“What the—”

I squinted against the piercing rays of the sun and kicked out with both legs. Right into his paunchy gut. “Oomph!”

Father, please be with me.

I struck again, this time aiming all my attention at his bad knee. He fell heavily to the bottom of the boat. We lurched and a swell of nausea burned the back of my throat. I grabbed the side with my almost-worthless hands and vomited into the frothy water below.

From behind me, I heard him stagger to his feet. I got to mine first.

Using the momentum of the boat as it rocked, dipping so low that water sloshed over the edges, I charged. He was still wavering, in a fruitless attempt to regain his balance, when my shoulder struck him squarely in the chest. We both stumbled toward the side. His foot hit an obscure oar, and he tittered only a moment before falling into the freezing water with a noble splash.

I managed to catch myself on the side of the boat and watched as he bobbed like an elegantly tufted cork. The roasted peacock with the gilded beak came to mind, though I wasn’t sure why.

His watery cries met my ears as he swirled further from the boat. “I—cannot—”

Sputtering broke his pleas into jagged fragments.

“Swim!”

Another rouge thought burst to the forefront of my mind, and with it erased everything else. My baby.

I cupped my hands round my swollen middle and dropped to my knees. Had he survived my near murder? A fringe of tears pattered the tops of my cheeks like raindrops on long-dead field. “Baby? Oh Baby...”

Kick. Won’t you kick my hand?

I adjusted my fingers until they were splayed out and covering as much of my belly as possible.

Baby, where are you?

Nothing.

Something hit the side of the boat. I looked up. Through the veil of tears, I saw fingers, grasping for life.

Hail Mary full of grace. The Lord is with thee.

I grabbed the oars and began to row.

Blessed are thou amongst women.

I heard him sputtering. Alive, he meant only death for my baby. And me. The old Bridget could never have listened to a man drown mere inches from where she sat. She would have done something, anything, to wrest his life from the Reaper’s grasp.

And blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb Jesus.

“Let go!” I screamed. “You only want me dead!”

His fingers began to slip as I pulled the oars through the water.

Holy Mary, mother of God.

Pray for us sinners. Now...

Finally, his fingers slipped beneath the choppy surf.

And at the hour of our death. Amen.

A flurry of movement made my stomach lurch. “Oh thank you, thank you,” I cried. “Baby, you’re alive!”

I glanced over my shoulder. There was the English coast. To the front of me was France. But she offered no safer refuge for me than merry old England.

I must see for myself if Jean is gone.

I leaned forward and gave a mighty pull. The rickety wooden boat shot through the water and propelled my baby and me straight toward the English shore.

Unwelcome in England

M

y arms and back ached as I pulled my way through the Strait of Dover. As I neared the English coastline, the baying of hounds made an unwelcome addition to the watery percussion that throbbed against the boat. I dared a glance over my shoulder and mentally welcomed the break. Horses lined the shore.

“He had men waiting for him!” I grimaced and reset my grip on the oars. The last gurgly breaths of the courtier threatened to haunt me as I pondered over the way I’d let him die.

Could I have saved him?

Should I have given him a second chance?

Perhaps he would have taken pity on me and set me free, had I pulled him from his watery tomb.

The men that waited on the shore, with hounds and steeds, put my fears to rest. “They anticipated a fight. For me to run. And this time, they wouldn’t fail in their endeavors to capture me.”

I pulled hard with my right hand, and allowed my left oar to dip into the sea. The only chance I have is to evade them on the water. “There must be somewhere else to dock.” My muscles screamed at me as I struggled to turn the tide.

Finally, I had the boat pointed away from the men. Barks and howls and whines followed. When the winds shifted, it sounded as though they were in the boat with me. Then, the winds blew them away and left silence as my only companion.

I let go of the tied-in oars and rubbed my wrists with my raw hands. My tongue was thick with thirst and being surrounded by salty sea water reminded me of an old Greek myth, but I couldn’t place the title. “Surely he had water here.”

I glanced around the floor of the boat. There it was! In the furthest tip. A canteen. Not wanted to capsize in this deep-sea water, I crawled across the length of the boat and grasped the canteen in my hands. In one long drink, I drained it of its contents before realizing what it was.

I spat onto the deck. “Brandy!”

The world spun a bit as I resumed my seat between the oars. I glanced about, but saw only sea. “Oh no. I fear I’m lost.”

The water rose and started toward me. By the time it reached the little boat, the wave was over my head and tipped with frothy white. It slammed hard against my meager vessel and I crashed from my seat onto the floor.

Like a turtle on its back, I struggled to get up. Another wave, more massive than the first, ensured I stayed down.

Another crashed over me. Then another. I felt the creak and moan of the poor boards as they tried their best to stay together. Alas, their attempts were futile. With each wave that hammered over me, the boat came more and more deconstructed. Bit by bit. Like a child taking apart a puzzle.

Another wave crashed over me with finality and demolished the remainder of the boat. I went down, but held my breath. When I surfaced, I grabbed wildly for something, anything, to help keep me afloat.