§ § § -- August 8, 2004 1542
A few voices rose in protest or indignation as he plowed his way along, but he took no heed. Subconsciously the prince in him had risen to the fore, and he had no time or patience for common soldiers. He dodged ship's cannon—surprisingly big, mean-looking ones—and milling, restless soldiers, finally coming within reach of the king and a burly man in full plate armor but for his helmet. The latter was several inches taller than Christian and easily towered over King Erik. "Sire!" Christian hailed his ancestor.
Erik turned and peered at him, but his enormous companion spoke. "Kneel to your sovereign, soldier!" he thundered.
Annoyed, Christian sketched the quickest of bows. "Sire, I beg for a moment of your time," he said, trying despite his feeling of urgency to choose his words with care. "Do you think it wise to endanger yourself here, standing in the open as you are? We depend upon you as our leader, and should something happen to you…"
Erik grinned and remarked to his companion, "Well, Asgar, it seems we have one who is concerned for my life. You see the loyalty I inspire in my men—I told you we picked only the best of the best, did I not?" He turned to Christian. "Remove your helmet, soldier, so that I may see you and reassure you directly."
Christian lifted the helmet from his head, blowing out a breath of relief as the cool breeze caught him. It was incredibly hot under all that metal. "Your Majesty," he said.
Erik regarded him with an avuncular smile. "Tell me, soldier, do all the women cry when you leave your hometown to serve with me?" Christian wanted to roll his eyes, but he only half-smiled. Erik laughed and nudged Asgar. "Eyes off, you overgrown lout. The soldier is clearly of a mind for business only." To Christian he said cheerfully, "I keep him around because he so easily intimidates rowdy soldiers into doing my bidding, but he has a strange penchant for young men, and it baffles me. The comelier, the better. Ah, well, enough…"
"Agreed, sire," Christian said, sparing Asgar just one look. Sure enough, the big brute was studying him with intense interest. "I am wed more than three years, and very happy." Asgar let out a regretful sigh, and Christian smiled again, very faintly, and turned to Erik. "These Irishmen…pirates…I have heard they are ruthless, and care nothing for whom they deal with, only that they take away as much treasure as they can lay their hands on. They care not who dies in the process. To them, gold is worth more than any man's life, including that of a king. These pirates are only barbarians."
"You're so worried?" Erik said, grinning.
"For you, Majesty," Christian said. "It's noble that we defend our shores, but as our king, you take needless risks with your life."
"Ah, but I have Asgar!" Erik said merrily, giving the name's owner a friendly shove. "He has never failed to protect me. However, soldier, if you think I need extra shielding, you may stay at my side and fight for me and the honor of all Lilla Jordsö."
Christian stared at him for a moment, his stomach going into a steep dive. He could back off and risk being called coward, or he could stay here and put himself in the same danger Erik faced. He cleared his throat. "Sire…" he began.
Then Asgar spoke up. "He is wed, sire, you have heard him say it," he said, "and much as I regret hearing that, I think it the height of folly that a married man should volunteer to make his wife a widow and his children orphans. Back to your post, soldier, and fear not, either you or my liege, for I am enough protection to keep His Majesty safe."
Oh no you're not, Christian thought, but decided he might as well quit while he was ahead. There was no arguing with a man that size, and anyway, Leslie and Roarke had both said history was unchangeable. All he could say was, "Take all possible care, Your Majesty," and back away, waiting till he'd returned to his previous position before reluctantly putting the helmet back on.
They were almost close enough now to the Irish pirate ships to see individual faces. Christian scanned the nearest vessel, amazed at the boldness of the invaders; they wore chain mail without plate or helmets, and they were armed only with swords, bows and arrows. The lead ship was outfitted with a cannon about the size of their own, but it was the only one so armed. From up front he heard Erik and Asgar laughing, and rolled his eyes. Overconfidence had been the downfall of many a man, and even if he hadn't known how history was going to play out, he'd still have been able to predict the ending of this skirmish. All he could do was stand and watch helplessly, while the vessels drew within striking distance and Erik climbed atop a capstan, raising one arm high in the air.
"Hear me, you foreign invaders," he shouted, "and turn back now! These waters wash upon the shores of Lilla Jordsö, and we have a proud and fierce history of defending our sovereign kingdom from the likes of you! Note also that you face none other than the ruler himself, for I am King Erik, seventh of that name, sole ruler over all Lilla Jordsö!"
"Saints preserve us," Christian muttered. The man next to him gave him a startled look, then chuckled aloud. "My friend, is this the first time you witness His Majesty's personal defense of our shores?" he asked.
"It is that," Christian said sourly, "and it's also the last." Even as he spoke, the nearest Irish ship collided gently with the Royal Glory, and a man with hair as vividly red as King Erik's leaped from his ship to theirs, shouted something in Irish and advanced on Erik. Asgar drew his sword and slashed it down on the Irishman's; the latter man bellowed, forced Asgar's sword up and aside so that it flew out of his hand and over the side, and then snagged the king by his long purple robe and thrust his sword right through him. Christian swallowed back nausea at the sight of the sword's point underneath the robe's fabric, but he couldn't turn away despite himself. The crown, he thought suddenly, and lunged forward.
But the Irishman was just too quick. Christian had gotten no more than three or four steps ahead when Erik sagged to the deck, the huge crown slipping off his head and right into the waiting hands of the pirate. A roar went up at sight of this, and everyone around Christian pressed forward in an attempt to avenge their slain king.
The pirate saw them coming, laughed loudly and whipped around, taking off for safety at a wild run. Asgar gave chase, but the pirate was too quick even for him; and as Christian and all the others watched, he launched himself off the bow toward his own ship, which drifted nearby. Unfortunately for the pirate, though, the gap between his home vessel and the Royal Glory had rapidly widened in the time it had taken him to kill the king and seize the crown. The pirate himself realized this in mid-air, and his triumphant shout became a panicked screech as he fell into the choppy North Sea, easily several meters short of his goal. Christian groaned quietly. "The crown, the crown!" the cry went up around him.
Asgar's booming voice carried easily over every other sound in the area. "Seize that renegade when he returns to the surface!" he roared. "That murdering thief cannot be allowed to steal Lilla Jordsö's greatest treasure!"
Several soldiers gathered ropes and lined up along the side, waiting for the pirate to bob back above the water with crown in hand. Christian pushed forward, trying to get to Erik, trying to see what was happening—anything to keep from standing there and just letting events unfold while he gaped. He glanced down at Erik as he drew up alongside him and winced; Erik was obviously beyond all help, for the pirate had pierced his heart. He lay staring sightlessly into the sky with wide green eyes, his mouth open, an expression of sheer shock and disbelief on his face.
"Herregud, Erik," Christian muttered, kneeling for a moment beside him. "What on earth could you have been thinking?" He swallowed to brace himself, then reached out and drew Erik's eyelids closed before pushing himself back to his feet. Resolutely he erased the sight of the dead king from his mind and made his way to the rail, where he stared over the side. A few bubbles were breaking on the surface, but there was no sign of the pirate or the stolen crown. Christian shot a look back toward shore once again and estimated they must be some ten miles out, which would make the water too deep for recovery.
Asgar came up beside him. "Soldier, what of His Majesty?" he demanded. Even his whisper seemed like faraway thunder.
"He is dead," Christian replied bluntly. "If I were you, I'd give the order to attack now while all sides are still in shock." Both jordiska and Irish men were silent with amazement at the fact that the pirate had gone under—the jordisk side at the loss of king and crown, the Irish side unable to believe that their bold and fearless comrade had ultimately failed to win the booty he'd gone after.
Asgar wasted no time acknowledging this. "To battle!!" he bellowed, and instantly the jordiska soldiers raised arms and began firing. Men clustered around the cannons and prepared them for shooting; meantime, the pirates belatedly scrambled to defend themselves and put up their own fight. About to pull out his musket, Christian found himself held fast by Asgar. "No, not you. I refuse to allow you to widow your woman and leave your offspring fatherless." He smiled crookedly. "Besides, you're far too pretty to waste in battle. No, you'll tend to His Majesty, that we may bring him home for burial at the royal cemetery where he should properly rest."
Pretty? Christian thought incredulously, and nearly burst out laughing. Instead he gave a quick nod, then turned hastily away to hide his reaction. He caught a couple of other armored soldiers rushing to lend assistance and procured their help in lifting King Erik's body off the deck, toting it away to shelter in the captain's cabin. Just as he and his companions laid Erik on the bed, there came a deafening boom that shook the entire ship and almost knocked Christian off his feet. "What??"
"They fired the cannon," one of the other soldiers exclaimed excitedly. "Another one or two like that and those Irish demons will go to the bottom for certain!"
"And well they should, for their murder of our good king and the theft of our royal crown," the other snapped, sounding insulted.
"Off with your helmets," Christian ordered, and both soldiers obeyed him, recognizing the unconscious commanding tone in his voice. He sighed heavily when he saw them: both were quite young, probably still in their teens. "All right—remove His Majesty's robes, on the instant. They will be needed at the coronation. Then pull the blanket over His Majesty, so that no one else will see how he truly died."
The two young soldiers scrambled to obey him, and Christian took the robe and folded it with care, laying it aside. The ship rocked again with the firing of a cannon and he grabbed the bedstead to stay upright. The second youngster turned to Christian and said, "The deed is done, sir. We beg leave to go and fight for the honor of our murdered king and our country!"
"Go," said Christian wearily, and the two pounded out the door, leaving him alone with the king. He figured darkly that this might well be the last day in the lives of those two young pups as well, and shook his head. This whole venture had been fruitless; there was no hope of getting the crown back, not this far from shore. They'd come enough of a distance that land was only a thick grayish-green line along the horizon and revealed no distinguishing landmarks. Had they sailed northwest? Southwest? Due west? There was no telling. Christian had never really been a sailor and knew little, if anything, about navigating a ship. He'd come out here and watched Erik waste his life, watched Lilla Jordsö's first royal crown vanish forever, only to realize that he had little, if any, information to add to what was already known. Once again the ship rocked beneath him as a cannon expelled another ball, and he was caught off guard, stumbling against the wall.
"Oh, there you are, my love," said a welcome, familiar voice, and he yanked off his helmet and whipped around. Leslie stood there smiling at him, and he smiled readily back in relief. Her eyes widened. "Are you okay?"
"I saw more than I quite bargained for, I'm afraid," Christian admitted, crossing the cabin and peering out a window. What he saw made him exclaim in jordiska. "Leslie, my darling, come and see this, quickly. This somehow evaded the history books!"
Leslie drew up beside him and giggled. "Wow, they sure succeeded in avenging Erik, I'd say!" Not just one, but three members of the Irish pirate fleet were sinking rapidly enough to watch, including the vessel that had carried the pirate who'd stolen the crown.
Christian grinned with satisfaction. "Serves them right." He let the heavy brocade drape fall back over the window and turned to regard the shrouded form in the bed. "Well, whatever folly Erik perpetuated in his lifetime, one thing can be said for him—he certainly inspired loyalty. I was given to understand that my grandfather, Lukas VI, was very popular, but I have to wonder if even he could have spurred his troops on to sink three enemy ships in quick succession."
Leslie smiled and remarked, "Maybe Erik wasn't quite such a loser after all."
"Perhaps not," Christian said reflectively. He sighed gently and returned her smile. "Well, at any rate, I'm ready. Shall we?"