Maiden Voyage, from Sign of the Cross

Maiden Voyage, from Sign of the Cross

Sign of the Cross

By JeanTre16

Chapter 13

Maiden Voyage

With the shoreline of France quickly receding in the background, Jacqueline’s maiden voyage had gotten off to its precarious start. The young woman, still dressed in the Calais port master’s clothing, realized that the entire discussion d’Artagnan and she just had about meeting his uncles was no longer relevant. They were now on a ship bound for British soil on an unstoppable collision course with the king of England, Scotland and Wales. Regardless of who might come looking for them, they needed a contingency plan and they needed it quickly; they were about to be discovered by the ship’s crew.

Eventually, the cargo hoist leveled with the deck. And there, sitting among the crates, were two Frenchmen, or what looked like two Frenchmen, one actually being a woman in disguise. The roughened sea dog cranking the hoist stopped mid-heave — more amused than surprised. He had just gotten his oxen-like body leveraged for another good spin on the large wheel when his eyes caught sight of the two stowaways. Turning his head toward the helm on the upper deck, he bellowed, “Cap’n!”

A well-barreled man with long dark curly hair and a crude presentation of air, hollered back, “What is it man? What’s all this yelling about? I told you to get those goods on board!”

Without a word, the beckoning sailor gestured in the direction of the hoist. Holding the crank where it froze the moment he laid eyes on their guests, he eagerly awaited his captain’s response.

Descending the steps, the master of the English vessel approached. Spanning in to graze his peculiar cargo like a fully gunned warship, he drew up his embellished coat collar and stiffened his posture. His hair, dark as night, and skin, weathered as rawhide, framed and matted his prominent facial feature — his large tale-filled, yet intelligent eyes. One could imagine that as a youth he had seen impressions unfit to leave the confines of a ship, and having done so, his orbs had swollen to their enlarged visage and remained permanently in their state of self-contained nightmares. Still young and on the rising side of his career, he fastidiously built his acclaim on his apparel and mannerisms. His attire was expensive and decorative — flaunting his success. Yet, to the first-time beholder, he unquestioningly signified a capable man of the hardened life at sea.

Loosening his grip on one of his lapels, he bid his live goods to step forward from the hoist with a motioning hand. In a distinctly English accent, he impatiently sounded, “Come here…haven’t got all day. Let me see the likes of you. And pray, tell, why is it that you are among His Majesty’s freight?” His gravelly, baritone rumble boomed out to be heard over the roaring sounds of the sea.

D’Artagnan and Jacqueline rose slowly to their feet and stepped off the wooden platform to stand before the summoning leader. Having foreseen their discovery, they had hastily stashed their rapiers amid the stacks of cargo in hopes they could claim them later. With their bulkier weapons off their persons, they put forth the outward appearance of two unfortunate souls caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Inwardly, the trained soldiers assessed their opposition. Although the pair saw that this autocrat was younger and most likely not as experienced as their captain, they both knew to underestimate his influence within this barnacle-cloistered colony would be a mistake.

Disembarking the hoist from behind his wife, d’Artagnan’s hidden position allowed him to whisper, “He may be able to be swayed, but we’ll have to walk the line carefully.”

To the gathering crew’s amazement — and to Jacqueline’s — the dark-haired Frenchman unexpectedly strode to the forefront of his comrade and returned the captain’s words to his face. “And what, pray tell, are you doing with all that cargo that hasn’t made it through French inspections?” As d’Artagnan challenged the head man, he gestured toward the hoist behind him in his un-intimidated manner.

‘So much for walking a careful line,’ Jacqueline thought, gasping at her husband in wide-eyed disbelief. She felt the hair on her neck stand on end as it occurred to her that they’d most likely be walking the plank if he kept on his present course of action.

Along with the shock of the covert female, the whole deck of sailors oohed at the nobleman’s bravado. Murmured bets passed amongst them as they pressed around to witness the show-down between their stalwart leader and this cocky Frenchman. Their wagers weren’t who would come out of top of this match, but how badly the over-confident noble and his accomplice would fare in the outcome.