FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2

Subject: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 26 Jan 02 - 05:51 PM

You can find part I over here. The beloved Elizabeth, Queen of England is under extreme pressure; Sir Francis Drake is about to be torn from his deck by a broadside from a treacherous renegade claiming to be English; the hero Captain Bertolli of the Gallant, actually a dramatic and vengeful heroine, is hotly in pursuit of the same treacherous English pig; Spanish bars of silver may buy Drake's freedom from political catastrophe, or buy Captain Thornton a leisurely life of cruel freebootery, depending on the hinge of events. And on their outcome may hang the fate of the English throne, and, not to put too fine a point on it, the future of Western civilization, presently in its pre-adolescent stage. And all these things are centered, in the strange way of history's important moments, on a small, smoky tavern on the banks of the Thames officially known as The Ballocks of the Unicorn where brave ballads and deep political maneuverings play side by side on the broad oaken planks, fed by the same stout English ale...

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 26 Jan 02 - 05:56 PM

[Clone Request. I don't know what begeful is, but I thought I was writing "vengeful". Can this be repaired? I am such a klutz sometimes, I could shoot myself, but I'd miss. Thanks.]

Perhaps it was "beigeful?":-)
Changes made as requested.
Would you like this request to be deleted?
- el joeclone -

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 26 Jan 02 - 07:20 PM

Freed of the sandbar, the Pelican drifted up to its anchor, taking in the long rode at double time. A cheer sprung from the gun crews on port as two shots skipped once and smashed through the hull of the Contessa D'Albino just two feet above water line. "Up sail and strike nor'east!" shouted Drake, but before the sails could be deployed, the answering salvo burst in flame and smoke from the enemy ship. Two shots struck high on the hull, but two did more damage : one struck amid the gunners, whose cheers instantly became cries of pain. The second struck the main mast some seven feet above the deck. Men scrambled as the mast, rigging, sails and reefing crew tumbled onto the deck or into the sea. Men scrambled to help their wounded mates, while others reloaded the port cannons. Jamison the mate staggered toward Drake, a long oak splinter through his shoulder, saying "Captain Drake, your permission.." and the rest was silence as he fell to the deck. Drake commanded two men to carry him to his cabin where the surgeon could attend him. Drake then climbed the foremast. The path of green water he had sought lay before them, and they would soon clear the sandbar, but without her mainmast, the Contessa would soon end the chase. Drake studied the chaos on deck. At least it would be 15 or 20 minutes until the Contessa could round the shoal. Macintosh, the second mate had already organized a crew to lash the mainmast together, making the best of the situation. But Drake's outlook was practical and grim. The option would be fight to the death or surrender his ship, which would mean the death of them all anyway.

It was then, some two miles off the starboard quarter, the Drake glimpsed a sail approaching. He had no way of knowing it was The Gallant.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 26 Jan 02 - 07:28 PM

[Aye, and ths one as well!!]

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 26 Jan 02 - 07:35 PM

Elizabeth Regina awoke with a start. The clarity of her somulent thought still vivid. "Maid ! she royally shouted.There was a scurrying, the curtains of the 4 poster parted. "Your Majesty ????"

"You ! tell me quick, who is the most favoured Stallion at Court these days - answer true or W'll have you whipped from the Tower to Tyburn Tree"

There was a silence, the Queen prefered her Maids of Honour to live up to that description.

Stammering a "Maid" suggested a name.

" And where can this paramour be found !! "

"At the "Ballocks of the Unicorn" - By Deptford hard"

The Queen smiled, the "Maids" breathed a collective sigh of relief. Orders were given, Sir Walter Raliegh, Captain of the Guard was to report NOW ! And Cecil and Hatton were to take breakfast with Her Majesty.

Raliegh entered, the haste of his dressing showed.

"You have the name and description Walter ? I request and require his presence in the Privy Office this Morning"

Raliegh hesitated "and if he is unwilling ???"

"Remind him that the Unicorn may have Ballocks, but if he disobeyes Our command his will be an optional extra - Our option. "

The Queen went back to sleep, dreaming of Essex, the Lord , not that abominal area east of London.

***************************

Dawn came, as did the maids of the Wardrobe, Cecil and Sir Christopher Hatton.

The Queen was in a good mood, Cecil, Lord Burliegh discussed the latest decyphers brought down by fast horseman fron the Royal Cypher Center at Bletchly Park, outside of Stoney Stratford. Kit Hatton wondered why he was there.

"so the Duke of Parma is still having financial problems in the Low Countries - Cecil, find a legal reason to intercept and detain the next supply ship - Detain it at Falmouth if possible"

""Falmouth ??? Why Falmouth your Majesty !"

"Dolt ! Have you forgotten that Our father Henry issued a letter of Counter Marque when those Spanish Pirates burnt the Town"

Cecil smiled, any Don putting into Falmouth was going to be mulcted of everything before they left.

The discussion turned to Mary - Queen of the Scots.

"Dear Kit - and how many lovers and husbands has Our northern cousin run through ? We think it's time we supplied another, of our choosing."

Hatton blanched, the thought of being sent north to seduce Mary, and risk assasination when she became otherwise infatuated was not a pleasent prospect.

The doors opened, Raliegh and a handsome young man entered, the young man imediatly sank to his knees, assisted by the sword Raliegh kept pointed in the small of his back.

"Congratualtions young man, We have decided that you are to visit Scotland." *****************************

A small party of horsemen left London, bound for Edinburgh, thier mission, to seduce the Scots Queen and bring her to an English Castle.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 27 Jan 02 - 09:25 AM

The road north was long and muddy, financial cut backs had had ensured that no major maintenance had taken place since the days of Richard Crook-back.

Sir Christopher had well supplied them with horses and money. The cover story, that he had incurred the Queens anger by "overfamailiarity" with her Maids of Honour was rather nearer the mark than he wished.

He was also aware that the price of failure would be the loss of certain parts of his anatomy.

"Gods teeth" he swore, would the day, would the day, not come when a man could travel to Edinburgh in a few hours. The rain lashed down. In his leather pouch was an introduction signed by Sir Walter recomending him to the Royal Guard of Scotland.

They halted at a Tavern at York, hay and corn for the horses, meat and ale for the party. Hattons man paid the account.

Only four more days to Edinburgh, would this rain not stop.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: SINSULL
Date: 28 Jan 02 - 08:54 PM

And???? And?????

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 01:56 PM

Aboard the Gallant, Ben Bragg watched the unfolding drama from his position in the crow's nest. He saw the collapse of canvas when the Pelican's mast was struck and watched her struggle toward them. The larger ship had ceased fire and crowded sail to round the shoal on a fast beam reach. Soon enough, the big ship was in hot pursuit of the smaller. At one mile, Bragg could make out the flags atop the two ships. "Captain!" he shouted. "They are both British!" As he spoke these words, the large ship had drawn abeam of the smaller one, perhaps one hundred yards away from it, and a bank of smoke suddenly appeared along the starboard side of the galleon, almost simultaneous with the dropping of spar and canvas aboard the small ship. A rolling peal of distant thunder then reached the ears of the Gallant's crew, the sound delayed by the distance. Soon, the small ship answered with a broadside of its own, weaker, and with no discernible effect. The smaller ship had slowed discernibly now, and so had the galleon, to keep pace with its prey. The galleon fired another broadside, and the smaller ship seemed to swing limply to lee.

Jones had joined Bragg in the crow's nest. On the small ship, fire had sprung up amidships and was sweeping the wrecked sails. The crew was seen to struggle to cut the sails loose and drop them into the sea.

Aboard the Contessa, Thornton ordered "Hold fire! They are finished. Let them douse the flames before she burns to waterline and goes down." Lambert said "that ship ahead bears down on us! Another British privateer!" Thornton glared from atop the command deck. "Then keep steady at battle stations and show the stranger our port beam. If she means to interfere, it will be at her own peril."

Bertoli leaned forward from her position at the forward rail, straining to make out the face of the man on the command deck of the Contessa. "It is he," she said softly, then "I have the Devil in my sights at last! Mr Jones!" Jones scrambled down the lines, his color high, his eyes glinting. "Yes Captain!"

"It is the English Pig at last, sir. Ready the crew for battle. Keep the Gallant head on toward her beam until she fires, then turn port beam to her and fire all cannon! I intend to make sausages of him."

"Aye Captain!" Jones grinned. "Sausages it shall be!"

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 03:43 PM

Yeeeeeeeeeehah, LEJ!!! You da MAN!!!

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 04:40 PM

Bragg glanced quickly to his left. Aboard the Pelican, the sailors had the fire under control, but the decks were strewn with burned canvas, charred bits of spar, moaning wounded, great clusters of splinters that protruded from deck, mast and bulkhead. A short, stocky man, his white silk shirt and broad bearded faceblackened with soot, poised in the act of hoisting a bucket of seawater, peered at them. As they scudded past, this man realized their object was not his crippled ship but the Contessa, and he smiled and waved at them, shouting "Have at them Gallant! The queen and Sir Francis Drake shall reward you well if you succeed!". Then the man and his crew gave three cheers amid the smoke and ruin.

The Gallant had closed to within 700 feet of the Contessa, until Jones could hear the barked commands of her gunner's mate. "One ,two, seven and eight!Mark her foresail and mast! Three, four, five and six! Mark her hull at the water! Hold steady and fire on my command!" At this, silence except for the creak of rigging and plash of seawater against the Gallant's rushing hull. Jones clenched his fists as they approached to 500, then 400 feet. Bertoli's calm voice reached him. "Patience Mr Jones. Patience..."

And then the Contessa let go with a cannonade that plunged sky and sea into a torment of smoke, flame and thunder.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 04:45 PM

OmiGAWD!!! My fingernails are GONE!! ;>)

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 04:52 PM

The Gallant's hull resounded from a dual hammer-blow, the shock echoing within her with a hollow, rolling boom. Foresail and mast-top dropped across the bowsprit to drag in the sea. Jones rubbed gunpowder from his eyes to see the Contessa no more than 100 feet ahead looming through the smoke, and he shouted "Hard a-Starboard!!" The Gallant turned in response, and Jones ran to the port rail. In that hovering moment, Jones saw the sweating, shock-pried faces of the Contessa gunners, seeming to pause eternally at the moment of rolling back guns, swabbing barrels, hoisting shot. He looked directly into the eyes of a young sailor, a lad no more than 15, thought "God forgive me", and shouted "FIRE!!"

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 07:17 PM

It was Pistol shot range, the Grape swept across the deck flinging sinner and saint into the scuppers.

Drake, ever the practical man rubbed his hands in glee.

"Stand fast lads, lets haul away, let them batter each other, then we'll take them both as prize."

Would Thorneton survive this raking fire, would our hero's and heroine's miss the cast iron hail ??

********************

Historically inacurate interlude

The banqueting hall on Castle Rock glistened in the candelight. Mary Queen of the Scots was entertaining. In the seat of honour was the Spanish ambassador. Was Phillip of Spain pressing a suit of marriged with Mary, in an attempt to reinforce this Northern Alliance ?

Our Stallion, so recently decamped from London, stood there as gaurd, brestplate and halbard gleaming. The Queen glanced at him significantly, and had a whispered conversation with the steward.

As the banquet came to a close the Gaurd Commander came up to the "Stallion"

"Aye, you've impressed the Queen with the way youv'e handeled your weapon to night - Her Majesty has requested that you stand Gaurd outside her private chambers later" and winked.

Was Elizabeths cunning plan working ??

End of historically incorrect interlude

******************

The crippled hulks of the Contessa and the Gallant rolled in the blue Carribean, red trickels ran down from the freeing ports, black triangular fins cruised slowley, anticipating the feast to come.

"Away the Boats" cried Drake, " Pistols Pikes and Cutlasses"

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 30 Jan 02 - 09:32 PM

Freeze frame, frabjous fictioneers. Jen gets first right of refusal on the next passage. as Mistress of the Spirit of Revenge....so we'll let her say whether she wants it or not, if she will. All's fair, as it has been said, in love, war, and fiction....

Harbormaster

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 03:31 PM

(Option declined; fire at will).

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: SINSULL
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 05:21 PM

Come on guys! I am going to lose my computer next Wednesday and I need to know!

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 06:10 PM

The Gallant was covered in smoke. The initial roar of her cannonade had been followed by an enormous exposion aboard the Contessa. Gallant's broadside, delivered at point blank range, had detonated the powder reserve on the galleon's gun deck. Jones coughed and, leaning against the bulkhead, felt the momentum of his ship stall against the weight of the sails fallen across the bow. Instead of continuing on her starboard course, she was slowly pivoting in a circle. With a resounding thud, the Gallant's stern struck the Contessa. Through clearing smoke, Jones saw Bertoli with a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, and she shouted "make fast to her! On her decks and have at her!" A strong cheer came up from a party of men who followed Bertoli aboard the Contessa, and then the air was filled with shouts, pistols shots, and the clamor of steel on steel.

Jones gripped his cutlass and ran toward the stern. "Ben!" He shouted "what are you doing?" The boy halted in the act of stepping over the joined rails, a sword held in his two hands. "The Captain needs me..needs us!" Jones pulled the boy back aboard the Gallant saying "no! Your place is here! You're needed on the ship." The boy looked disconsolately down, and Jones glanced past him at the splintered, smoking, bloodstained decks. What would the boy see aboard the enemy ship that he had not already seen? "Alright then," said Jones. "But you stay right by me." A short step and they were aboard the Contessa.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 06:27 PM

Thornton and several of his officers had retreated to the command deck, armed with pistol and sword. Out of the commotion below, Lambert staggered up the walkway, covered in blood and ash. "Captain," he said, his chest heaving, "it's all up. We had best surrender the ship." Thornton glared at him, then raised his sword tip to Lambert's chest. "Never!" he growled. "Not while a man of us stands! Are you a coward Mr Lambert? If you are not, gather a boarding party and carry the fight to the enemy! Attack him on his own deck!" Lambert eyes peered out from his blackened face and he said calmly "there are none left to carry the fight to the enemy, Captain. Our men are all dead, captive or wounded, or engaged in dire struggle. There is no boarding party, unless it be you and your fellows here." A sudden cry was taken up amid the chaos, and Thronton looked and saw the cause : Drake and three boatloads of men had arrived from the Pelican. "We're finished, Captain," said Lambert. Thornton dropped his sword, then raised it and struck Lambert in the face, dropping him to the deck. "Lie down, then, dog!" he shouted. "Damn them all to blood and blazes!" And he descended to the deck, murder in his eye. Before him, one of his crew struggled with a tall fellow, and Thronton brought his sword down sharply on the man's back. Then, looking for other prey, he saw a young boy running to the aid of the man he had struck. Thornton raised his sword high, then froze. From behind, a hand had pressed a dagger against his throat.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 07:07 PM

(Coup de grace, dear Autrice?)

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 07:24 PM

" Main Gauche ?? Thorneton" The italian accent, couped to the steel at his throat froze every muscle in Thornetons body.

A slice and a kick, warn fluid spurting from his neck Thornetonwas was thrust against the rail. Strong yet fine hands gave him the Jonae's lift into the water.

As Thorneton sank the fins darted towards him, Bertoli smiled. The Sharks would do the job before Thorneton bled to death.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 08:39 PM

Raoul Ramirez-Garcia and his men descended from the command deck with their prisoners, and the Spanish Captain said "Capitan Bertoli...this man," indicating a rather shabby but unscathed fellow, "would appear to be officer in command, and he has surrendered to me! Or rather, to you. But my heart is soaring to be once again aboard my ship." Here the Spaniard paused. Bertoli, Ben Bragg, and several others were gathered around the man who lay upon the deck. Ramirez-Garcia doffed his hat, and said, simply "Senor Jones."

Jones lay, his head resting against a coil of rope, the boy crouched beside him with tears running down his face. "Well Raoul," said Jones, "it seems I should have stayed in the fishery. I don't appear to be cut out to be a privateer." He turned his eyes to Bertoli and said "Captain, can you have someone mind the cut Ben's gotten on his arm." Bertoli gently took the boy by the arm, but Ben pulled away angrily, saying "I'll stay with Mr Jones!" Jones smiled at him and said "spoken like a true Englishman. I suppose there be a few gentlemen among ye after all. But listen, Lad, I've only got to lie here and gather my strength for a bit and I'll join you for a draft of brandy. Go on now." A sailor took Ben by the shoulder and led him to the Gallant.

Bertoli knelt beside him and Jones said " I can't move my feet or hands, Captain, and my breath comes shallow." Jones' eyes had tears in them, and Bertoli said "is there much pain, Richard?" Jones shook his head. "Don't feel anything. I only wish I could see the green Welsh hills again. And drink another draft at the Unicorn with a girl there. Will you do me a service?" Bertoli nodded. "Go to the Unicorn. Ben can tell you where it is. Give the serving girl there my share of what we've gained, And tell her something...can you remember?

Of all the flowers that I've seen
Though I search the whole world still
The fairest that I've ever seen
Is my sweet darling Lil"

Jones smiled and said "not very good is it?" Bertoli laughed. Jones said "it'll get you a free ale, anyway." Jones closed his eyes, and Bertoli lay her hand upon his chest. His breathing, like a breeze that dies at nightfall, sank and was gone.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 09:14 PM

Careened hard over on the moist tide-abandoned skirt of hard sand, the shape of the beautiful galleon gradually returned. The hands remaining on all three vessels had drawn the Pelican high up by hand, hauling her in on the lap of high water.

Bertoli's crew had salvaged what they could of their battered vessel, running her remains hard on the same beach using a crude set of spars and canvas rigged by hand. Four sailors had taken a line on the Spanish Contessa's hull, brutally splintered, and towed it into shallow water using a pinnace from the Pelican. Her stout timbers and spares were quickly laid out on the strand under the cruel single eye of Bertoli's waving pistol, for the reconstruction of Drakes limping ship..

Young Ben, Englishman, and Francis Drake, privateer in the service of the English Queen, had taken the pinnace off shore that morning, catching the light and early winds to find their way several miles into the Carribean. The water had shelved rapidly under the small prow, from a blue of sky mornings streaked with dappled sands to a greener and deeper blue, and finally to the purple rolling of deep water. Francis brought the pinnace up into the wind, giving handy commands to Ben to man the single lateen-rigged sail; swinging into the light breeze, the lateen bobbed down and the sail was rapidly furled.

Standing in the wide sternsheets, Francis looked down at the lad and smiled. "It is always our way to do what is right, Ben," he said. "No matter the temptation not to...". Ben nodded, dejected.

"Step up then lad, like a man, and bid your best friend farewell." The boy stood, but could barely keep his stance, shaking with suppressed loss. He gasped for air and straightened, and looked Francis Drake straight in the eyes. "I am ready, sir."

Francis nodded, and spoke the words he knew over the canvas wrapped bundle strapped across the transom boards. He bowed his head and two voices echoed Amens, one baritone, one barely tenor. Each of them stepped aft and gripped one of the two bindings around the canvas bundle. Together, they pulled the quick-release knots open, and together, they lowered the canvas and shot-weighted package that contained the remains of Jones into the welcoming waters.

They did not need another word; they were bonded in action and in mind, and they silently moved to their places, and together turned the dancing prow of the small boat to the faint outline of beach on the downwind horizon.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 31 Jan 02 - 11:35 PM

The respected ambassador shook his head. The English agent had been most persuasive, he explained, but it would not be possible for the Crown of France to offer any further funds to Her Majesty, despite his deep and abiding respect and affection etc.... He droned on, while the rain pattered on the windows outset the well appointed office. As he pattered, the rain grew harder, washing away the dust of several days and moving the various decayed mounds of horse apple slowly toward the gutters, leavy the gray cobblestones shining and wet.

The Englishman stood and bowed courteously, declining the offer of another glass of Funchal's finest, and taking his large cape from the servant, strode into the night, turning north toward the Palace. He was not anxious to report.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 01 Feb 02 - 03:46 PM

Walsingham, Hatton and Cecil paced up and down outside of the Privy Chambers. They were not looking forward to this meeting with Elizabeth - A cataloge of woe. Drake somewhere in the main, and Phillip's Ambassador making more and preptory demands for Drakes head. The French line of credit exhausted. The sea beggers wanting more supplies, and no funds to assist them.

No, Englands finest advisors were in for a Royal drubbing.

The latest intelligeces from Scotland were not good, Mary was not only enamoured with her London gaurd, but about to give birth to an heir to the Scots throne.

The doors opened, a maid beckoned, they entered. The toungue lashing started. There was a clashing of spurs, a pounding of boots "Make way, in the Queens name make way"

A dusty dishevelled messanger burst into the room, Your Majesty, my Lords I bring news from....

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 01 Feb 02 - 07:29 PM

"Oh from Ushant to Scilly is 35 leagues" SPANISH LADIES

The Pelican rounded the Head, Plymouth Sound opened up before them, Mount Batten lay as a beacon guiding them in over the bar. The Pelican returned.

Ballested with Gold and Silver taken fron the other ships and the Dons, less the share of the Prise paid out to those who preffered not to see old England again.

Her Majesty would be happy with the financial return. The crew would be even more happy.

Benj stood on the quarter deck, hehad been away a year, and had turned from a frightened boy into a seaman, one who could hand, reef, and helm, and serve the great guns in battle. Drake had made him his apprentice, a mid ship man.

The death of Jones, his seadaddy still lingered

"Tis a pity Jones Seisen could not see our return" said Ben.

"Arr Well" said Drake in his burring accent, "If he could not take a joke he should never have joined". The traditional lower deck saying brought a guffaw from the assembled sailors, in a good mood anticipating the pleasures of the brothels and bars of Union Street and the Barbican Authors Note - Nothing Changes in 400 years ! " I daresay Her Majesty will be well pleased"

********************************************

Meanwhile back in the Palace of Westminster

".... Good news your Majesty" gasped the messenger " Mary of Scotland seeks your protection !! - She has fled Edinburgh with her lover and awaits your pleasure in the Castle of Roundhay !!"

The story was related, how the Scots Lords had lost thier patience with the infedilities of Mary, the birth of a son, James, heir to the Scots throne, and the threat of an English consort had driven them to revolt. Mary and her lover had fled south to seek sanctuary - leaving the baby James behind - he was now King James 6th of Scotland subject to a regency council, already at each others throats.

The assembled council laughed untill tears ran down their hose. The Stallion has been a cheap investment. Even Elizabeth Regina retired to the Garderobe, to compose herself.

"Well" said, makeup smudged, " His privy member has earned him OUR privy thanks - Deal with it Sir Christopher, but not to generously !!"

" Now back to our finance "

There was a clashing of spurs, a pounding of boots "Make way, in the Queens name make way"

A dusty dishevelled messanger burst into the room, Your Majesty, my Lords I bring news from....

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 02 Feb 02 - 05:06 PM

A lonely night for the head, young hard-minded, delicately formed and feminie, that wore the Crown of England; an warm late autumn evening, at the end of a long day seeking and failing to find financial support. Elizabeth Regina strode alone, back and forth on a secluded balcony, smelling the winds from the Thames, mixed with the faint odors of charcoal, woodsmoke, and sewage carried on the night-time London air. She heard her chambermaids stirring around behind the wide French portals, heavily curtained, behind her. But she knew they would not disturb her royal meditations until she advised them that she was ready to retire for the night. She thought fretfully of the debts her nation carried, to its own people and to other states and the fears she had. Her credit and her credibility were on the thin line between hope and failure. Pay France, pay the liege lords what they had leant the Treasury, pay Holland, italy and she would be free to forge ahead in her passionate building of England.

Fail to pay them, and she would see them shift into the shadows of conspiracy, rejuggling the weights of political strength, leaving her a straw form, of no real importance at best, and beheaded by Philip at worst.

She thought, too, of Drake; she had never revealed to anyone the bond that stood between them, the fiery passions that had left her shaking like an aspen-leaf in thunder, the penetrating steel of his kind eyes and the fires that even now smoldered deep within her royal garmentsd at the thought of his shape, his muscles, his hard but supple flesh, and his melting smile. Throw him to the lions, for the sake of England? Her every cell cried out in pain and protestation at the thought. But her brain retained an icy remove, and she vowed against all her tears and anguish that, and it served England, she would do it.

She started suddenly, feeling a small trickle of blood on her royal wrist, and saw that she had dug her fingers into her flesh to the bleeding point. She grimaced, half smiling and half weeping at the passions that collided in her small bosom, and stared out at the faint stars over the far reaches of Plymouth.

When would he return? And what would he bring. What if he failed? What if his vessel was splintered and gutted somewhere on the bottom of the Spanish sea? What f she could never see his eues, his smile again?

The Virgin Queen, feeling like neither, trembled and wept.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 02 Feb 02 - 05:08 PM

[Damn, I hate yptos!]

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 02 Feb 02 - 07:58 PM

Bloody hell Amos - I left the messenger from Plymouth open for you !!!

Gareth

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 02 Feb 02 - 08:03 PM

[I know, mate ... sorry....we have to tolerate alittle creative random whipsawing in these things...I needed to do a little setting up first...'s alright]

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 02 Feb 02 - 08:54 PM

It was still four hours before the cock would crow, and the night was still a deep purple, thick with mist from the rolling river, when Elizabeth woke from a shallow, troubled sleep, sitting up with a start, her senses aflame with uncertain attention -- the whisper of breezes around the thick drapes to the balcony, the distant sound of distant refuse cart, the light snoring of her chamber guard...she groped for a sense of what had awoken her and could not name it.

Slipping quietly from her down covers, she donned a heavy night robe and padded silently to the French doors on to the balcony, slid them quietly apart and slipped out into the cool night air. Her psychic alarms were shrilling, and she knew that a turning point loomed in her life, her history, and everything she was, without knowing in any form what it would be.

She stared out over the London roof tops, feeling, peering, trying to permeate the city, the river, the sea and the world in all directions, seeking to know.

A faint scrabbling and scraping sound from the wall below her balcony suddenly broke her attention, and she startled. In the dark moonlit shadows, she caught a faint glimpse of motion from the other end of the balcony; she thought to leap back into her chambers, where at least a guard could be called; but she froze in a state of complete focus, her breath stopped in her throat, as a shadow materialized on the balcony ledge, and assembled itself into a winded, gasping, human shape; and then, in an instant of release her frozen caution broke into a flood of flaming recognition and rising joy.

In a single stride, the Queen of England threw herself without reservation into the open, muscled arms of Francis Drake, privateer, and for a few moments of flooding emotion and passion, her nerves on fire and her soul aflame, she forgot about every affair of state except her own.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: SINSULL
Date: 03 Feb 02 - 12:51 PM

Oh good. Any chance of a hidden pregnancy leading to modern times and Micca rightfully replacing Charles as heir to the throne?

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 03 Feb 02 - 01:38 PM

[We can put it in if you like, dearie, but getting the Parliament to go along is your problem!!]

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 03 Feb 02 - 01:59 PM

Fi! man, there's the son of Mary Q of Scots, now fathered upon our ananymous stud and hereo from the Unicorn, who as all readers of history was James 6th of Scotland, and aster the execution of Mary at Fotheringay became Elizabeths heir - James the 1st of England.

Gareth

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 03 Feb 02 - 04:53 PM

[Gareth -- you are perfectly right, of course...but let me point out the title of the thread is "FICTION:". And, even to a far-seeing scribe who can penetrate many things, there are certain mysteries one cannot, or will not, unveil, one of which is the construction of babies in the Royal womb and the details preceding. :>)]

Francis Drake awoke with a sudden gasp, thinking at first as his dream-world retreated that he was constrained in the canvas shroud that had carried the bones of a good friend to the sea's secret fdepths, and discovering instead that he was confined to an equally small space surrounded by the lace and wool edges of the Royal bed, whose stout planks were only inches above his head. He remembered with a smile that She had ordered him there in imperative terms when, shortly after the first streakings of sunrise, they had heard the changing of the hallway guard, and the murmured voices of the morning ladies greeting the guards as they came to robe their mistress for the day. So deep in exhaustion had he been that he had returned at once to the Morphean peace from which she had hauled him. He smled again, thinking how fortunate it was that he had never been a snorer. He reckoned by the light through the French doors that the morning was underway, perhaps ten of the clock, and reflected that she had promised to return to him at high noon, making excuses to her household and Court that she needed respite alone. He turned on his side, safe in the low but wide space under the Queen's own bed, and returned to a better dream.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 04 Feb 02 - 09:54 PM

-------------------------------------------------------------

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 05 Feb 02 - 07:43 PM

Bertoli, Flora and Raoul strolled down St Andrew's Hill, the Spanish Captain escorting a lady on each arm. He cast smiling glances to each side, but mainly at Bertoli, who had abandoned the charade of the Pirate Captain, and was replete in a low-necked lace blouse and a full velvet skirt. Her ebony hair fell across her shoulders and shone in the sun. Before them lay Blackfriars, and the many attractions of pubs and frolics that abutted the Thames. "Sir Francis says that he will speak to the Queen, and that I and my crew may be freed." Bertoli smiled, but looked away. "Perhaps Raoul," she said, "but more likely she will hold you until you can be traded for a Englishman of some strategic value. Perhaps Philip Mayhew. It is said that he was taken prisoner off Majorca by your King." The smile left Ramirez-Garcia's face. "But I cannot wait. Word has reached me that my brother Manolo is gravely ill." Bertoli looked across and behind Raoul, and smiled into Flora's eyes, saying "what shall we do with our Spanish Captain, then?" Flora smiled back. "Why, you are rich. Perhaps you will buy him a yacht." They had reached the Thames at last, and Bertoli said "like this one, perhaps?" Before them lay a small fishing sloop, old but bright with new paint and canvas.

As if on cue, a man raised himself from his napping spot on the deck. "Jose!" said Ramirez-Garcia. "Welcome aboard Capitan," said Jose Ortega. "Look sharp, amigos!" From various spots on the vessel, his other crewman appeared.

"You must hurry," said Bertoli, "the tide is favorable. Her are papers, in case the harbormaster should inquire." Raoul stared at her in shock, then held her to him and kissed her passionately, saying "I have felt this way for no other superior officer since I enlisted!" And they all laughed. He leapt aboard the sloop, and Jose was already casting off. Raoul held both hands over his heart and shouted "all of my love for the two of you! Always!"

Flora and Bertoli watched as the sails were raised, and the sloop holding the crew of the Contessa D'Albino slowly slid to sea on the ebbing tide.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 05 Feb 02 - 07:55 PM

[Beautiful turn, Master LEJ!!!

Harbormaster]

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Gareth
Date: 06 Feb 02 - 06:50 PM

Superb !!!!!!!

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Feb 02 - 03:03 PM

Off of the Dingle Peninsula, between Slea Head and Great Blasket Island, the water is rough and tumbling in the best of weather. Although none today know of its resting place, a Spanish Galleon sank here over 400 years ago. The wood of which the galleon was chiefly composed has long ago disintegrated or been swept away. The shot, cannon, plates, flagons, belt buckles, shoe nails and other durable remains are buried under tons of sand.

She was the Andalusia, and she was a large warship carrying thirty crew and two hundred infantrymen who had been part of the Spanish Expeditionary Force. This force's aim had been to humiliate the English Queen, liberate the people suffering under the yoke of sacrilegious oppression, and restore England to the ranks of righteous Catholic Rule. The force is known today as the Spanish Armada, and after a series of mistakes and misadventures, this grand plan of King Philip had unraveled off the south coast of Britain. The Armada had fragmented, some ships fleeing south to French or Dutch ports, others sailing around the great island through the waters that flanked the east of Scotland. British Navy and Privateer vessels had dogged these survivors, cutting individual ships from the pack and devouring them. As the main body of what had been the Armada crested the north of Scotland, heavy weather had set in. This great storm drove the English to their home ports, but for the Spanish there was no where to go. They were driven apart by the mountainous gray water and billowing black clouds. Many did not survive the passage, but were driven on the rocks near John O'Groats.

The Captain of the Andalusia, through luck and skill, passed west above the roaring Irish Sea, rounding the smashing foam that was blasted against the Giant's Causeway, and held a northeastern course away toward Iceland. He held this course for two days, and then the storm wheeled to north-northeast. Beating against the wind, the Andalusia made no headway. At last she turned south, to run at an angle from the lee shore, but it was to no avail. The great pounding surf and the cliffs of Kerry crept closer by the hour. The captain's eyes took in the great waves that rolled into land, crashing against sheer rock wall and swept up into the air by the great wind. He ordered her turned bow to shore, and he came in along Great Blasket, and entered the hell of the great breakers which rushed his ship landward on her beam as the men cried out in fear. He saw a less vicious patch of sea in the lee of Blasket, and here he ordered drop sails and anchor.

The ship held here, bow to the rolling waves, for nearly five days. Two boats were launched, but they and their crews were swallowed by the sea before they could reach the small sheltered cove at Dunquin. The Captain and his men could clearly see the curraghs of the local fishermen above this cove. After the first day, small crowds of local people would gather at the cove or on the high cliffs that lined this shore to watch the galleon rock and strain against her anchor rode. On the morning of her last day, the priest aboard gave all of the men the Last Rites, and the Captain went to his cabin and took pen in hand. When he had finished his missive, he took an empty sherry bottle and placed the note inside. He cast it off of the ship's bow, and watched it for some time. It was pushed toward shore, then drawn back for over an hour. Finally, it seemed to find a rip current that pulled it out into the open sea.

The Captain ordered his weak and terrified crew to up anchor, raise foresails, and pursue the escaped sherry flask. It was a gamble. The ship's heavy mass defied the rip current, and she was at last swept into the jaws of the unforgiving waves that roared in the maw of the cliffs. Some of the braver souls who had observed the ship's last hours made their way to the beach in search of salvage, but the wreck had been shattered as if by a massive bomb.

Some sixty five years later, a sherry bottle fetched up on the shores of Jamaica, and the boy who found it took it to the Reverend Melendz at the church, the Priestbeing the only literate man the boy knew."What does it say, Father?" The old man held it nearer the candle's light and read

"I am the Captain of the Andalusia of King Philip's Armada. We are stranded at anchor and our ship cannot last much longer in the storm that besets us. I ask now for the forgiveness of my sins. I have placed my signet ring in the bottle. If found, I wish this to be given to an Englishman, Mr Benjamin Bragg, and beg his pardon that I took arms against him and his countrymen. I believe I have come to this end because of that betrayal.

May God grant long life to Mr Bragg and the finder of this.

Raoul Ramirez-Garcia"

The priest removed his spectacles and lay the note upon his desk. He up-ended the flask and the small ring fell out with a tinkling sound. The priest examined the ring, saying "it is too bad we don't know who this Benjamin Bragg is, eh?" He handed the boy the ring. "I suppose it is yours, Juan." The boy clutched the ring and, smiling, ran out the door. The priest watched him go, and then walked out the door himself. For a long time he stood staring at the green sea.

Between the outcropping of Slea Head and the Great Blasket Island, secrets sleep deeply in the sand, and the sea rolls on as it did 400 years ago. As it did 4,000 years ago.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 07 Feb 02 - 03:29 PM

She had granted him knighthood to wear and her own bosom to rest on, wept for him and confessed to him how near she had come to decapitating him for, as she put it later, all the wrong reasons, which made them both laugh when he asked what the right reaosns might be, that he could always avoid them. And then, she had spurned him.

The reasons, she said, were too many, too fragile, and too interwoven to explain. Her joy in him was unbounded, and her debt as the figurehead of all England; but her hand would not be further extended and she begged him to turn aside from her path, seek his own in peace, and leave her free of his infernal attractiveness.

And as a gentleman, and an Englishman, Sir Francis Drake could do no less. But his heart was heavy, on a cold night in November, as he slipped from the back door of the comfortable city house he had established, wrapping a large and finely made cloak around him, and made his way through the chilling dark wind to the Thameside warrens where his London roots called him. He sought the sweaty humor of sailors, or the loose affections of a barmaid, or the release that stout could bring, from a torture that burned in the very cells and nerves of his mind. With his head down, wending the narrow, dirty streets toward the river's embankments, his eyes saw only cold slush and his own polished boots. But his heart saw the burning blue eyes and fiery hair of the woman he knew better than any man in England, heard her kindnesses and fears, saw her laughing and trembling, listened to her whispers.

He cursed his heart, and bade it be still and move on to better things; but, knowing this was impossible, his heart obstinately would not listen to his pleas for compromise.

Thus, preoccupied and half-mad, Sir Francis Drake, the pride of England and the nemesis of the Spanish fleet, turned his high leather boots toward the entrance of the Ballocks of the Unicorn, his collar high and his hat low; and he swept into the furthest corner and sat at a small table in dark shadow, pondering the company.

The world had turned upside down since he had left this place, penniless and anxious to find a path for survival by trading in the Spanish oceans. But as he plainly saw in the work-strained faces and tarry hands of the rough men in the tavern, there are some things that never change.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 07 Feb 02 - 06:02 PM

The crowd in the Unicorn grew to loud proportions as the chilly November night drove men and women from many walks into the tavern's warmth. Lil twirled and swooped among the crowded tables smiling and offering a shake of her shirtfront or a laughing retort to the beefy childish men who seemed always ready to plead for her attentions. And she kept one eye, from long experience, on the unusual ones. One fine example was the strapping and quietly observant man who had just come in wrapped in a long coach cloak of some deep forest green, wearing high boots and abroad leather belt, no ruffles and no rapier, carrying only a large lute-like instrument, which he stood next to his able on the floor. He was an odd duck She'd seen him before, from time to time, and he seemed nice, but a girl couldn't be too careful. A transient, even a bard, was an unknown element.

The other was the expensively cloaked but silent stranger in the far corner. Aside from ordering two large mugs of stout, one on the other, and a kind word with a tip, he had had nothing to say to anyone. And he was armed, if not with rapier, at least with a stout ornately made dirk. He had made no signs of being dangerous, but she sensed a brooding pain in his silence, of a kind she had seen before, and reflected briefly that she hoped no-one would get hurt this night.

The troubadour scanned the crowd with bright and watchful eyes, curled back around his crude chair, nodding at the pleasanteries of drunker men, and noticed Lil's attention briefly fix on the table in the far corner.

His brow wrinkled briefly, as he followed the direction of her attention, and noticed the tall stranger sitting in seclusion at the back of the room. Moving slowly, as though her were overfull on good brew, he wandered to the doorway of the tavern and bending down to pass through it, he stepped into the muddy street and gave a low whistle. Shortly, a lithe thin figure emerged from the dark alley and ran up to him.

The troubadour spoke briefly in hushed tones to the thin, brown-eyed creature, pressed a shilling onto an open palm, and nodded with contentment as he watched the duteous and rapid departure of Jude Shaxpir, intelligence runner to her Majesty's Court. He turned, and re-entered the tavern, as though he had just stepped out on Nature's call, and picked up the lute from the floor. A series of broad arpeggios dampened the noise in the busy tavern, and he raised his head and sang in a rich baritone that had overtones of honey and salt breezes mixed in it:

Sweet, stay awhile; why do you rise? The light you see comes from your eyes. The day breaks not, it is my heart, To think that you and I must part. O stay, or else my joys must die And perish in their infancy.

Dear, let me die in this fair breast, Far sweeter than the Phoenix' nest. Love raise desire by his sweet charms Within the circle of your arms, And let thy blissful kisses cherish Mine infant joys, that else must perish.

A rustle of murmured approval, the stamping of feet and a few cheery compliments greeted his performance, and he bowed, picked up a few penny coins thrown at his feet by the more drunkenly appreciative members of the audience, and returned to his seat.

As Lil swept by, turning sideways to find her way between two tables, the troubadour reached up and held her with a gentle hand at her waist.

"I trust the music was to your liking, sweet Lily?"

She looked down at him with her best professional smile, and thanked him for the song. He gestured with his head, and she bent down to hear what he had to say; and as he whispered in her ear, the color drained from her face, and two flagons of ale nearly tilted over onto the floor from her tray.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 08 Feb 02 - 10:47 AM

There are times in the affairs of humans when events move so rapidly that the mind cannot discern the links from one to the next, when confusion and a multiplicity of impulses rise up and overcome the senses.

Lil had made her way to the rear of the tavern, ignoring catcalls and whistles. She had knelt down at the side of the stranger's chair in the smoky thick noise, and begged him wih tears in her eyes to tell her news of Richard Jones, Welshman, sailor and owner of her yearning heart. The stranger had made her rise and sit by him, and in a kindly but strangely subdued voice he told her of the smoke, the cannon roaring, the splintering of timber and the screams of spilled blood on the decks of the Pelican. He told her of the courage and strength of the sailor of her dreams, and told her how he had taken the boy, after the battle was past, and how they had lowered him into the endless arms of the warm Caribbean. And Lily had thanked him and sat weeping in silence for a while.

And then it is not clear exactly what occurred. People came in and went out, and among those arriving for the comfort of the tavern was a slender tall monk, cowled and hooded from the November winds, who slipped past the crowded tables and spoke in whispers to the hostler's wife. A gentleman who had arrived at the same moment, broad shouldered and well-dressed, followed the strange character part way to the rear of the room, and then simply stood, his back against the rough plastered wall, obseerving the crowd, one hand on the hilt of an elegant but clearly efficient rapier. And at the same time, in the ways of sailors all around the world, the handful of drunken foc's'le hands seated at the large table in the middle conceived of a disagreement about which flowed considerable passions.

"Nayhr, ya barmy scut!! 'T was all our Drake's doing, an' wivvout 'im, ya'd be a subject of some effin' Don this hour, I tell ye!! The dogs would own Westminster!! "

"Garn ye cabbage!! SHE would never 'ave let it 'appen!! Drake, er no Drake; Bess is the one saved that little mess proper!! I'm fer the queen, by Gawd, an' she'da had them Dons in irons even if that fancy-pants sea-dog 'ad slept 'til noon!!"

"I'll give you a fancy pants sea dog in yer bum, ye dim-witted biscuit headed shad!! Drake was the only one who had the wit to deal with 'em; he knows them Dons, 'e does. Diddn't he sail circles round 'em in their own ocean, then? Answer me that!! He knew what 'e was about, an' wuz the on'y one 'at did!! Wivvout 'im the Queen woulda just laid down and let Phillip 'ave 'is wicked way wivver, no more spine than a common alley cat!!"

Their voices had risen and their tempers were about to break. Several others were chiming in, and the big-jawed bosun who had just maligned his Queen's moral fiber was grinning around looking for moral support when his opponent, a long-armed cooper, reached for his short dirk, unable to speak and purple-faced with outrage and drink.

His antagonist, reaching for his own long sheath-knife, was prepared to settle the matter with blood, but found himself unable to continue on his destructive course by the simple fact that he could no longer breath; his entire body was being drawn up in a surge of cold force by the steely arm of the stranger who was lifting him to his feet from behind, one muscled forearm clamped around his neck, and the glittering point of a dirk held to his throat by the other.

The crash of falling chairs and the rattle of blades being pulled free on several sides was the only sound; a startled frozen silence hung in the smoky air of the Unicorn.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 08 Feb 02 - 07:11 PM

"Now, my fat friend, you have a quick decision to make. Eat your words insulting my Queen, a better lady than you will ever be a man, or spill your own life on these boards. You have five seconds to make your choice. And if any of your drunken friends wants to rescue you, the time will be reduced according to their motions. I suggest they keep still for your sake. One....."

The big-jawed bosun had had no time to understand what had happened to him, and had no time to think about his principles. His eyes rolled in terror at the sharp sensation of the dirk drawing a thin point of blood from the folds under his chin, and his brow broke into an instant sweat of fear. "I...I...choose the Queen, sir, I do!! Oh, surely I do!! God bless her, sir!! I choose the Queen!!" he stammered, praying that none of his friends would ruin his chance to keep on breathing.

"Then on your knees, you wastrel blaggard, and swear it!" The strangers arms twisted deftly, and the portly sailor was on his knees with the dirk still at his throat, while his heart threatened to tear the life out of him on its own accord in a flood of sheer panic.

"I swear it, Sir!! I am a loyal man!! I serve her only!! Good Queen Bess, and England, all my life!! I swear!!!"

The stranger stepped back, withdrawing the blade and thrusting the whimpering braggart onto the wide oak planks. "See you remember it, then, sailor."

"'ERE THEN!!!", came another, louder drunken voice. A huge man staggered up from the table, his dark eyes blazing, and his loyalties spinning confusedly in his muddled head.

"'ERE THEN!," he roared again. "Just 'oo the 'ell d'ye think you are to handle my shipmate so?? You just answer that!!"

The stranger stepped back from the table, eyeing the pugnacious drunken ox of a man cooly, and threw back his cape, doffing his hat with a short, sardonic bow.

"My name is Francis Drake, at your service and the Queen's!", he replied with a steel chill in his voice.

The giant foretopman sat down with a shocked thud, and shook his head in disbelief. The buzz of the tavern rejoined and swelled to twice its normal high level.

"Drake?? Captain Sir Drake? It's him!! It's Francis Drake!" The tones of the room ranged from awe and reverence to a darker undertone of envy and blame, and three of the fat bosn's mates still held out their short but lethal blades as if unwilling to lose the opportunity to use them on something alive.

"So ye sez yer Drake, do ye!?!", yelled a pock-faced man with one walleye and a look of perpetual hatred etched into the lines of his saltworn face.

"Ye'll not get away with playing the high and moighty here, fer all yer fancy clothes, Mister SIR Francis Drake. We'll see if you're the only one can prick a throat with good steel!!"

And the three of them started moving around the end of the wide table to move in on the man who called himself Francis Drake. Their target stepped back several paces, weighing their movements with a quick and calculating eye, prepared to fight well for what might be his life, and hefting his well-made dirk in readiness.

"Stand ye here, then, Sir Francis," murmured a rich low voice behind him. "We'll see how much English steel these bully boys have room for when their guts are open to the air." Drake glanced over his shoulder and saw the broad-shouldered gentleman who had been standing quietly against the wall now moved into position beside him, his illegally-long rapier scything through the air ahead of him like a bitter steel serpent. He could not argue with the man, obviously well-bred and well-practiced with his weapon; under the circumstances he had walked into, he needed all the help he could get. So he took the offered position, and the two of them stood angled shoulder to shoulder, waiting to see just how ugly the small mob of drunkards was going to get. From the murmuring and the whispering of steel leaving sheathe, it looked ugly in extremis.

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 09 Feb 02 - 02:21 PM

The rolling, broad-backed river moved on, outside the tavern, and did not know or care a jot for the living, melodramatic frieze hat hung in time within the beams and plaster of the Unicorn's walls. That blood was to be spilled, life to be winked out or filled with pain in a moment, it cared as little as the air, It knew only the sea, and its ultimate destiny there.

Within, however, in the flickering torchlight, a moment of warmer, more passionate destiny hung on a hingepoint, men facing men with blades drawn and the readiness to use them, and the genial air of beer and warmth had frozen into a readiness for bitter battle, of sharp blades readying to find flesh and spill blood.

The instant was sharply and suddenly interrupted by the crashing sound of a large heavy glass carboy, which had been innocently doing its job of holding several gallons of red French wine in the corner, smashing into violent, loud, wet smithereens against the tavern wall.

The sound succeeded in drawing some attention from every single person in the room, and in the instant of silence that followed, a penetrating command shivered the timbers of the entire boozy and overwrought lot.

"Put down your weapons and return to your seats! You have done quite enough this night!!"

The tension in the room dissipated and reformed, seeking the origin of this imperious interruption, and at least for an instant, bloodletting was forgotten; every eye in the house turned instead to the sender shape of the monk who had thrown the carboy, and was now standing on a table near the wall invoking compliance with an outstretched arm and pointing finger.

Only one of the crowd was unimpressed by the electric presence that seemed to emanate for the cowled figure. The pock-faced and hate-filled walleyed sailor broke th emoment's sell, falling back on his usual repertory of gutter terms.

"Git orf o' that then, ye bloody feckin' do-good, er yer'll fine yerself in more trouble than yer bloody prayers can git ye out of! Who d'y think ye are, the bloody Queen of England, puttin' on such airs? Get orf before ye get hurt by a better man than you, ye silly git!!"

The monk turned toward the drunken sot and threw him a glance that would have frozen his heart, had it been not dead already. With a single fluid gesture, an arm reached up and pulled back the cowl that covered the monk's face, revealing the unmistakeable, imperious, and furious features of Elizabeth Regina, Queen of England.

"I know full well I am England's Queen, good doltish oaf. Now show us your true colors, and be ready to lose your head faster than Mary Stuart!"

There was a muted gasp from every man and woman in the room except two. The rapier-wielding gentleman, who simply rolled his eyes and stepped back to guard the Queen standing atop her table, and Francis Drake, dirk in hand and his own flaming pounding heart in his throat, who could do nothing but give way to the longest slowest grin he had ever experienced.

"Your Majesty!!??" "Wot th e-- the Queen?" "B'God, it's the Queen!!" Buzzes and gaping stares and flood sof awe, embarassment, and not a little fear swept over the varied tables; and then the gentleman who guarded Elizabeth cleared his throat,

"On your knees for the Queen, ye salt-heads, or ready yourself for a meeting with yer maker!"

The suggestion penetrated the room like an irresistible cold wind, and in a moment of rustling and scraping, every man and woman in the room went to one knee and bowed. The furious and scintilliating presence of Elizabeth took on an almost palpable electric glow, a force which no-one there could even look on in comfort, let alone think of crossing.

She looked at them, looked at Drake, and smiled.

"Stand up, all of you!! You are true English men, and the very quick of our Navy, the soul of our kingdom. We will not dampen your spirits with authority this night; let us all remember th elessons we have learned here, and take a round on the Queen for every man. God bless you all, and God bless England!"

A roar of acclaim came back to her in another instant, as every man in the tavern threw his entire soul into the refrain: "GOD BLESS ENGLAND!!".

It was the giant ox of a bosun who stood then, and hollered loud enough to shake the beams and raise a wake on the Thames, "Three cheers for good Queen Bess, lads!!", and the night erupted with the roar of men turned into patriots to their very souls.

In the confusion, as the courtly gentleman put up his rapier and turned to pay the house for the Queen's benevolent offer, and Lil began running tankartds to every table, the Queen in monk's clothing took a firm grip from behind on Francis' elbow and steered him toward the rear of the tavern and onto a shallow railed deck that stood over the Thames' waters in the chill November mist.

"Dearest Elizabeth," he laughed, taking her royal waist in his giant hands. "God's blood but I am rejoiced to see you, folly though it is that brought you!! How did you dare?"

"No, Francis," the Queen replied. This is not folly, nor any great affair of state. This is not Spain, or the treasury or law. What brings me here is a simpler thing by far, just the heart of a single woman, no more or less."

"Dear God, but I have missed you! I have been most hard-pressed to find cause to live on, being so alone, as though the sun had abandoned the world. I have been so alone this fortnight, Elizabeth, I cannot speak the pain of it."

"Oh, Francis, you do have the silver tongue, that lashes a poor girls'heart to ribbons!! But no more. No more.

You will never be alone again, I promise you,"

---

There was a day, long back, when the Unicorn was new and the floors were laid down smelling of freshly adzed oak and sweat, rather than stale beer, smoke and fetid urine. A place was born then, into times that called for a cheap alehouse to spring into being, to turn shillings on wiry seamen in the hour of England's blazing birth.

Strange times, they were -- reason was rising in the house of Commerce, new continents had appeared for the bold to savor, the sextant was highest of technologies, and the national spirit was straight out of the foc's'le head. ...

Magic flowers of an unleashed language singing were everywhere, they bloomed in the very alleys, and there was a sense of nation, of tribal hugeness that has survived unto this hour. Every month saw new timbers rising by the Mother river, new docks and vessels to tie to them, small and huge, appearing as miracles of plain tar, plain fir, plain rope, oak, hemp and salt tack suddenly combined in an overwhelming burst of organized magic, sent down the splintering rollers to the Thames in towering, mystic, nautical visions of power and of hope.

And, too, there was madness, both in ones and in gangs, the madness of churches, lost women, and terrified soldiers, and the far-flung madness of the displaced. This, too, spread wildly and drove men many times to sea in a search for reason; and often, accompanied them there.

In such a search, accompanied by such madness, does this tale end....

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 09 Feb 02 - 03:27 PM

Nicely wrapped, Amos!

Subject: RE: FICTION: Sign of the Unicorn, PART 2
From: Amos
Date: 09 Feb 02 - 06:22 PM

Epilogue

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Moose,
If we have not earned thy truce,
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Moose a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And thy Moose shall restore amends.