CHAPTER VI

 

The Year 1119

The Harbor of Barfleur, Normandy

 

The coastal town of Barfleur with its crescent-shaped harbor lay at the head of the Seine estuary across the British Sea from England. Thomas knew of no more exciting place than the busy port with its Norman longboats, fishing boats and flat bottomed barges that carried cargo all the way up the meandering river to Paris.

For as long as he could remember, Thomas’ family made their home in Barfleur in order to take full advantage of the shipbuilding season. His father, Airard, was renowned for his Norman boats, built in the style of the old Viking longboats. Airard’s famous ship, the Mora, still sailed proudly in the king’s fleet. The son of William the Conqueror, King Henry himself, would sail on no other.

Thomas’ family spent the winters at their English estates. But England’s air never filled his head with dreams like the air in Barfleur. He loved Normandy and the sea the best of all. He loved the granite quayside and the charming granite buildings of the village. He loved the way the fishing boats rocked like cradles in the Bay of the Seine.

When he was a child, Thomas’ father taught him about the solitary seagulls and the golden plovers, which flew in groups in the shape of a V. Plovers could fly very fast, turning and twisting, diving headlong all together, landing with a final swoop and flicker of their sharply pointed under wings which gave them complete mastery of the air.

From his home high on the hill above the harbor, Thomas could see the wild rocky cliffs where the sea met the land in bursts of foam. When he was a boy he used to sit on the hilltop with his friends, Martin and Wandrille, watching the tide roll onto the land in great waves. Wandrille used to say the waves were King Neptune’s horses galloping out of the sea.

Today the sea reflected light in a moving prism of jade and indigo glittering in the sun, whispering the secrets of the deep. Myriad sea birds wheeled and cawed above the surf. The alabaster coast stretched as far as he could see, its white cliffs changing color with every moment.

Along the horizon a square sail came into view. Thomas remembered his father saying, “There are two things on earth that nothing else can rival for beauty, son, a woman and a double ended ship.”

When Thomas’ father built the Mora, he improved on the old Viking ships by replacing her lashed ribs with nails and her keel plank with a true keel. Her stern was as high as her bow. Her prow was a golden boy with a bow and arrow, and his arrow was aimed always toward the ship’s destination. The Mora was so fast she beat all the other boats in William the Conqueror’s fleet to the shores of England.

A blue streak darted across Thomas’ vision and landed on a branch in front of him. The bird had feathers the color of the sea at dusk and a rusty belly. A bright black eye peeked out from a rusty mask on a fuzzy blue speckled head with a long pointed beak.

“A halcyon,” Thomas murmured. The kingfisher was sacred to mariners. Suddenly the bird took off like an indistinct gleam of bluish light which in a flash was gone.

Thomas recalled his father’s words. “The kingfisher was the second bird Noah sent from the ark to look for land. She flew too high and scorched her breast on the sun. That is why her back is blue and her breast feathers are rust. That little bird builds floating nests. Wherever those nests drift in the wind as they float on the water, the sea remains calm. If you hold a dead kingfisher by the throat, it will turn its beak toward the place from whence the wind blows. Keep a dead kingfisher on your ship at all times, and do not worry about its body drying out, because the dried body of a halcyon will keep away thunderbolts, so you will never be struck by lightning when you are on the sea.”

Thomas had a busy season before him. He had to negotiate with the lord forester for his trees, hire men to build his ship, and complete her construction before the king and his court sailed back to winter in England.

A man and woman were walking up the path from the harbor. Something in the way they moved seemed familiar. The woman saw Thomas, waved, and ran toward him crying out his name.

Thomas jumped to his feet. “Wandrille? Wandrille and Martin!” He ran down to meet them, catching Wandrille in his arms and swinging her around, then turning to hug his dear friend Martin. “How did you know I was here?”

“We took a chance,” Martin said, “I know how you like to sail in with the first winds of spring. How are you, my friend?”

“Stouter, as you can see. I am well now that I am here with you again. By Neptune’s chargers, how you have both changed.” He took Wandrille’s hand. “Look at you. You are nearly a woman.”

Wandrille pouted, raising her chin proudly. “Not nearly, Thomas. I am a woman.”

Thomas laughed and bowed. “Forgive me, Milady. And what a lovely lady you have become.” He did not jest, for the sight of her caused his heart to beat faster. Tantalizing soft curves had rounded out her body. The sun shone on her dark curls, and her bright eyes looked into his own as if she could see right through to the core of his soul.

“How fare your wife and your children?” Wandrille asked.

“My boys grow apace. The baby babbles words I cannot understand. He will talk soon. Our Ralph is strong and clever, a very serious child, like his mother.”

“How is your Alice?”

Thomas frowned. “It pains me that Alice is not a happy woman.”

“How can she not be happy with you for her husband and two fine sons?”

Thomas shrugged. “Marriage and motherhood do not suit my wife, Wandrille. I have given her everything, yet she finds no joy in life. Sometimes I think perhaps I should give her the only thing she asks for and be done with it.”

“For what does she ask?” Martin said.

“Alice wants me to build her an abbey where she can take the veil, shut herself away from the world she detests, and never have to see me or the children again.”

Wandrille hugged him, the sudden warmth of her body against his making Thomas’ head spin. “Dear Thomas, I am so sorry,” she said.

Reluctantly, Thomas held her at arm’s length. “Enow. I am here in Barfleur where I have always been happy, and happier still to see you and Martin. I confess you banish all thoughts of poor Alice and my life in England.”

Wandrille was so different from his wife. He wished he had defied his parents and never married Alice. Had he only waited perhaps this beautiful woman could have been his. Thomas saw the way Martin looked at Wandrille with such longing in his eyes. We are no longer children, he thought. We are two men in love with the same woman. A pang of guilt stabbed at his heart, for as much as he loved Alice, his desire for Wandrille was greater.

“I have business to discuss with your father, Wandrille. I thought I would not see you until then. This is a wonderful surprise that the two of you have come to Barfleur.”

“We have room for one more in my boat,” Martin said. “Sail back with us. What business do you have with Lord Armand? Lumber for a ship?”

Thomas’ eyes shone. “Not just any ship, Martin. This is the season I shall build my ship of dreams. The time has come at last. And Lord Armand is steward of the finest trees in France.”

Wandrille clapped her hands. “Oh, Thomas, how exciting! You have waited so long for this moment.”

“Yes! I want to be part of this adventure,” Martin said.

Thomas nodded. “I hoped you would join me, dear friend. It is my wish that you do what you have always done on every boat we built as boys. Carve the prow.”

“That would be an honor, Thomas.”

“Come inside,” Thomas urged. “Let me show you my plans. She shall be the biggest, fastest ship ever to sail the sea, even more magnificent than the Mora. She shall be as white as the under wing of a golden plover, and her striped square sail shall be scarlet and yellow so as to be seen from a distance.” He led them up the path to the house with an arm around each of their shoulders.

Wandrille asked, “What shall you name this wonderful boat?”

“I shall call her the White Ship.”