Gonnes of navarre, p.1
Gonnes Of Navarre, page 1
THE ADVENTURES OF ELSABETH SOESTEN
NO GOOD DEED...
BAIT AND SWITCH
PRIZE PLAY
GONNES OF NAVARRE
FORTHCOMING
THE CONFESSION AT GODRA
This is a work of fiction. Some characters, settings, and events have been inspired by historical record, but any direct depiction of historical events and individuals both living and dead is unintentional.
The Adventures of Elsabeth Soesten: Gonnes Of Navarre
Copyright © 2023 by D. E. Wyatt
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the express written consent of the author, barring excerpts intended for critical review.
Copyediting by Debbie Manber Kupfer
Cover Art by Rebecca Frank, Bewitching Book Covers, LLC (bewitchingbookcovers.com)
Heraldry image resources sourced from HeraldicArt.org
Thanks to Lori and Corey Cole, for sparking my interest in fantasy through five adventures in Gloriana.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
A number of terms contained within this work may be unfamiliar to you, the reader. As such, I have provided a glossary at the end of the book for your convenience, along with a quick guide on how to read the blazons for the coats of arms described herein.
1
Bugger!”
Elsabeth raised her head above the seat of her wain and gazed at the black-shafted bolt stuck quivering in the back of the bench. Had she not thrown herself over and into the bed when she did, it would assuredly have passed neatly through her belly. She twisted her lip in irritation, snatched her hat from beside her, and returned it to her head. Then she turned her attention to the six men barring the road in front of her.
They were a ramshackle lot, dressed all in homespun doublets and hose that had seen better days. Once, perhaps, their cloth might have been diverse and brightly colored, but sun and weather left them all now the same dingy shade of brown beneath their ragged coats. Their features matched their dress; tanned and cracked by the elements, assuming they had ever been lovely at all. Shaggy hair hung round their shoulders, and unkempt growths of beard warmed their faces against the chill of winter. They gripped spears and cudgels in rough hands, and their leader casually slipped his foot into the stirrup of his crossbow and spanned the bow. The sharp click of the nut locking into place echoed ominously across the road.
“’Twas a warning shot, my lovely,” he called across the space between them. His Boehman was rough and uncultured, and touched by a hint of Navarrese as was common among the local dialects along the border regions.
His voice broke the peaceful stillness of the flat, snow-swept fields stretching for miles in all directions. Only here, where the road dipped into a small wooded grove, was there a place where an enterprising sort might set such an ambush, and Elsabeth chided herself for having driven right into it unprepared. Had she been alone upon Felis she might have spurred her forward and ridden them down before they could bring arms to bear. Unfortunately, the old draft horse hitched to her wagon was not up to the task, nor did she trust the wheels not to come apart when they struck the roadblock spanning the way ahead.
“Some bloody warning!” she called back. Elsabeth stayed low, peering over the seat from the back of the wagon, scarcely showing more than the low crown of her hat for him to shoot at. “Had you been a little faster on the draw we likely would not be having this conversation now.”
“Well, would that not have been a pity,” he said with a laugh. “But ’tis what you get for not slowing down as you were asked, to pay our toll.”
“’Twas a bit high for my liking, I don’t think you can fault me that.”
The leader of the group casually fitted another bolt onto his crossbow and leveled it towards her wagon. Elsabeth hunkered down and peered between the slats of her bench.
“Well, it has not changed in the last few minutes. Toss down that lovely bit of steel you have at your side, raise your hands, and step down. We’ll be having that cart and your goodies. You can go your way after that if you play nicely.”
“Ordinarily, love, I might find it hard to refuse such a polite request, but I am afraid the cart and its wares are not mine to hand over, and hardly anything you might find of value leastwise. Just a few meager odds and ends for the poor souls in Pruck’s monastery up the road for the holiday, as a good turn for the Lord.”
“Oh I doubt that. I wager there is food and blankets, and a few baubles worth a bit of coin. Along with whatever you might be carrying on your own person.” His voice took on a harder edge. “And I am beginning to lose my patience. Lads!”
Four of the men started forward, and Elsabeth muttered a curse under her breath. They advanced in a disorderly fashion, neither supporting the other, and under normal circumstances Elsabeth had no doubts she could put the wagon between her and one pair while dispatching the other two.
That crossbow makes all the difference; I can’t risk exposing myself, as I doubt my doublet can stop a bolt even at this range. And this fellow is a good enough shot I would rather not take my chances on him missing. He likely poaches fowl on the wing in fairer months.
She considered her cargo for a moment. There were barrels of flour and barley, a good-sized goose huddling quietly in a cage covered by a blanket, and baskets of dried fruits and vegetables left over from harvest and laid aside for the winter months. Bundles of spare clothes — none by any means large enough to fit her assailants — and blankets were piled among a few other packages and parcels sealed against the weather. All lay under a heavy canvas tarp, which she tore free during her mad scramble into the box when the leader of the brigands first raised his crossbow. Unfortunately, there was nothing at hand she might use as a suitable shield.
“Come now, love,” she said. Elsabeth pressed her back against the bench and thumped her head against it at the plan taking shape. ’Twill be a desperate gamble, but I don’t have much choice. “Surely you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.”
“You have heard my terms.”
“But you have not heard my counter-offer!”
“Well, let us have it, then,” he said.
Elsabeth craned her neck enough to peer around the bench behind her. The men advancing on the wagon paused, but their leader kept his crossbow aimed squarely at it. The last of the group, a rather big and brutish man who likely stood at least a head taller than her, flanked him with arms the size of tree trunks folded across his chest. He alone showed any sort of weapon more complex than a spear or cudgel; a heavy iron mace hanging from his belt.
“For a start, I don’t think you have considered just how useful I could be to your outfit. You won’t find a finer sword-arm in this part of Boehm.”
He laughed sharply, little more than a dismissive bark that echoed across the glade. The others all broke out into laughter along with him, and Elsabeth’s face heated indignantly.
“A woman? I think you have been out in the cold too long!”
Elsabeth screwed her lip into a scowl. “Set aside your toy, love, and you can see it for yourself.”
“I think not. Besides, even if I might consider it despite your sex, ’twould still be an extra share to divvy up, and pickings are slim as it is.”
“Well, I assure you that you shan’t find pickings like me. Use a bit of imagination, love! I am sure you can think of more pleasant things to stick me with than a quarrel in the belly.”
Contemplative silence hung over the little grove, disturbed only by the soft hiss of the wind, and the faint creaking of naked branches swaying. A few small flurries drifted aimlessly down from the slate sky overhead.
“Well?” she prompted, when no answer was forthcoming.
“Don’t you know anything about husbandry? You don’t take on a brood-mare without a chance to inspect the goods first.” he said.
Well, now I have him thinking with the wrong head. That ought to have him off his guard.
Elsabeth unbuttoned her coat and unfastened her doublet. The winter chill blasted right through her, and raised her finer hairs on end. She turned round in the wagon to face her assailants, and in one smooth motion she popped up above the bench that was her only cover and pulled down on her blouse. The men howled their approval when she flashed her breasts for just a moment, then dropped back out of sight into the box. Elsabeth shivered — from disgust as much as the cold — and covered herself once more.
“You make a compelling offer,” he said. The rest of his men all voiced their agreement, and Elsabeth curled her lip into a twisted smile.
Oh, this just got too easy.
“There is, of course, one small thing,” she said. “I am still a woman of some respectability, you know, and not a common bawd to be passed round.”
“Of course you are, and I can’t imagine a man wanting to share you, either. So, I take it we let you pass, and you come with me.”
“That is the offer on the table, as it were.”
“And how do I know ’tis not just some scam to save your own neck, and you intend to make good on it?”
Elsabeth shrugged, though the other could not see the gesture. “The roads are dangerous this time of year, you know. A stout man doing a good deed by escorting this delivery would not be unwelcome.”
Another moment of thoughtful silence passed, and that started grumbling among the others when the prospect of a windfall from the wagon seemed to evaporate before them.
“And what about us?” one said. “We don’t get a si
“I sure did not sign up for the benefit of another man’s cock,” said another.
“I can’t believe you would even consider it!” came a third voice. “There are six of us and one of her; ’twould be a small matter to have a share of all the goods, if you mark my meaning.”
“Oh, there are six of you,” Elsabeth said, and quietly slipped her sword from it scabbard. The cold air frosted on the four and a half spans of naked Boehman steel. “I have no doubt should you all come at me I would be overwhelmed. But! How many of you will die before that should happen? And what if in the chaos some unfortunate stroke should fall and stove my head in? Then you would not have me at all?” She chuckled. “Well, at least you would have yourselves for company.”
“Quiet, all of you!” the leader snapped, “I am the leader of this outfit, and I’ll not tolerate any such arguments!”
But the others were now pensive.
“Of course,” Elsabeth said, in her most off-handed manner, “I am flexible and agreeable to other terms, and an enterprising sort might find an opportunity to negotiate for himself.”
The leader of the band let out a laugh. “So that is your game, is it? Well, my lovely, it won’t work. Enough of this: Take her!”
But contrary to his assertions, the grumbling amongst his band only grew louder. Prospects round these parts must be slim indeed if all it takes to stir up this sort of mutiny is the brief glimpse of an admittedly exceptional pair of tits.
“And if we do, how do we know that you intend to make good on your part to us?” one of the men growled at his master.
Elsabeth leaned around the bench. In spite of his orders, the men who were advancing on the wagon now started back towards their leader. He shrunk behind his big guard, but they were not cowed by the mountain of muscle standing between them and the subject of their ire.
“For that matter, how do you know he has not been holding out on you all along?” Elsabeth said. “I suppose he does all the counting for you.”
“That is quite enough out of you!” he spat, and raised his crossbow at the wagon once more. But he could not get a clean shot at her hunkered down in the bed, and not even the crown of her hat peeped above the bench to offer him a suitable mark.
“I think she brings up a fair point,” one of the four said, his voice thick with accusation. “Remember that job two weeks ago? I thought my share looked scant, but I said nothing! I wonder now if you have been holding back on us after all.”
“He certainly laid claim to the finest things from the loot,” said another, and he tightened his grip on his cudgel.
“Because I am the only one with a bloody brain between us!” the leader snapped.
Elsabeth tsked. “Well, that is hardly a show of respect for you all. I wager you lot do all the fighting for him, too.”
“And he stands back with his bow safe, while we do all the wet-work!”
“I warn you all, get back and get to it, or ’twill be Cunlin knocking your heads together!”
The big fellow at the leader’s side uncrossed his arms and made a show of rubbing one meaty fist. But if the others had been cowed by the big man in the past, now the threat only riled them further, and they snatched up their spears and cudgels against him.
“’Tis always how it is with you, Wendel: Do this, do that, I’ll have that, don’t make me set Cunlin on you! Well, I for one have had my fill of i—”
One of the men started forward with leveled spear as he spoke. The twang of the crossbow cut his protestation short, and he fell to the snow clutching at the black shaft of the quarrel buried so deeply through his throat the squared head jutted out the back of his neck. Blood sprayed in a brilliant crimson arc as he spun into the ground, and spurted between his fingers. He writhed and thrashed in the snow, choking and gagging around the bolt.
“Endres!” Another cried, crouching momentarily at his fallen comrade’s side.
Wendel backpedaled in a mad scramble with Cunlin between him and the others, desperate to gain enough ground to reload his bow. An angry cry went up, and chaos erupted. Cunlin whipped his mace from his belt in a futile bid to fend them off, and went down after being set upon from all angles. His size availed him little against the spear that slipped past his arms and pierced his belly, while the other two fell on him with their cudgels.
Elsabeth spared no time watching how the battle would unfold. She seized hold of the rail and vaulted from the cover of the wagon bed. The snow covering the road was well-packed, and she easily maintained her footing on her rush across the ground.
She flew past Endres, who now lay still in a pool of red slush with his mouth gaping. She leapt the prostrate form of Cunlin, writhing in agony with the broken haft of a spear buried in his belly, and bleeding profusely from many wounds in his head and face. Another of the outlaws lay sprawled beside him and clutched the other half of the spear in a death grip. His head had been crushed by Cunlin’s mace; his reward for the fatal blow he had struck against the big enforcer.
Steel rang, and Elsabeth fixed her eyes on the end of the fight between Wendel and his two remaining companions. He discarded his crossbow and went to work against them with a longsword he had concealed beneath his coat. He dispatched his first opponent in deft fashion, then turned to face the last of his erstwhile comrades. But Elsabeth was upon them both before they could conclude their argument.
She ducked low, put her shoulder into the back of the latter, and upended and hurled him behind her. He cried out and landed with a muffled whump in the snow. Then she took her sword in both hands, vaulted to the side, and met Wendel with the zornhau when he leveled a wild and desperate blow at her shoulder. Her sword rang as her blade caught his, and at the moment their blades crossed she thrust stiffly towards his face from below. The awl-like point pierced his throat where it met the underside of his jaw, and he gurgled sickeningly. His sword fell from his hands, and his legs collapsed beneath him. Elsabeth continued past, turning her sword in her hands and allowing him to fall off her point.
Her lungs burned from the exertion and the frigid air. She checked her advance and turned, sliding a bit in the snow as her momentum carried her forward a few paces more. By now the last of the outlaws was scrambling to his feet again, and his eyes flicked between the reddened blade of her sword, and Wendel choking on his blood at her feet. More hot blood pooled in the snow and painted its white surface with angry red splotches.
Elsabeth raised her hilts to her shoulder in vom tag and prepared for another exchange, but her adversary blanched and threw down his spear. He slipped and fell in the snow in his mad scramble away from her.
“Mercy!” he cried, and cowered.
Elsabeth did not let down her guard, but she did not level her sword for the fatal strike he expected. “Well now, our situations seem to have reversed, have they not?”
The fellow looked up at her from between his arms. “’Twas Wendel, Gnädige Frau! He put us up to it all.”
“Of course he did, love. Well, Wendel is not in a position to put you up to anything else, now, is he?”
“No, Gnädige Frau.” His features turned pensive as he looked up at her standing over him. “You...ah...would not still be amenable to making an offer, would you?”
Elsabeth rolled her eyes. “Oh, just get the fuck out of here.”
He slipped and fell face-first into the snow in his effort to scramble away, while fine powder flew into the air in a white mist. He eventually got his feet beneath him again, and flew like a frightened hare across the drifts, falling at times as his speed got the better of his footing.
Elsabeth watched him go, her lips curled slightly in amusement, until he was safely away and unlikely to return to harass her again. Then she wiped her sword clean on Wendel’s coat, and went about gathering up anything of value her erstwhile assailants left behind.
2
Elsabeth looked out at the sea of faces gazing up at her from the floor. Her audience sat enraptured by the tale, and hung on her every word. All were boys of diverse ages, the youngest having seen no more than three or so winters, the eldest no more than thirteen. They dressed plainly. Not in rags, but in well-worn garments donated by those who no longer needed them, and sought a more charitable end for their use than to simply toss them out into the rubbish or use them for cleaning.
