Free Lionheart's Scribe by Karleen Bradford Page B

and spitting up seawater, with the boy collapsed on the deck beside me, that I could see him clearly. Long black hair clung wetly to his body, all the way to his waist. He was not wearing men’s clothing, but was clad in a soaking wet gown. He was small and thin, and there was no mistaking one thing. He was not a boy. He was a girl!
    Later …
    I had to stop writing as the king called me to tally the goods that we managed to salvage from the Muslim ship. He is certainly a great one for listing his prizes as soon as he gets them!
    To continue …
    I stood there, staring stupidly at the girl, while the sailors crowded around, laughing.
    â€œA maid!” one cried. “We’ve been given the gift of a maid from the sea!”
    â€œDoes she live?” another one asked. He gave the girl’s body a jab with his toe. At that she stirred, but her eyes remained closed. Strands of black hair fell wetly across her face.
    I started forward. I had no idea what I could do, but I knew I had to do something.
    Just at that moment a voice rang out.
    â€œStand back. Leave that child alone!”
    To my surprise Queen Joanna strode forward to stand beside the girl. She and Queen Berengaria sail with the king now, for greater safety, I suppose. The queen looked around and her gaze fastened upon me.
    â€œYou, Matthew. Pick up this girl and follow me.”
    â€œYes, Your Grace,” I stuttered.
    She turned and sailed through the men back to her cabin.
    I bent toward the girl.
    One of the sailors jostled me. He laughed and made a crude gesture. “We’ll carry her for you, gimp foot,” he said with a nasty chortle. “Won’t we, mates?”
    This particular sailor, whose name is Hugh, has ridiculed me ever since I joined this ship. I ignored him, but the men behind him laughed as well and I did not like the sound of it at all. I know these men, and I know full well what would be the fate of a helpless maid in their hands.
    â€œThe queen gave an order,” I shot back. “It must be obeyed.”
    â€œAnd
you
are the one to do it, gimp foot?” Hugh guffawed. “I wager you couldn’t carry a
cat
across this deck with that devil-begotten foot.”
    That was enough. I gave him as good a glare as I could muster, then bent to pick up the girl.
    I couldn’t help staggering, even though her body felt as light as my little goat’s had. Then I got a better grip on her and slung her over one shoulder. It wasn’t very dignified, but it was the only way I could manage. As I did so, she coughed again and agreat flood of water streamed down my back. I was so wet it did not matter.
    I steadied myself against the gentle rolling of the boat and tried to ignore the sailors who were now laughing uproariously. I made my way after the queen. I stumbled several times and almost dropped the girl twice, but managed to grab onto something each time and regain my balance. My foot pained me to the point where I felt I was walking on knives, but I clamped my teeth tight shut and carried on. I knew I could do this if I wanted to badly enough, and I did. It may have been just an oversight, but the queen obviously does not think of me as a cripple. She may well be the first person in the world who does not.
    Finally I reached the queen’s cabin. She stood waiting for me, holding the door open.
    â€œPut her down there,” she ordered, gesturing to a pile of silken pillows.
    â€œBut she is soaking wet, Your Grace,” I protested, “and coughing up filthy water.”
    â€œDo as you are told, Matthew,” she said sternly.
    I hastened to obey.
    â€œNow, leave and send my maidservants to me. I will take care of her. The poor child is half-drowned,” she added. As she spoke Queen Joanna knelt beside the girl and began to massage her hands. The girl whimpered again. Her eyes opened. She tried to draw back, but the queen held on to her.
    Obviously this queen is used to