ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER FORTY

Within minutes the Raven's boat picked up Dominic, Rodrigo and Geoffrey. The boat skimmed through the dark writhing waters to their ship.

Behind them, the pinnace crews had managed to deflect two of the fire ships, but then the preloaded guns began to go off. The men on the pinnaces screamed in terror as the white-hot shot splattered them. Then the screen of pinnaces pulled back, and the hell-burners went straight for the anchorage. The shouts and inhuman cries of horror from the Spaniards told the departing crew of the Thomas that the terrible weapon had done its work well.

The huge galleons scattered over a wide area, as the fire ships collided with several of their numbers. The ensuing explosions sent blazing detachments of flesh and blood and bone screaming into the night sky. Ships were run aground, and shrieks of men could be heard far into the night. The silvered moon, blackened by the clouds of pitch smoke and seething human flesh, cast its sallow light, as the horror waned, on the "invincible" Armada running before the wind. As the dawn impressed itself on the horror-filled night, the fleet had been dispersed, never again to regain its close crescent formation.

Against a southerly wind, the Spanish fleet was driven north away from the shore and away from its allies. The smaller, more agile English ships navigated the roaring waters of the North Sea, while the great hulking Spanish ships disintegrated in the towering storm-tossed ocean.

As the final day of the battle closed, a blazing sunset ripped across the sky. The frenzied sounds of the crashing ships and roaring guns became more and more intermittent, and the waters fumed and simmered in a flaming twilight. Throughout the night as the smoke and dust of battle dissipated, men cried out pitifully, their tortured bodies charred and their horror-filled minds still locked in the heat of battle.

Dominic Warbrooke made his nightly rounds with the young ship's doctor who had replaced Ben. He shouldered his way from one terror-ridden seaman to the next. His own wounds were minor, he had decided, in light of the suffering that he saw on the decks of his embattled Raven. The young doctor had attempted to wrap Dominic's cuts, but he had tersely ordered that his men be tended before him. Then he had charged off to tend to another of his injured crewmen.

Finally, Lord Howard had called off the pursuit of the Spanish in the North Sea on August 12. He had no choice for the English provisions were exhausted. It was not immediately apparent who had won.

In the captain's cabin of the Raven, a single candle cast an eerie yellow light as rain-filled darkness settled over the scene battle. Dominic sat for many hours, reliving the events of the past two weeks. He counted himself fortunate, for he had lost no men. The entire English fleet had, in fact, lost only one-hundred men in action while the Spaniards had lost over ten thousand. At last the long-awaited attack of the Armada had come and gone, Dominic reflected.

"There will he no further fighting," said Terrence Warbrooke as he moved quietly into the cabin. He slumped into a low chair.

Dominic's head came up, and he eyed his father keenly. "Know you for certain that the battle has been won?" he inquired.

His father nodded. "It has," he replied without emotion. "The might of England has won the day." The older man allowed himself a small smile. "Did I say 'won'?" He shook his head sadly. "We have driven off the mightiest fleet that ever sailed the seas, Dominic." Both men were silent for a long moment. "Now we leave it to the winds and the weather to finally destroy it." He took a harsh breath.

"When I see the waste of human lives, the depth of human suffering, I am convinced that there can be no victor in battle. We have lost over ten-thousand men in this contest-both English and Spanish. Can the human race afford such a loss? I am as patriotic as the next man, Dominic," he said with a hardness in his voice that both surprised Dominic and filled him with admiration for his gentle father, "but when I see this destruction, I am filled with anger against the governments that force us to this savagery toward our fellow man. I pray to G-d, I do not live to see another such battle."

Dominic nodded wearily. "I am ever ready to fight to the death against bullies and tyrants, Father, and I will fight again if my country asks it, but I would rather fight twelve Turks, hand to hand, than wreak destruction on a nameless sailor."

The two men sat in silence in the flickering light for a long time. They were roused only when the young ship's doctor came to finally dress the wounds of the bravest man he had ever met.

First the haze was purple, and then the purple turned to blue, the blue to pink and then to yellow as Maurette lifted her eyelids. She now saw the two presences that she had sensed. Lady Violet sat at her bedside, and next to her stood the formidable Edyth. Maurette tried to speak a welcome to her grandmother but found that her tongue was thickened and no sound would emerge.

"Missed you," she finally managed in a small whisper. A wet cloth was pressed to her face, and a smooth silver cup was placed between her lips. Maurette raised her head, she was too weak to hold it up. Lady Violet instantly reached to cradle the back of Maurette's head in her delicate hand, and Edyth whisked the cup from the attending woman to offer it herself to the weakened Maurette. After she had taken a few sips, she lay back on the pillow.

Maurette had felt the first gentle stirrings that morning, and now it was late into the night. The babe bumped and prowled within her body. At Edyth's insistence, the birth would be accomplished in the new fashion imported from the French. Maurette would lie in the new fashion imported from the French. Maurette would lie abed in a horizontal position, and no birthing chair would be used in the final stage. Maurette had-been relieved at the news, for it sounded monstrous.

A woman was strapped in the chair by attendants, and it was jogged up and down in the hope of shaking the babe from the womb. A hole in the seat of the chair provided passage for the babe. Many women had suffered the agony of the birthing chair and had been damaged as much by its use as by the birth itself.

Ben moved silently into the room. "I have news," he whispered to Lady Violet and Edyth. "Dominic is on his way."

Maurette lifted her heavy eyelids. "Dominic," she said softly. "Oh, please," she breathed, "let him get here in time." Ben and the women smiled gently.

"He will get here in time," said Lady Violet. "And I have arranged with Elizabeth for one of her bishops to attend you when he does." She turned to Edyth. "You had better send for him now," she said.

Maurette's frail body was sheened with perspiration. Her hair clung to her neck and shoulders despite the efforts of the attending women to keep it swept to the top of her head. She flushed beneath the covers with the arrival of each new pain. Ben moved to her side, and she smiled up at him. In the next moment, however, she sank into a sob-racked darkness.

She heard the decisive scrape of a man's boot, then felt a cool dry hand on her brow. Images of Dominic's bronzed face floated before her. She felt a tender breath upon her cheek; "I am here," it intoned. "I am here." She felt instantly secure and reached out to that whom she trusted above all others.

Just then, a pain-blackened mist enveloped her, and she cried out between parched lips. A strong presence supported her even as a terrible pushing pressure ripped at her. In her agony, she lifted her eyelids to see an unfamiliar face and form. A tall prelate in colorful vestments moved his lips. Sounds she did not recognize emanated from his stolid form.

Ben appeared at the end of her bed. Maurette felt herself sinking, sinking into a pain-fused oblivion She felt an ebon tide of searing flesh. Tearing, rending, shattering black pain was all. Her eyes opened wide once, and the images around her conjoined with one last stabbing, lacerating convulsion.

In that instant, a silken mist enfolded her. Like the petals of a white flower, it held her and lifted her from the pits of a hellish agony to the lofty heights of serenity. She heard a babe cry out, and then she heard nothing.

Blissfully, Maurette breathed in the aroma of sausages and freshly baked bread. "Lady Warbrooke," said the soft voice. "Are you awake?" Lady Warbrooke? That name sounded so familiar. Maurette knew someone by that name. Who was it? The bed hanging stirred gently, and Maurette slowly opened her eyes. 'Tis me-Kitty," said the smiling girl. "I have brought your breakfast." Maurette smiled back.

"Tell me of the babe, Kit." Maurette whispered.

"He is wonderful. You shall see him for yourself very soon."

"He?"

Kitty nodded brightly. "He is being shown off by his Father."

Maurette felt a flood of warmth course through her. "Dominic is here? Did he see the babe born?"

Again Kitty nodded vigorously. "Do you remember nothing?"

Maurette shook her head then she halted mid-thought. "Did you address me as Lady Warbrooke?"

"I did," said Kitty gently. She turned and retrieved Maurette's breakfast tray. Setting it down on the bed next to her mistress, she said " 'Twill be your title from now on." She giggled. "The bishop sent by Her Majesty and he made it just in time."

Maurette pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes were wide in wonderment. "We are wed?"

"You are," stated Kitty. "Everyone was here. Geoffrey and Doctor Termain and your grandmother and Edyth and my father and your father-in-law. Even Jonathan came in with a tray of wedding cakes."

"It must have been a lovely wedding," said Maurette with a wry smile.

"The loveliest I have ever seen," said a male voice behind Kitty. The girl turned, and pulled the bed hanging aside, she allowed Maurette a view of her tall husband. In his arms he carried their babe. The small wrapped thing looked so tiny against his broad chest. Maurette held out her arms, and he advanced and laid the child in her arms. Kitty withdrew softly.

Maurette drew the cloth from the tiny body that she held. His arms and legs unburdened, he began to stretch and beat his hands gently at the air. His little face turned immediately to his mother's breast, and almost before she could bare herself, he began to suckle. Dominic joined them, sitting on the edge of the bed. He moved aside the breakfast tray so that he could be near the two beings he loved best in all the world.

Maurette gazed into his eyes, and her own were liquid lavender. "We are wed," she whispered.

"Yes," Dominic reverently. "I did not have time to request your hand in a formal manner, my lady, and so I took the initiative."

"I am glad you did, my lord."

"But now, methinks, 'tis time the formal request be made." He took her hand in his. "Will you do me the honor, Maurette, of becoming my bride?"

"The honor will be mine, Dominic," she replied softly.

Dominic Warbrooke bowed his and pressed her small white hand to his rough cheek. "Thank you with all my heart," he said. Then he looked up into Maurette's eyes, which were a-shimmer with love and warmth. "I have had a thought on the babe's name. May I tell you what it is?" Maurette nodded, encouraging him to go on. "I have thought that we might name him ... Alex."

Maurette smiled deeply and closed her eyes, imagining her father's reaction when he heard that news. "Papa will like that," she said softly.

Dominic laid a big hand on the babe, and it squirmed comfortably beneath his touch. "Look what we have made, madam," he said in wonder. "Alexander Warbrooke." He allowed a smile to settle over his bronzed features. "We must be ever watchful that he does not grow up to be like his father."

Maurette smiled, too. "He shall be exactly like his father," she stated. "Perhaps he shall be of a less mercurial nature," she demurred, "and perhaps less complex where affairs of the heart are concerned, and perhaps he will be of a more peaceful temperament -"

"But he will be exactly like his father," Dominic said with a deep laugh.

"Of course he will," said Maurette with a soft laugh of her own. "I would not have him any other way."

"Oh Maurette, my little one, I will love forever."

THE END

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