tale of long ago

Tell it to you slow?
She had this cut above her right eye. She looked as though she could've taken a pint of blood, she was that pale, at least as far as princesses go. I told her I'd get her safe to solid ground, Malta, as soon as possible but she'd have nothing to do with it. The stalwart Knightley, a fine vessel, her wooden planks the same blood red where that shield hangs now upon the wall, continued north off the African coast in the blinding blue Mediterranean, destination Rome.

The waif made a good account of herself. No hesitation in wielding a blade, aye, the one poised on the left you see is the one she chose, two-fisted closed-eyed slashing at first, morphing into an experienced little swashbuckler, confident with wide and piercing eyes, killing two, decapitating one coming for me, wounding seven scoundrels at the poop. No better man at my back. And just a cut above the eye to show, not from a sword slashing, only from falling against a turnbuckle after combat. Her spunk and bravery? My guess is she was so furious when they chopped off her flowing mane during a drunken assault, aye, you see there front and center tassel, after the kidnap. She gave me an avenging smile when I asked if I might use her recaptured locks for a tassel. I took it as a yes.

But bravery only to a point, the lass, aye. The cries of the wounded would shake anyone to their core. Even in her serenity she shuddered. I grabbed her wrist and led her below, and then she was crying. I held the cloth to her eyebrow before she ripped it out of my hand and turned away. Aye, crying.

On course for Rome, all dastardly savages upon the scarlet deck tossed overboard, silent, except for sea against the Knightley, her clean white sail aflutter, the esteemed passenger not worried the least of a scar, and forever by my side.

tale of long ago, part two...