cannon smoke spread swiftly above the water between the two ships and briefly obscured them from view, making it virtually impossible for the snipers to aim at individual targets. It didn’t stop Volkner’s gun crew from firing blind though and finding the mark more often than not. The glow of flame accompanied another reverberating boom and the bar shot holed men and timber alike aboard the Jeanne De Navarre, while the chain shot - two cannonballs connected by a chain - rotated through the air and thickening smoke to either entangle masts and smash them to splinters or shred spars, ropes and sails. French snipers cried out and dropped into the sea.

Einhorn looked over his shoulder. Now, Rourke; bring us in alongside her.

Aye, aye, he said, turning the bow of the galleass into the dispelling smoke in order to maximize the benefit from the wind. Reddish glows blazed below the pirate ship’s deck through holes in the hull where slanted sunshine had penetrated to purify the deepest recess.

By then, The Bloodcrow’s crew were already moving hard and fast as they prepared their cannons for a second volley. Watching the sailors use wet swabs to mop out the interior of the barrels to put out any lingering embers from the earlier broadside, so the succeeding charge of gunpowder wouldn’t go off too soon, Volkner was conscious of their rivalry with the gunners of the Jeanne De Navarre and of the need of his own crews to make progress with the reloading, knowing full well that if Thackeray’s endeavour failed then his pirate gunners would be in a race against time to be the first to fire the crucial broadside, for it could be significance in determining the outcome of the battle.

At their rear, gauntleted-fingers lifted up the heavy grilled-hatch set in the pirate deck and pushed it aside before the armoured form of John Foulkes clambered out of the opening to be followed by a large number of knights carrying boarding axes, claw-like grappling hooks, cutlasses, marlinespikes and other kit. Four steps took him to the rail and he peered over the gunwale to see The Bloodcrow was converging on the slowing merchant vessel behind and abeam; its sheer momentum was the only thing that had kept the Jeanne De Navarre going on course because most of its masts had toppled and the wreckage littered the weather deck.

The English snipers were now concentrating their shooting at the galleon’s gaping gun ports to hamper the French, but Foulkes was mindful of the fact that the enemy might yet have plenty of fight left in them. Prepare to board, he shouted over the screams of the wounded and dying to the knights as they finally assembled about him in a tight cluster. We need fresh thralls to do our bidding, so have a care not to fillet all the foes thou cross blades with.

Sailors under the command of Thackeray appeared on The Bloodcrow’s aftcastle and threw small stinkpots at the nearing gun ports and holes in the hull of the Jeanne De Navarre. The earthenware pots shattered on impact, releasing a suffocating vapour, which quickly filled the gun deck with smoke and fumes, irritating the eyes of the coughing Frenchmen and temporarily incapacitated them from doing their tasks.

Elsewhere, Volkner’s gun crews had been working in orderly fashion during all this. They inserted the gun powder charge into the barrels with a gun ladle, rammed pieces of cloth wadding to separate the following shot from the charge. More wadding was rammed on top of that so the cannonball wouldn’t roll out of the barrel; quills were inserted into touch holes before each cannon was run out, the muzzle sticking out of the gun port.

Lower the barrel by five degrees only, Volkner shouted, touching a mechanism on the side of the cannon. I want to target the under deck, but not so far down as the galleon’s hold containing the gunpowder and shot.

Rourke steered the pirate ship onto a parallel course with the Jeanne De Navarre and angled in even closer as The Bloodcrow finally overhauled the merchant vessel, entering the shadow it cast. Hunching low, a handful of Frenchmen popped up here and there, brandishing swivel guns, one man didn’t bother to take the time to set his small cannon in place in the rail socket like his companions did and fired, stumbling back from the recoil as the shot took out four English sailors manning one of the long nines. Thackeray took a blast of small cannonballs on his shield, bowling him over, but the sailors around him regained enough presence of mind to duck down.

Fire the cannons, Volkner ordered, lighting the quill with his linstock.

Disciplined knights returned fire with bulky pistols, their multi-barrels rotating as they squeezed the triggers and slaughtered the enemy with head shots. Others lit fuses sticking out of glass bottles filled with gun powder and these hand grenades were lobbed onto the galleon’s deck before silencing a defenders rallying cry and those answering him with the lethal explosions. The Bloodcrow’s cannons then bellowed and sections of the Jeanne De Navarre’s hull were sent flying inward and the French guns overturned, screams were heard as smoke spread over the flaming scene. Thackeray stood, his shield looked like a sieve, but it had protected him from the worst of the blast, his breastplate had also suffered some damage, his armoured fingers plugged the couple holes to seal the breach so the sunshine couldn’t penetrate and harm the regenerating flesh beneath.

Using the shock value of the grenades and second cannon barrage to their advantage, John Foulkes shouted to the boarders with the grappling hooks, Sling ya hooks.

The men started swinging the grappling hooks with smooth rhythmic motions as the gunsmoke began to clear. They released them, rope uncoiled at their feet as the metal hooks crunched into the galleon’s side. Seconds later, some the pirates grabbed the ropes and hauled on them, bringing the ships closer still until the hulls were practically touching, while a few more sailors fastened the ends of the taut lines to cleats on The Bloodcrow.

With the sound of bloodlust pounding in his ears, Foulkes jumped onto the rail and waved his knights forward as he led the way onto the Jeanne De Navarre, some stepping over the gap while others used ropes to swing across and land on the opposite deck. Debris was strewn everywhere and blooded arms and legs poked out from beneath tore sails, but the knights didn’t take the dead bodies at appearance sake, for they made sure by stabbing them again with their cutlasses in passing.

The deck of the Jeanne De Navarre was awash with slippery gore. A knight trod on one of the spiked metal crow’s feet which the French had tossed on deck to slow the boarders down, and it caused horrible injury to the man, until he lifted the blood stained foot and it quickly healed, veins reforming and skin kitting together to leave a scar.

Descending the narrow stairs or leaping down holes in the weather deck, the boarding party divided into roving groups and, with more thought for haste than caution, swarmed across the length and breadth of the ship. Their much smaller numbers conveyed arrogance and seemed to promise that they would be overwhelmed by the larger, enemy crew complement. However Foulkes’ marines cut a broad swath through them, starting with the bucket chain: sailors passing water from hand to hand in order to put out a fire. Stale smoke and the stink of sweaty bodies mingled with burning sulphur from the stinkpots to still permeate the common spaces. The knights were unaffected by it as they knocked out vomiting Frenchmen with pistol grips or their sword hilts.

On the lower gun deck, the French sailors managed to protrude the barrel of one of the cannons out of the gun port and fire it, the shot causing damage to The Bloodcrow’s bilges before Foulkes and Volkner beheaded them. The remaining pockets of hand-to-hand fighting were in the captain’s cabin and the galley, Einhorn taking blow after blow on his buckler, before he ended it when he spilled the last officer’s bowels with a shorter handled boarding pike and the beleaguered defenders surrendered the Jeanne De Navarre.

* * *

Spare this man, Einhorn blinked and his eyes turned red and swam as he fixed his mesmerizing gaze on the next sailor in line and spoke the French language in a low quiet voice. Look at me wretch, thou are now in my power, he smiled and saw the man relax and his breathing deepen as he entered a hypnotic trance. A splodge of blood had crusted in his receding hairline. "When ye awaken, thou will serve The Bloodcrow unto death." He snapped his fingers and the sailor went limp, two knights caught him and lowered him to the galleon’s gun deck.

Emerging from a narrow corridor leading to the captain’s cabin, Foulkes clutched the log of the Jeanne De Navarre charts and an assortment of other papers and atlases. Two new pistols from his share of the plunder were clipped to his weapon’s belt. Silas, Einhorn glanced over his shoulder at him. Forget not to interrogate these Frogs for intelligence on their home ports and when thou has finished, find me a prisoner that translate the captain’s penmanship. I scribble everything down in my journal and if the dead man was anything like me, his papers will be elaborate and detailed, so mayhap a temping prize shall be revealed that we can seize ere we seek out new hunting grounds.

I shall see to it, Master John, Einhorn replied, returning his attention to the following sailor with a split lip, missing teeth and a swollen eye, as he was prodded forward by the knight, feeling the stinging sensation of cold steel tip of a dirk prick his back muscles. Spare this soul as well for a deck hand, he addressed the guard, peering passed him at the appearance of the next prisoner in line, but put an end to the one behind.

The gun ports were covered to shut out the late afternoon sunlight which encouraged shadows to gather thickly in the corners and the depressions between the soot covered beams that spanned the space and supported the deck above. Just then, four brawny sailors carrying burlap sacks came through from an opposite doorway followed by Volkner, who swayed his bared head to avoid hitting one of the few ceiling lanterns before halting in front of Foulkes. All the cargo has been removed from the hold, Master. Furthermore we found a hoard of gold coins along with sacks of sugar and rice we can sell in the Irish ports.

Foulkes nodded. What do our crew losses amount to and is there serious damage to my ship?

Thackeray says thirty thralls perished on deck, but it would have been worst had not ye had the foresight to build up the thickness of the bulwarks. About ten of our brethren also perished when cannonballs holed the oar sweeps and let in the sun’s rays. Another twenty suffered broken bones, skin burns and wooden shrapnel wounds, but most have already rejuvenated after drinking some of the prisoners dry. The worst of the damage is below the waterline, the hull planking is cracked open and the sea is leaking into the bilges. The carpenter can’t do a proper job of repairing it till we’re back at our safe anchorage.

Take over here and salvage what French cannons ye can, while I examine these charts in my cabin. When thou has done, leave one of my pirate flags on board so folk shall know and fear the reputation of my ship. Then cut the galleon adrift and have Rourke set sail for Sea Haven. In a few days we’ll resupply the thralls by shanghaiing some suitable sailors from the harbour fleshpots in the neighbouring town along the coast and cull the others. Silas has scouted the village of Greenbrier at night a moon hence for the best approaches and it isn’t fortified with cannon nor do the mortals use look outs. Verily, ‘tis ripe for the picking.

* * *

A return course was plotted back to the English mainland and the pirate ship set sail. The hours passed as seawater filled up the bilges between The Bloodcrow’s hull and keel and the persistent smell of it penetrated the walls of the corridors and rooms below decks, to mingle with the savoury aroma of fish wafting up from the galley to assail Foulkes’ nostrils indicating the thralls’ evening meal was almost ready. The sound of the pumps was ever present as they worked to prevent the water level from rising too much and endanger the buoyancy of the ship.

Wearing a leather, sleeveless jerkin and breeches tucked into his long boots, Foulkes cast a glance over his shoulder at the empty, candle-lit corridor behind him before turning, his instincts warning him again against his decision to proceed, but his clutter of emotions overruled them as he opened the cabin door and stepped inside.

Sarah, ‘tis John, he whispered, closing the oak door to soften the sound of the pumps, and then he looked around him as he strode further into the draughty, brightly-lit chamber. A simple, but heavy nun’s clothes chest stood amidst a bed, chair and table nailed to the floor planking so they wouldn’t shift about in a sea storm. The windows shuttles had been drawn back to let in the salty tang of the sea and the cooling zephyr blowing in as the stroking oars thrust The Bloodcrow’s on through the water. Stars sparkled from the cloudless night sky.

A gentleman would have had the decency to knock before he enters a lady’s boudoir, especially when she is presently indisposed to make our tryst, the woman’s voice replied over a loud splash from behind the carved wooden screen ahead of him. Blast, she added in mild annoyance, more splashing could be heard. Now, I’ve misplaced the soap.

Well, if I ever find a gentleman on board I’ll be sure to tell him. Foulkes smiled and came up to the screen, peering over the top at the naked young woman sitting in a wooden bath tub, the bubbles barely concealed her ample charms as her hands searched under the water. Thine pleasures are becoming a distraction to me, Sarah; and whilst I didn’t mean for this love triangle to happen, ye has cast a spell on me from the first moment we met. Nicholas shall be beside himself, but he will have to contend with the hardship belike a lesser man and I certain he will prevail in time. Her figure was a feast for his eyes as he approached with a pained expression, for I grow weary of the secrecy and of humbling myself for scraps when I long to have thee all for myself.

As I do, my love, she replied with her head instead of her heart. I do admire a man that knows what he wants and speaks his mind thus. Sarah giggled at his assertiveness and he ran a hand along her exposed, wet knee as he came up to her. She gazed up at him from under her long lashes and her mouth looked sensual and inviting to him. I wondered how to raise the matter with ye, but now I only have to speak to Nicholas of my decision.

Foulkes bent his head and she felt a shiver of expectation down her spine as he kissed her lips passionately and deeply, their tongues erotically exploring the other person’s mouth. They broke contact and he spoke with an urgent pant.

I want this business with Nicholas concluded and thee warming my bed before we set sail for Ireland in less than a week. Foulkes stepped behind her and his voice held affection as his following words had a sobering effect on her. I’ll make you a queen and thee shall rule by my side in the kingdom we’ll carve out over there.

And what of the Great Purge, John? Sarah asked uneasily, having serious reservations about his intentions, her body tensed as his hand brushed the mass of lathered tresses away from her neck to reveal two healed puncture wounds. How can ye be sure it hasn’t yet reached that distance shore too? I yearn for a permanence home for us, but I have heard the crew mutter: they’re convinced we’re all going to die and they grow weary of being constantly driven off by torch and pitchfork to spend weeks on end on board this ship.

Us die? Perish the thought, Foulkes’ grin faded as he saw the tendons stand out in her neck, but the subject or her emotional reaction didn’t dampen his ardour for her. Determined to persuade her that her misgivings were groundless, he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "I know not how far and wide the Great Purge has spread, but The Bloodcrow has been our kinds only escape from the horde. I am a firm believer in being strong, shall reverse our fortunes and with the taking of cannon and powder from the galleon, we will deliver a message to the mortals announcing that we won’t flee anymore by splattering their entrails across the land and their fear ‘twill be intoxicating as thee is to me, Sarah."

Grateful for the transparent honesty of his answer, Sarah’s passionate mood regained ascendancy and she broke into a smile, relaxing beneath his lips as they caressed the flesh between her scars. I rejoice to hear that, John, she replied, his desires were as plain as the nose on his face. Now let us delve into what else is on thy mind.

Chapter 2

Where There’s Smoke…

The peasant drivers yanked on the reins and the large carthorses, drawing the number of crowded wains slowed to a trundling halt on the grassy incline. Timber planking groaned under the shifting weight of the bare-footed villagers as they jumped down from the wagon beds, carrying spades, pitchforks, hoes and unlit torches. Under a cloud-flecked sky, summer sunlight dappled the narrow path through the trees topping the rise ahead of them and among the gathering, a man with an unkempt appearance and a lean physique nervously poured sour ale in a gourd cup before draining it for temporary courage.

Are ya sure the slippery devils bide in Sea Haven, Pilgrim? he asked the bowlegged, rotund man in a guff voice, eyeing his periwig and the finely of his doublet and embroidered cloak. For it will be a good morn if we’re able to stop pitting wits and our mettle against these spirits of evil and forever purged them from our great land.

By heaven, I am Humphrey De Hauteville, the pilgrim replied with ill-concealed irritation, the folds of flesh hanging under his chin trembled, not some addle-minded defendant noted for falsehood, Thomas Caxton.

Thomas Caxton shrugged his shoulders and regarded him with a sceptical eye. You have the tailored look of a gentleman, I grant you, but we know you not ere you came into my coaching inn and told my patrons and me the tale. There’s many a rumourmonger among the passengers I provide accommodation for and ‘tis merely on blind faith that we choose to accompany you hitherto and see the danger for ourselves.

De Hauteville frowned. Upon my honour, innkeeper, I am a man of law, journeying upon a moral pilgrimage to a distant shrine when I did approach the outskirts of the village of Greenbrier two nights hence and I witnessed the buccaneers enslave the souls of the town and sail away on their galleass.

Perchance some hardier folk will survive to be manacled to the oars or be ensorcelled to tend the sails, said a scrawny, pale faced man in an optimistic tone that belied the sense of helplessness he was feeling inside as he tugged up his ragged trousers and tied his rope belt tighter about his waist. The foul vessel has been the bane of the shipping lanes of late and is rumoured to have three levels of rowing benches and four masts.

De Hauteville tightened his thin lips and mellowed with marked sentiment as he spoke on in heavily accented English. "Nay, I think not, my good fellow, for though I confess to ignorance to such nautical matters, as I rode my mare in the moonshine along the cliff and ridgetops shadowing the path of the galleass till