“No matter,” Bertrand said. “I have something to show you downstream. Get your jacket, sunlight will not bless us for much longer.”
Marc did and they left as soon as Bertrand killed the fire. The left the horse tied up nearby and ventured by his count downstream for six-hundred-and-forty-three paces.
They stopped by what appeared to be a ruined church, the circular window and elongated top was the only part that remained identifiable. The rest was rubble strewn about and buried by years of accumulated vegetation.
“A place lost in time,” Bertrand said. “A time when Spain was under siege from across the sea.”
Marc knew of it, and the struggle it had taken to retake those lands. It always struck as fantastical, because to him their greatest foes had always been the Spanish and the English. I can’t imagine any worse than those two.
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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