Island of Gold
(Sea and Stone Chronicles)
By Amy Maroney
Publication Date: September 8, 2021
Publisher: Artelan Press
Page Length: 380 Pages
Genre: Historical adventure and romance
1454. A noble French falconer. A spirited merchant’s daughter. And a fateful decision that changes their destiny forever.
When Cédric is recruited by the Knights Hospitaller to the Greek island of Rhodes, his wife Sophie jumps at the chance to improve their fortunes. After a harrowing journey to Rhodes, Cédric plunges into the world of the knights—while Sophie is tempted by the endless riches that flow into the bustling harbor. But their dazzling new home has a dark side.
Slaves toil endlessly to fortify the city walls, and rumors of a coming attack by the Ottoman Turks swirl in the streets. Desperate to gain favor with the knights and secure his position, Cédric navigates a treacherous world of shadowy alliances. Meanwhile, Sophie secretly engineers a bold plan to keep their children safe. As the trust between them frays, enemies close in—and when disaster strikes the island, the dangers of their new world become terrifyingly real.
With this richly-told story of adventure, treachery, and the redeeming power of love, Amy Maroney brings a mesmerizing and forgotten world to vivid life.
Excerpt
Spring, 1440Bruges, Flanders
Cédric descended the steps of the inn with care, his head still pounding from last night’s excesses. Mist clung to the rooftops, its cool dampness sending a chill through him. He had one more matter of urgent business before he returned to Auvergne. The sooner he could unburden himself of the gold coins in his purse, the better.
He crossed to the canal that lay opposite the inn. A family of ducks glided a stone’s throw away, the ducklings paddling furiously to keep up with their mother. He smiled a little, grateful for a moment of peace, and began his trek to the harbor.
Just ahead of him, a city alderman and his entourage of notaries and servants entered the street from an adjoining lane, their dark caps bobbing like a flock of errant crows. Cédric quickened his stride, skirting past the group.
He passed a row of warehouses as the morning sun burned through the mist. A familiar figure exited one of the buildings, young cloth merchant Gregoire Portier of Toulouse, whom he’d met during his first stay in Bruges. They had shared a game table last night in a tavern not far from here. Portier was trailed by an older man in a fur-trimmed cap and a short black cape.
“How goes it, my friend?” Cédric called out, approaching the duo.
“Good morning!” Gregoire’s bloodshot eyes were the only evidence of last night’s revelry on his smiling face. He turned to his companion. “Papa, this is Cédric de Montavon, falconer to a count of Auvergne.”
Cédric nodded to the elder Portier. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Are you enjoying your visit to the north?”
“Exceedingly.” The man inspected Cédric with interest. “Falconer, eh? You must have tales to tell.”
“A few.” The three men fell into step together. “Any more word of the Venetian fleet?” Cédric asked.
Last night at the tavern, before Grégoire had disappeared with a brightly painted courtesan on his arm, he’d passed along gossip that Venetian merchants were nearing Bruges.
“No,” Grégoire said, squinting against the sun. “A new rumor came out of the cloth merchants’ guild this morning. It seems the fleet was waylaid by pirates in the Bay of Biscay.”
Cédric looked at him in dismay. “I pray the gossips are wrong. I’d hoped to be among the first to see their wares today.”
“I know. We’re eager to get our hands on Syrian silks, and the Venetian fleet can usually be relied upon for a good supply,” Grégoire said. “What do the Venetians carry that you seek?”
“Items of silver,” he answered vaguely, unwilling to share more details. He liked Grégoire, but the man had a wagging tongue. “Never fear, other merchants will come from the East. The Catalans can usually be counted on to show up with valuable goods at better prices.”
“If you like your wares pirated,” Grégoire said with a grin.
“For the right price, I don’t care how their goods are sourced,” Cédric replied. “The Venetians aren’t above piracy either, though they’d never call it that.”
The threesome arrived at the harbor’s edge, where the alderman and his attendants stood discussing the missing fleet in worried tones. Cédric sighed. How long would his return to Auvergne be delayed?
“It seems my errand must wait.” He shaded his eyes with a hand, pointing to a nearby barge. “If you’re in no hurry, join me for a few rounds of cards. The captain of a Norwegian ship anchored down the river in Sluys has a hospitable game table. That barge makes the journey twice a day, for a reasonable price.”
“Would it please you, Papa?” Grégoire put a solicitous hand on his father’s shoulder.
“There’s nothing I’d enjoy more,” the elder Portier said.
*
At Sluys, dozens of ships were anchored in the harbor, their goods destined for barges returning to Bruges. The men followed Cédric aboard a battered-looking vessel that had plied the cold waters between Flanders and Norway many times. After greeting Cédric with an affectionate embrace, the captain welcomed the Portier men and escorted them all below decks into his quarters. On a table sat a stack of playing cards and a leather cup holding a pair of dice. The men settled on stools around the table while a sailor fetched wine and the captain shuffled and dealt the cards.
“A ship at anchor is far preferable to one at sea,” Monsieur Portier remarked, arranging his cards in his hand. “Our journey here was far too stormy for my taste.”
“The more time you spend at sea, the easier it gets.” The captain looked at Cédric with a grin.
“You’d better find your sea legs again. Fancy another scramble up some Norwegian cliffs? You proved an excellent nest robber the first time.”
Gregoire glanced at Cédric in surprise. “You’ve been to Norway?”
“Yes.” Cédric put a card in the discard pile and selected a new one. “I was lucky in my choice of companions. We netted two dozen raptors, half of them gyrfalcons, if I recall correctly.” He looked at the Norwegian, shaking his head ruefully. “Stol på meg, Karl, I would return with you in a heartbeat if I could.”
His friend laughed. “Those three words saved our hides more than once. They likely will again.”
The Norwegian’s laughter was interrupted by the clatter of boots descending from the upper decks. A man burst into the cabin, his short cape swirling around him.
“May I be of service?” the Norwegian asked, still speaking French. He put down his cards and rose from the table.
“Captain, forgive me for the interruption,” the stranger said with a bow. His French was inflected with the rolling r’s of Catalan. “But I was told on good faith that you carry a cargo of gyrfalcons.
My employer has dispatched me to purchase some without delay.”
Cédric’s shoulders tensed. The hold contained several gyrfalcons and a peregrine falcon destined for his own employer’s mews in Auvergne.
The captain’s expression turned serious. “I’m afraid my gyrfalcons are already reserved.”
The Catalan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve a letter to show you. It may convince you otherwise.”
He withdrew a square of folded linen paper from a pocket and handed it to the Norwegian.
From where Cédric was sitting, the seal looked like a star.
The captain broke the seal and studied the letter for a moment. His eyes widened a little as he scanned the lines of script.
“Tell me,” the Catalan said when the captain met his gaze again. “How much did your other buyers pledge to pay? I’ll double it.”
Cédric scraped back his stool and stood. “You cannot buy falcons that are already spoken for, sir. Mine, for instance.”
The Catalan turned. He was not much older than Cédric himself, with a taut, chiseled face and dark eyes. He gave Cédric a sweeping, dismissive glance.
“This is not your affair,” he said sharply.
“I’m afraid it is,” Cédric replied, stepping away from the game table.
The captain put up a mollifying hand. “My friend, there’s no cause for you to worry.”
“I disagree.” Cédric took another step in the Catalan’s direction, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
The Catalan widened his stance. “As I said before, my business is not with you, sir.”
He slid his own sword from its scabbard with silent precision.
The Portier men looked at each other in alarm.
“Enough!” The Norwegian’s tone grew hard. Two of his officers materialized in the doorway.
“Aboard this ship, everyone is obliged to heed my command.”
Cédric’s chest grew tight. He sought the captain’s eyes. “Answer me this. Will you honor our agreement or not?”
“Stol på meg, Cédric,” the Norwegian replied in a low voice, his expression steady.
Clearing his throat, the Catalan retrieved a purse from his belt and shook it. The clink of metal resonated through the chamber.
“Perhaps you’re new to the falcon trade, sir. Gyrfalcons are the most costly and rare of them all,” Cédric said. “I doubt your purse holds enough gold for what you seek. Did you bring another?”
The Catalan shot Cédric a look of pure contempt and trained his gaze on the captain.
“Show me the birds, and I can pay you now, with my notary as witness.” He called out something in rapid Catalan. Another man appeared in the doorway. “The deal will be quickly done, Captain, and you’ll be a much richer man for it.”
The notary drew a leather-bound book from a satchel slung over his shoulder. “With your permission,” he murmured, spreading the book open in his hands. The seal of the city of Bruges was stamped on the first page.
The Norwegian nodded his approval. “Follow me,” he told the Catalan and the notary.
The three men vanished, the officers close behind them, and the hard tap of their boots on the planks faded.
Spring, 1440
Bruges, Flanders
Cédric descended the steps of the inn with care, his head still pounding from last night’s excesses. Mist clung to the rooftops, its cool dampness sending a chill through him. He had one more matter of urgent business before he returned to Auvergne. The sooner he could unburden himself of the gold coins in his purse, the better.
He crossed to the canal that lay opposite the inn. A family of ducks glided a stone’s throw away, the ducklings paddling furiously to keep up with their mother. He smiled a little, grateful for a moment of peace, and began his trek to the harbor.
Just ahead of him, a city alderman and his entourage of notaries and servants entered the street from an adjoining lane, their dark caps bobbing like a flock of errant crows. Cédric quickened his stride, skirting past the group.
The three men vanished, the officers close behind them, and the hard tap of their boots on the planks faded.
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Amy Maroney
Amy Maroney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, and spent many years as a writer and editor of nonfiction before turning her hand to historical fiction. When she's not diving down research rabbit holes, she enjoys hiking, dancing, traveling, and reading. Amy is the author of the Miramonde Series, a trilogy about a Renaissance-era female artist and the modern-day scholar on her trail. To receive a free prequel novella to the Miramonde Series, join Amy's readers' group at www.amymaroney.com. (Just copy and paste into your browser.)
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