When Christ and His Saints Slept Read Online Free PDF Page B

passengers careening into one another, slamming into the casks and treasure chests, into the struggling oarsmen. Thomas Fitz Stephen managed to regain his footing, skidded across the slanting deck. He already knew what had happened. It had all come together for him with horrific clarity in the span of seconds—the tide dropping, the reef that men called Chaterase lurking just beneath the surface, his tipsy oarsmen straining for speed. An ashen-faced sailor lurched against him, clutching at his arm. “We hit a rock and staved in the port side!”
    Fitz Stephen swung about, shouting at the stunned helmsman, “Up on the helm!” The ship shifted again, provoking more screams. He had to clamber over prostrate, thrashing bodies to reach the port side. “Fetch boat hooks! Mayhap we can push her off!”
    He thought he’d been braced for the worst. But he hadn’t, not for the sight of that gaping hole in the hull, his ship’s death wound. As his crew pushed against the rock with boat hooks and oars, he stood frozen for a moment. Then he pulled himself together, for there was a trust still to be honoured, one last duty to perform. Grabbing one of his sailors, he gave the man a terse, urgent order, then searched among the frightened passengers for the captain of William’s guard. “Get your lord over to the starboard side. We’re going to launch the spare boat, and it must be done quick—whilst the passengers still think themselves safer aboard ship.”
    The man gaped at him. “Jesú, is it as bad as that?”
    The ship’s master gave him a hard, quailing stare. “You’re less than two miles from Barfleur, close enough to make it safe to shore. But go now. You understand? Save the king’s son.”
    William had never experienced a nightmare so vivid, so intense, so endless. Groggy, dazed, and disoriented, he found himself scrabbling about in darkness, entangled in suffocating folds of collapsed canvas. Then hands were reaching for him, pulling him free. His head spinning, his stomach heaving, he decided he must still be dreaming, for now he was being roughly pushed and shoved, his ears filled with screams and curses. He stumbled and fell forward into a boat; at least he thought it was a boat. Trying to recover his balance, he cracked his head and slumped back, groaning, wanting only to wake up.
    Opening his eyes, he gasped as a spray of stinging salt water doused him in the face. He struggled to sit up, and voices at once entreated him to “Keep still, my lord, lest you tip the boat!” And as he looked about him, William sobered up in the time it took to draw icy sea air into his constricted lungs, for he was adrift in a pitching open boat in the middle of a black, surging sea.
    “What happened?”
    “The White Ship…she is sinking, my lord!”
    “That cannot be!” William twisted around to look, causing the boat to rock from side to side. “Christ Jesus…” For it was indeed so. The White Ship was listing badly, and he could hear the despairing wails of its doomed passengers. Mahault, Richard, Lucia, all his friends, his father’s steward. “We’ve got to help them, cannot let them drown!”
    The men continued to row, and to bail, for water was sloshing about in the bottom of the boat. “They’ll be in no danger, my lord, once they get off the rock. This was but a safeguard, for you are the king’s only lawfully begotten son and your life is precious to the Almighty.”
    William so wanted to believe him. But it was then that he thought he heard a woman’s voice, high-pitched and shrill with fear. “Will, do not leave me to drown!”
    “My sister! We must go back for her!”
    “My lord, we dare not! We cannot put your life at risk!”
    William was deaf to their pleading, to all but Mahault’s cry of terror. “I am to be your king and I command you! Obey me or I’ll have the lot of you hanged, I swear it!”
    They were appalled by the order, but obedience had been bred and beaten into them from the