Passport: Excerpts from Six Historical Adventures by the Pulitzer Prize Nominated Author Historian Vernanne Bryan

PASSPORT

Excerpts from Six Historical Adventures

Vernanne Bryan

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Contents

Fields of Gold

Title Page | Passport | Epigraph | Prologue | Part I | Chapter I | Chapter II

To Key A Marquis

Title Page | Passport | About To Key A Marquis | Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

Sublime Intervention

Title Page | Passport | About Sublime Intervention | Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

Tangled in His Glory

Title Page | Passport | Epigraph | Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

When The Morning Comes In Heaven

Title Page | Passport | Book I | Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

The Skull of Sidon

Title Page | Passport | Dedication | The Prologue | The 12th Century | Chapter I | Chapter II

Author’s Note

Coming in 2015

FIELDS OF GOLD -PART I

Vernanne Bryan

PASSPORT

Dedicated to:

Your

Historical Adventure

Your Travel Visa

Fields of Gold

With gentleness I will seek you

I am coming home at last

I’m done with fields of gray and blue,

and will place them in the past.

I will wipe away your sorrows.

I will take away your fears.

I will pledge you bright tomorrows,

that we’ll spend in all our years.

I will keep you close beside me.

No more battles will I fight.

I will come to you on bended knee,

and hold you through the night.

Everyday we’ll seek life’s treasures.

We’ll find joy as we grow old.

You, my love, will be all pleasure,

till we go home to fields of gold.

PROLOGUE

A Small Kingdom off the Coast of the Mediterranean Sea

January 1848

Three men stood by the young queens bed in the royal chamber. Two were tall powerfully built men dressed for battle, the eldest of which was the captain of the palace guard, who stood in a state of restless agitation next to the young king. The third man present was a modest graying physician that had served the monarchy for three generations. It was he who dared to break the awful silence hanging like a black shroud over the gilded room.

I’m sorry, Your Highness, the physician said. Elena was too frail to withstand the strain of bearing one child, let alone two. I warned you when you bedded her that this could happen.

Silence!

Unshed tears hung in the kings eyes as he tore off his helmet and threw it across the marble floor with a clatter. He wore the sweat and grime of recent battle and he ran powerful fingers through his matted blonde hair. The king was heedless of the ever increasing sounds of clashing arms in the palace courtyard below or the nervous pacing of the captain of his guard. Grief stricken passionate green eyes looked down on the pale still face of the woman who lay there. Her expression was finally at peace and free of the pain, fear, and suffering he had seen on it the night before. Her eyes were closed in death, but he would remember the violet color of them until he too lay unseeing in the grave.

One of the guards outside pounded frantically on the chamber door. The king did not stir from the cold place where he knelt by the bed. The captain strode hurriedly to the door and spoke in hushed heated conversation for a few short moments with the guard outside. Their voices rose to an audible pitch and then the captain violently slammed the chamber door shut, bursting forth as he did with a sacrilegious expletive. The king visibly winced at the reverberating noises that intruded harshly into what should have been a quiet sanctuary. He finally lifted his fair head. A dark scowl covered his handsome face and his green eyes flashed in anger.

The older man who had been in charge of the king’s welfare for years was not in the least cowed by the thunder on the regal countenance. He turned intense unflinching burgundy eyes into the full fury of those of his monarch.

Sire, the Austrians have broken through the palace doors. We must hurry.

The barbaric cry that had begun on a battlefield many miles away was now resounding through the palace like the shrill whine of a great wind. It had been that way since the right division of the kings forces had broken and a chaotic and terrible retreat had begun. Soldiers and horses alike had slipped on the blood slick ground and the shrieks of animals and men could be heard crying in death and agony. They had fought for their king and their homeland and for days they had managed to sustain their position. But, in spite of all their valiant efforts, the Austrians had held the day upon the battlefield.

Caught in the melee of the retreat, the king had whirled his great war stallion about and stared at the line of his soldiers still trying to hold a small ridge. Thousands of the invading forces had died; more men came to replace them. Though he had led his army with genius for one so young, in despair the king realized that the outcome was hopeless. He had turned his mount toward the sea then and inch by bloody inch had surrendered up the soil of his kingdom to stand and make his last defense protecting the palace walls.

It began as a murmur in the courtyard; it had risen to an awful chant. This time the news was true. The Austrians were within the palace. The king’s valiant forces had scattered like leaves in the wind and the last wall of defense was the palace guard. The clash of arms could be heard now in the distant throne room.

The golden young king grasped his captains arm in the age old ritual of brotherhood and held him bound with blazing green eyes.

You will save the princesses.

My place is by your side, Sire.

There is no one else I would have do this.

No, you must go and I will hold them back until you have safely departed, my King!

There is no life for me now that she is gone.

Still the captain stood with his feet stubbornly braced apart, looking into the fiercely blazing eyes of his friend and sovereign.

I command you to go, Captain Warwick!

The king forced the man’s firm clasp from him and turned to the physician.

You have brought the princesses?

Yes, my liege, they are here in these small baskets.

The king strode to a delicately carved wooden table that held an ornate gold casket and opening the lid quickly, reached in and withdrew papers. He gestured for the physician to give the captain one of the baskets. To each man he handed two envelopes with the royal seal.

"Leave by the secret passage. A carriage and a small guard of the men you hand selected, Captain Warwick, await you at the end of the tunnel. When you are safely away and quite certain you are out of danger, you must head in different directions. Each of you will be responsible for one of the princesses. You must travel separately to assure their survival. I have given you all the provisions you will need to make the journey to America. Unfortunately, there is only one letter of introduction. The other letters are written for each daughter by the Queen. Captain Warwick, you must be the one to find a second home in America for the princess you escort."

The clash of steel against steel was heard coming down the wide hall outside the royal chamber. The king released a heavy shuddering sigh and drew his sword.

Go!!

The physician hastened across the marble floor and pulled back a tapestry hiding a secret exit. Pressing lightly on what seemed like a solid wall, a panel moved inward revealing a winding staircase. As the physician disappeared down the stone steps with the first child, the king pulled a document from beneath the double-breasted vest of his uniform and reached out to waylay his captain.

You must take this final decree and safeguard it as you would the life of the princess you guard. It is the babe you carry with you that will one day reclaim the throne. She is the first born. Tell the good doctor I know he did all he could for Elena. Godspeed, my friend.

Hastily replacing the panel and tapestry, the king moved swiftly to the foot of his queens bed, hand braced inside the full-basket hilt of his battle worn Pattern sword, just as the door to the chamber crashed open.

PART I

CHAPTER I

The United States of America

Fall 1864

Garrett stood alone in the mist by the lazy muddy river. Without being able to see into the darkness, he could tell it was stained with the blood of enemy troops. Surprise ambush at the riverain had been the dead’s watery fate, and though the killing always sickened Garrett, he was not sorry for what he had managed to accomplish. It had taken him long bog-filled heat-infested days and he had lost plenty of his own men to the older enemy of the South, swamp fever. He begrudgingly felt a sense of pride toward the rag-tag group of confederate soldiers that had slipped consistently through his hands, all the while pulling him and his men deeper into the swamp, sniping and driving some of his own troops to a careless exhaustion that had cost them their lives. Now it was over. He could head back to the main force of Sherman’s troops. But he still had to negotiate his way out of the swamp before he lost all of his men. Running a sweaty hand through his dark brown hair, he took one last look at the discolored reflection of the full moon on the tainted river. Hell, that’s all he had needed, a full moon! His cavalry would be sniper bait for sure. God he hated war, but he especially despised this part of it. He hadn’t been able to comprehend fully just exactly what Sherman had in mind for future campaigns. He only knew what had been rumored that he and the men in his command might be ordered to do. It would be absolute war, and could without much further provocation, fall just short of murder. If Sherman was successful, he could save thousands of lives by shortening the war, but he would break the back of the South for decades to come. What good could all this destruction be in the final analysis to the land that he loved. Turning abruptly into the shadow of a cypress, he called to his first sergeant in a rough whisper.

Cal, get that Seminole up here to me. I want out of this hell hole by first break of day!

• • •

Major Pickering was waiting at the edge of the clearing with his young aid the following morning as Garrett emerged from the swamp. Pickering stood with his stocky bow-legs braced wide apart and his rough hands clenched behind his back. It was obvious he had been studying at length the sorry band of exhausted men who had spent the long mosquito infested night pulling themselves out of the muck. Then his searching eyes lit up as they found what they had been looking for and a broad toothy grin spread over his face. He pounded his young aid enthusiastically on the back.

I’ll be damned if he hasn’t made it out of that steaming hell hole in record time and with his hide intact again! Slippery as a cotton mouth that kid! Always knew I was right about seeing he made Captain. Uh-huh, yes indeed! Well, wait till he hears I’m sending him to Charleston hardly before he can clean the muck from his boots! Captain Whitney, over here pronto!

Garrett turned tired eyes to the sound of the familiar voice. Crusty old coot still worries about me, he thought smiling tiredly to himself. Wonder what the hell he’s got up his sleeve now. Dismounting he handed the reins to the waiting soldier just as Major Pickering’s booming voice bellowed at him again.

Garrett!

He was like the elderly officer’s son and he knew if he wasn’t careful the old buzzard would embrace him, so he quickly stuck out his hand.

Major Pickering.

Garrett was careful in public to give him the official salute before he stood at ease beside him.

Garrett! Thank god you made it back, son! I’ve got a mission for you I think you’ll like better than being Sherman’s mop up detail. Clean up, get some chow and report back to me pronto.

Sure thing, Major.

Garrett walked tiredly toward his tent. God a bath and a shave would feel good, he thought trying to dredge up some enthusiasm, if he could just find the energy to make it to the creek. Stopping by his tent briefly for a few items and stripping away his shirt and trousers, he stepped into the sunlight and headed for the water.

A quick half-hour later found him somewhat refreshed and heading for the Majors quarters.

Major Pickering glanced up from the table outside his tent where he had been hastily going over some dispatches. He watched the strong tall figure of Garrett Whitney as he strode into view, resplendent in dark blue uniform with shiny brass buttons, bright braid on each cuff and gold epaulets bearing the rank of captain riding on broad shoulders. A gold and blue sash was bound about a lean waist beneath a wide black gun belt and a Hardee hat was pulled down over his brow. As he walked toward Pickering, the yellow stripes running down both sides of his trousers caught the sun and stood out against the blue of the cloth. When he approached the table, Major Pickering looked up assessingly into intense azure blue eyes set deeply into a face tanned golden by the sun. With fatherly pride he noted the long dark brown sideburns had been recently trimmed, accentuating the pronounced cheekbones and firm angular jaw. His nose was well formed and slightly aquiline and beneath it were generous but tightly drawn lips. He was the epitome of all Pickering would have desired in a son, for he had the air of professional soldier about him, which displayed itself in his quick manner, painfully neat apparel, and rather austere appearance.

Gradually Garrett’s stern visage softened, as he stared down at the man who was like a father to him. Long ago, and as the war had lengthened, they had dispensed with official greetings on the now too numerous fields of battle.

Sorry about the lack of recoup time, Garrett, but I’m anxious as all hell to get you out of this piss hole. Have a seat, man, I’ve only a short time to brief you.

Garrett sank gratefully down into the camp chair and stretched his long Hessian clad legs in front of him.

Garrett, I need you to act as an escort for my young nephew. I didn’t know until a few days past my sister had a kid. I knew she had come to the South years ago, but I lost all track of her. Seems her kid knew about me, though, cause she told him to find me in case something happened to her. Anyway, I need you to take him to his father’s parents in Charleston. I want you out of here and I’ll consider this mission a personal favor to me. Here’s a map to the place, letters of introduction from me, and all the gold I could dig up at the moment to send with him. Oh, and this is an out of uniform job, okay? You’ll find the lad over in that tent near the trees. God bless you, son, and safe journey.

Major Pickering’s eyes had suddenly misted over and Garrett knew it was time to leave.

I’ll do my best, sir.

• • •

Just before Garrett reached the tent designated to him by Major Pickering, the flap lifted and there stood a slender boy. On his head was a somewhat mangled slouch hat pulled down low over his ears and from under the brim two mutinous green eyes stared out of a begrimed face. The clothes that he wore appeared to be those for a much older boy, for they were overlarge and emphasized the smallness of his frame. His baggy trousers were tied at a thin waist by a length of hemp and he wore a loose cotton jacket of a huge shirt. He had attempted to roll the long sleeves back, but they still hung way down over his narrow wrists. A battered old suitcase sat near oversized boots with toes that had turned up, due to the lack of weight within them. His face was smudged with swamp mud and the sign of a sunburn showed across the tip of his nose. He seemed to be no more that perhaps a dozen years old, yet the experiences he wore on his face belied his apparent youth. A pensive frown marked his young brow and he looked to Garrett like so many of his defeated countrymen.

I’m Captain Garrett Whitney, young man. It looks like you and I are going to take a little trip. Got all your belongings together?

The jaw under the slouch hat tightened and lifted, the green eyes blazed, and before Garrett knew it, he was the recipient of a painfully abusive whack on the shins.

Ouch! Why you little—

Before Garrett could finish his sentence a small but determined fist had landed in the middle of his stomach. It barely fazed him and he reached over and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck.

What the Sam Hill is wrong with you?

I ain’t gonna do it and you can’t make me!

You don’t want to go Charleston?

Charleston! Who said anything about going there? Are you daft?

Last time I checked I wasn’t!

See here you great big overstuffed blue suit, I ain’t polishin’ no more shoes or shoveling anymore horse dung and that’s a fact! And what’s more you can tell Private Crawford he can take his old hard biscuits and fire them at the enemy. He just might win the war, cause they’ll kill anybody they hit! Now get your fancy pants out of my way, mister!

Who said anything about polishing shoes and shoveling horse manure?

Garrett could tell by the green eyes and the set jaw he was in for more flying shoes and fists, so he neatly stepped aside as a big curly-toed boot just missed him. The bedraggled refugee lost his balance and landed hard on his rear. Garrett turned on his heel and headed for his tent tossing a final cryptic remark over his shoulder.

When you’re done acting like an idiot you can ask Major Pickering where I’ll be! Until then, I’ll leave you to Private Crawford!

Oooooh! There was nothing Esta hated worse than a self-assured ego maniac and whoever he was, he was that! Getting up and brushing off her backside she impatiently swiped at a tear that threatened to course down her right cheek. Nothing in her life had gone right since she’d lost her mama and daddy. She hated this war and she hated it the most because she didn’t know really who to hate. Her mama had folks up North and her daddy had relations in the South, and either way, somebody was going to end up hurt or dead like her parents. What difference would it make if one seventeen-year-old girl never saw another day. But she mustn’t think like that because she promised her mama she wouldn’t and somehow, just somehow she’d survive. Her stomach began to growl and she reached a grubby hand into her trouser pocket and pulled out her daddy’s gold watch. Flipping the lid open she noticed the hands almost said noon. Rubbing it on her jacket and reinserting it into her pocket, she contemplated lunch. Private Crawford had given her six pairs of boots to polish just because she stole an extra biscuit at breakfast and not only was she angry about the extra work that many boots cost her, her pride still smarted at getting caught. Well, she might as well get at it, cause she was hungry and she sure wasn’t going looking for that big fancy toad. Besides, no matter what, she had to keep up the front of being a boy because her mama and daddy had warned her that girls alone had terrible troubles and her mama had made her promise to hide her femaleness.

There you are you little thief!

Esta groaned inwardly as Private Crawford rounded the corner in front of her tent.

Got those boots done yet?

No, and I’m not going to do them!

With that she grabbed her battered old suitcase and ran, hopefully to find the fancy toad. He was looking better to her all the time. Running with all her might, while managing the awkward bulk of her belongings, she careened past the hobbled calvary horses as fast as her legs would carry her. Private Crawford was hot on her heels and she dared not stop long enough to catch her breath or she’d be doomed. Then it all started to happen, as she rounded the cooks wagon her sleeve caught on the handle of a skillet, the skillet went flying into a stack of tin cups causing them to fly every which way, but not before they had made the most god awful clatter you could imagine. It startled the hobbled horses so bad they began to scream, buck and kick at anything that happened to be near by and one of them broke loose and headed straight for the temporary privy. Somebody hollered at the guy inside, but it was too late and the frightened horse crashed straight into the small rickety door knocking the little building over and the man who had been sitting there into the shit hole. Esta had never seen a person virtually catapult themselves into mid air as fast as that soldier did, nor had she ever heard such foul language coming from the mouth of a human being in her entire short life. She stood there gaping at the disarray around her, totally unmindful of her own plight, until Crawford grabbed her.

Gotcha now, you little bag of vermin!

He startled her so badly, she swung her suitcase in the air with all her might and poor Private Crawford didn’t stand a chance, for the hard corner of the case neatly cracked his jaw, and he dropped to the ground like a rock. Wide-eyed with the shock of seeing her pursuer prostrate on the ground, Esta looked alarmingly around her to see if anyone had witnessed her actions. But that was about all she had time to do, because the next thing she knew she was hauled up by the seat of her pants and hung precariously off the ground while roughly being shaken.

Are you finished!

She recognized the neatly clipped voice of the fancy toad. Her breath was coming in short spurts and the hemp belt from which she hung suspended off the ground was placing unbelievable stress on her empty belly. She tried to open her mouth to issue the expletive that had crossed her mind, but there was no way, so she clamped it shut and sort of just hung there, looking all silly and bedraggled. Suddenly she felt terribly embarrassed and wished for all the world her increasingly red-faced condition would go away.

Well, speak up!

Gawd! He was shaking her again and then with a thunk she was face down on the ground. Every fibre of her body ached, her pride was in shambles and worst of all she knew she looked the fool. The rest of it she could deal with, but looking like a fool was just too much. Scrambling to her knees with blind fury she lunged at his thigh and sank in her teeth. It was all she had time to do because in the next instance she had been drug neatly to her feet and two very piercing blue eyes were staring angrily into her own. He began speaking between clenched teeth.

In all my life I have never met a more ignorant, ill-mannered, contemptuous, brat, nor have I ever seen mayhem concocted in such a short space of time by someone so insignificant! I’m taking you to Charleston one way or another, boy! Now, we can either go easy, or we can do it the hard way, which will it be?

Esta involuntarily stepped back a few paces. This tall person was turning out to be most intimidating and she didn’t like the sense of helplessness he was making her feel. Where was the fancy toad she’d seen earlier? The man who now stood before her was all dressed in buckskin and had a menacing look about him. She quickly surmised she had her hands full and immediately decided on a different approach.

I want my own horse!

What makes you think I want you riding with me?

I won’t polish your boots!

They’re suede!

I won’t fetch and carry for you.

You’re too much of a shrimp to be useful!

Are you a good cook?

Why?

Cause I’m hungry!

You make a lot of demands for someone who’s just lost!

Garrett looked at the small defiant person before him and suddenly felt the whole thing was very amusing. He threw back his head and laughed