The Lioness of Brittany

He knew I was coming.

A message in each wake of destruction I moved through. Only few are spared. My message was strong. Brought to him in bright red. In anger. In terror. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

We advance on the man. He is just one of many. He screams loudly. Daring to fight until the bitter end. A badge of respect I wish I could give him, as Olivier never went down without a fight. But when his fight ended, mine just started. I will not stop until I have the head of the King.

I struck right through the man. Another I could sense coming behind me, his shadow strong. Without turning around, I dug my sword behind me, right into his gut. I could feel the smooth slice of skin like butter. Pulling it out, he will fall. Another coming to my left. The dagger at my side, I throw and lodge it right between his eyes.

I do not miss. Ever.

I pull my dagger out of his skull, cleaning it off on my trousers.

We advance further. My breath even, calm.

Now, I am an ally of the English as the French noblewoman I used to be. That all ended that day that French king became my enemy. Executing my husband, wrongly and without trial.

It was I who came to rescue him. Our children I held and cradled in my arms as I presented my bribery to the King’s sergeant for my husband’s release. Their cruelty in refusing to listen to sound evidence against my husband’s conviction of treason. My world spiraling as the ones who used to be my people turned against us, allowing Olivier to take the blame of it all.

Rage. It is what fuels me. It is what I live on.

I look around at my hired crew. We count the few men left alive amongst the many slaughtered lining the deck. Blood staining the wood that says “vengeance” . The handful of those still living shook in fear, in recognition of my face, my crew, my ship.

“You are to give your damned king a message.” I shouted at them. They shudder at each syllable. A few drop their weapons. I point to a man.

“You. Come forward.”

He staggers back into the crowd, but my chief mate is quicker. Grabbing him by the shoulder and throwing him to my feet.

The man flashes a dagger, daring to use it. What a brave man he is. I think of Olivier for a moment, his bravery the whole way through.

“Stick me if you want, but it will not help you.” My chief mate gives him a kick to the back of the head. A blow the knocks him unconscious.

“You who are left would be wise to stay put. Watch what happens to your fellow and know death will come slowly if you try to stop us. Your guts will spill, and the flies will finish you off.” I stare at each innocent merchant in the eye. None are innocent.

I let the hood fall off. I want them to know it’s me. It’s part of the message. But this, this will be new. The king shall know I am closer to him. My body count growing exponentially higher with each mile on the sea.

I looked at the man’s face, he could just be sleeping. I pull my dagger out and cut his shirt open to expose his soft, white belly.

“Garrick, I need the torch.” I heated up my blade and started to carve.

---

“My King, please, you must come!” A guard barges into the King's quarters.

The king is not surprised by the outbursts. Guard after guard alerting him almost monthly and now weekly. A raided ship, a murdered crew, few alive to report that a group overtook them. Leaving them alive to warn that destruction is approaching.

“Is it another merchant ship?” The king reluctantly asks.

The guard nods, but the king can tell something is different. He understands they must be getting closer, but he has handled many pirates before. My Black Fleet, the name of the dooming ship that arises from the horizon in the breaking of dawn is no match for his army. In that he has trust. But that doesn’t stop his mind from running, overthinking- why does this guard look truly frightened?

The king follows behind with two other guards at his sides. The pace picks up in urgency and the French king feels the fear of the others, like an incense choking out the air in a room. Bursting through door after door until finally the King realizes he is going to the infirmary.

He smells it before he hears it. The metallic stench; strong and bold. A smell that isn’t new to the kingdom, especially in the wake of the attacks of the remaining survivors fought for their lives. But rather than nurses, the noblemen of the French kingdom huddle around the screaming man that lay in the middle. The king approaches the man. Stripped of all wear and covered in a bloody gown. Even more bloodied rags surrounded him. His face twisted and stuck in terror. He wails and wails. Muttering a word that the king can’t understand. The others soothe him, some voices raised, others speaking amongst themselves questioning if they should dispatch their own armies. If they should head out of the kingdom to protect their own family. Their own lives.

One of the noblemen seems to realize the king is here. “My King, please, come see.” Motioning him closer to the wailing man before them.

His feet are heavy, but he moves quickly. The wails are so loud it mutes his ears; the blood is so strong it covers all smells. He looks upon the bloodied man.

“My King, look.” With a motion so swift, one of the men- so many hands, the king can’t recall who- lifted the man’s gown over his head.

There. Descending from his chest all the way to his groin, causing the river of red blood to soil the gown he was wearing.

Carved, deep and russet red, “The Lioness”. The king falls back, tripping over men and bloodied rags. Hands reach out to grab him and he smacks them away.

“My King, it’s her!” One of his guard states.

He held his breath, until as he breathed out, a name expelled from his lips. A name that tasted like poison. A name that is a true lioness. A love that goes so deeply, it is fierce and scary and raw and powerful. A love he never realized held Olivier in a grasp. A name belonging to the wife of the man he allowed to be murdered for treason. The man who was a scapegoat, and expendable, a nobody to him. But to her, to this lioness, he was somebody. An everything. A reason to live. And as he looked upon the carved man before him, a reason to slaughter. It was her that was coming, the Lioness of Brittany.

“Jeanne de Clisson”. The king was afraid. “A fucking woman. His damn wife. She controls My Black Fleet.”

---

Pirates. That is who I am now. After the king allowed my husband to be murdered, desecrated, like a low-class criminal. No proof of guilt for the crime of conspiracy with the king of England, accused and forgotten by his own beloved leader.

I am justice. You watched helplessly as I exhausted every resource possible to save my husband. As I crossed land after land with our children strapped to my body, watching their mother wield a sword at every man I blamed for their father’s death. The only thing that kept me alive, the love my husband’s first-born had for me. Not from my own loins, but the ferocity that I loved his father and came to him as his stepmother, he protects me now as I avenge him.

I am coming for you, King. A widowed woman you mistaken as weak. A family that you broke up, but didn’t realize we are wolves. None of your flocks are safe now. You should’ve killed me too.

I look upon my new family, the men I hired who are the true low-class criminals, as you treated my husband. Using my earnings to purchase my ship, My Black Fleet. Its color matches its name, hidden from your view along the horizon. You only see us as dawn breaks, but then it’s too late. We are upon you. A true lioness that stalks and then ambushes.

We take over the next ship. My feet hit the oak wood of the deck. My sword in my hands, and my hidden daggers tucked away. I sprint towards man after man. Cleaving all who are in my way. My teeth grit and I taste the blood in the air of the fallen before me.

This is for the rage you created. The family you broke. The lies you told. This is for Olivier. A love I will never have again.

I raise my sword high, the red blood dripping down my arms.

But, my love has teeth.