Scarlet (33 page)

CHAPTER 41

S
’truth, I’d never make a sailor. Even the smallest stretch o’ water seen from the deck of a ship brings me out in a sweat. If a wave should rock the boat, it’s me there hanging onto the rail and spilling my supper into the briny deep. Oh, and I had cause enough. Even the master of the ship said it was the worst storm in many a year o’ sailing. And he should know—he’s crossed that narrow sea more times than a rooster with a henhouse across the road. Our own small voyage might not have been so bad, and indeed I had allowed myself to imagine that the worst was over when we entered the wide estuary of the Thames and sallied slowly upriver to the White Tower of Lundein to pay our ruddy King William a visit.

Alas, the king was not in residence.

Gone to Rouen, they told us—gone to parley with his brother, not to return till Saint Matthew’s Day, maybe not till Christmas.

Never mind, said Bran, we’ve come this far, what’s a little further? “Master Ruprecht!” he called, and I can still hear those fateful words: “Cast off and make sail for France!”

A
s it had turned out, our man Ruprecht, the ship’s owner and master, was Flanders born and raised, and could speak both French and English into the bargain. His ship was a stout ploughhorse of a vessel, and he was kept right busy fetching and carrying Ffreinc noblemen and their knights back and forth to England from various ports on the coast of Normandie. Thus, he knew the coasts of both lands as well as any and far better than most. Seizing his ship had been easier than rolling off a stump. We lifted nary a finger, nor ruffled a hair—we simply bought his services.

This easy conquest was not without its moment of uncertainty, however. For as we came in sight of the docks at Hamtun that day and Bran gave Iwan, Siarles, and Jago the command to secure the ship, those three hastened down to the wharf. Cinnia and I arrived close behind and scrambled onto the dock hard on their heels. “Let me talk to them first,” offered Brother Jago, as they dismounted. “Do nothing until we see how things stand.”

“Hurry then,” Iwan said. “We do not have much time before the others get here.”

“What will you tell them?” asked Siarles, swinging down from the saddle. “Maybe it would be better to take them by surprise.”

“Force is the first resort of the coward,” suggested Jago lightly. “Peace, Brother. We have enjoyed great success with our disguises until now. We can trust them a little further, I think.”

“Go then,” Iwan told him. “See if they will talk to you.”

“Whatever you do, make it quick,” said I, urging them on.

“All the same, we will be ready to stifle any objections with our fists,” Siarles called after him.

I myself could not have stifled so much as a sneeze with my fists, weak and miserable as I was just then. My months of captivity had left me exhausted, and the last few days of travel had all but killed me. It took my last strength to clamber down from the wagon and, on Cinnia’s tender arm, hobble onto the dock and make my slow, aching way aboard the waiting vessel where, if it had not happened, I would not have believed it: the ship’s master himself welcomed us with open arms.

“Greetings, friends!” he called, leaping lightly to the rail to help me aboard. “My ship and myself are at your service. I am Master Ruprecht, and this is the
Dame Havik
.” His English was flat and toneless, but clear, and the ruddy face beneath his floppy red hat was friendly as it was wind-burned. “The good brother has told me of your urgent mission. Never fear, I will see you safely to your destination.” He paused to wave at the approaching Ffreinc, and to Father Dominic.

What Jago had told him, in the first part, was that Father Dominic was a papal legate, which was no more than de Braose and his lot already believed. Jago merely added that we were all on a secret embassy to England bearing a message of utmost importance for the king. As it happens, this last part was true enough. Bran did indeed bear an important message for the king—the one I had sent him through Odo from my prison cell concerning the letter we had stolen in the Christmas raid. Now, as a result of his sojourn with Count Falkes and Abbot Hugo, our King Raven knew better what that letter meant. The importance of reaching King William might have been overstated somewhat. But in light of the mounting suspicions of Falkes and the sheriff, it was simple good sense to make the captain think our errand urgent. Even so, that excuse was closer to the truth than any of us could have guessed, and it was to be the saving of us.

The
Dame Havik
’s master had only one small impediment towards our leaving straightaway—he had no crew. He had come to England shorthanded, and with a cargo of fine cloth, which he had sold days before; he had put in at Hamtun to pick up more sailors and a load of hides and wool. “We will have to wait until I can find some more hands to help with the sails and such. I hope you understand. It should not take long,” he hastened to add, “no more than three or four days maybe.”

“Even that is too long,” Jago, as Brother Alfonso, informed him. “Perhaps you would allow my fellow monks and me to serve as your crew at least as far as Lundein. If you tell us what to do, we will do it. And,” he added, “the king will reward you well when we tell him how you have helped us.”

Ruprecht of Flanders pulled on his chin and cast a weather eye at the sky, then to the river. “The tide is beginning to run, and the wind is in a favourable quarter.” He made up his mind with a snap of his fingers. “Well, why not? As soon as His Eminence is aboard, we will cast off. Here! I will show you what to do. Step to the music, friends!”

And just like that, Iwan and Siarles were no longer lay brothers, but sailors. Under Ruprecht’s direction, they hauled on the ropes and picked up the poles and, in as much time as it takes to tell it, we were away, leaving the Ffreinc standing on the shore, mouths agape, eyes a-boggle at the swiftness of our departure. The ship, light of its load, spun out into the deeper channel; the tide lifted her and carried her off. We saw the dock and Hamtun town growing small behind us and laughed out loud. We were so relieved to have done with those treacherous Ffreinc, we laughed until the tears streamed down our cheeks.

We made for Lundein, sailing along the coast and up the wide Thames until we came in sight of the White Tower—a splendid thing it is, too, all gleaming pale and tall like an enormous horn rising from the bank of the muddy river. But we had no sooner made anchor and summoned a tender alongside to carry us to shore than we learned that the king was not in England. “Gone to France,” said the tenderman. He counted the days on his fingers. “A week or more ago, give or take.”

“Are you certain?” asked Jago.

“Show him this,” said Bran, handing Jago a silver penny. “Give it to him if he answers well.”

Jago questioned the man closely, and at the end declared himself satisfied that the man was telling the truth; he tossed the boatman the coin. “What is your wish, my lord?”

“We have no choice,” Bran replied. I saw the keen glint in his eye and knew he’d already decided.

Mérian saw it, too. “You mean . . . ? We can’t!”

“Why not?” said Bran. “I’ve been thinking, and the sooner we get this out in the open, the sooner we can reclaim Elfael.”

“What are you talking about?” said Iwan.

Bran turned and called: “Master Ruprecht! Cast off and make sail for France.”

“France!” scoffed the big warrior. “I wouldn’t set foot beyond the high tide mark on the word of an Englishman.”

“Careful, friend,” I warned, smiling as I said it. “Some of us Englishmen are that touchy when our honour is called into question.”

Iwan pawed the air at me with his hand. “You know what I mean.”

“He has a point,” Siarles put in. “France is a fair size, so I’m told.”

“And full of Ffreincmen,” I added.

“We might want to know where we’re going if we aim to meet up with Red William.”

Bran agreed and, with Brother Jago for company, ordered Ruprecht to hire the men to crew the ship and get whatever provisions might be necessary for a voyage to France, and then climbed down into the waiting tender boat. Rhi Bran and Jago went ashore to learn what they could of the king’s whereabouts, and we were soon occupied with securing provisions and fodder for the horses, and hauling water aboard. Seeing as how his passengers were ambassadors of the pope, the ship’s master also bought a cask of wine and two of ale, and a barrel of smoked herrings, two bags of apples, four live chickens, two ducks, and a basket of eggs. These he bought from the merchant boats plying the wide river, bartering for a price and then hauling the various casks, crates, and cages up over the rail. He then went in search of sailors to make the voyage with us. While he was gone, we stowed all of the cargo away in the little rooms below deck and then waited for Bran and Jago to return.

We waited long, watching the river sink lower and lower as the tide ebbed out. The bare mud of the upper bank was showing and the sun had disappeared below the horizon and Iwan was almost ready to swim ashore to storm the tower, he was that sure Bran and Jago had been taken captive, when Mérian called out, “Here they are! They’re coming now.”

Indeed, they were already in a boat and making their way out to where
Dame Havik
rode at anchor. Moments later, we were pulling them aboard. We all gathered around to hear what they had learned ashore.

“The king has gone to attend a council at Rouen,” Bran said. “He left with sixty men ten days ago. I know not where Rouen may be, but I mean to go there and lay before him all that we know and suspect.”

“I know Rouen,” volunteered Ruprecht when he returned a short while later leading four Flemish sailors to crew the ship. “Ten days, you say?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If they were travelling overland on horseback, we may still be able to catch them before they arrive.”

“Truly?” wondered Iwan. “How is that possible?”

“My ship draws lightly,” he said. “We can easily go upriver as far as the bridge. It is but a short ride from there to the town.”

The tide was on the rise, so we had to wait until it had begun to ebb again. We settled down to a good meal which the ship’s master and Jago prepared for us, then slept a little, rising again when the tide began to flow. As a dim half-moon soared overhead, we upped anchor and set out once more.

Dawn found us skirting the high white cliffs of the southern coast, and as the sun rose, the clouds gathered and the wind began to blow. At first it wasn’t so bad that a fella couldn’t stand up to it, but by midday, the waves were dashing against the hull and splashing over the rail. Ruprecht allowed that we were in for some rough water, but assured us that we would come to no harm. “A summer storm, nothing more,” he called cheerfully. “Do not fret yourselves, Brothers. See to the horses—there are ropes to lash them down so they cannot hurt themselves.”

Throughout the day, the storm grew. Wind howled around the bare mast—they’d long since taken down the sails—and the waves tossed the ship like thistledown: now up, now down, now tail over top. It was all I could do to hold on for dear life and keep my poor bandaged fingers from smashing against the hull as I tried to keep from getting battered bloody.

As evening fell on that wild day, our ship’s master was the only one still cheerful. Ruprecht alone maintained his usual good humour in the teeth of the storm. Moreover, he was the only one still standing. The rest of us—his sailors included—were hunkered down below the deck, clinging to the stout ribs of the ship as she bucked and heaved in the rowdy waves.

More than once, my innards tried to leave the wretched confines of their piteous prison—and I without strength or will to stop them. My stomach heaved with every wave that rolled and tried to sink our vessel. Along with my miserable companions, I shut my eyes against the dizzying pitch and twist, and stopped my ears against the shriek of the wind and the angry sea’s bellowing roar.

This seagoing calamity continued for an eternity, so it seemed. When at last we dared lift our heads and unclasp our limbs and venture onto the deck, we saw the clouds torn and flying away to the east and rays of sunlight streaming through, all bright gold and glowing like the firmament of heaven. “Have we died then?” asked Siarles, grey-faced with the sickness we all shared. The front of his robe was damp from his throwing up, and his hair was slick and matted with sweat.

“No such luck,” groaned Iwan; his appearance likewise had not improved with the ordeal. “I can still feel the beast bucking under me. In heaven there will be no storms.”

“And no ships, either,” muttered Mérian. Pale and shaky, she tottered off to find water to wash her face and hands. Bran was least affected by the storm, but even he strode unsteadily to where Ruprecht stood smiling and humming at the tiller; summoning Jago to him, Bran said, “Ask him how many days we have lost.”

“Only one, Your Grace,” came the reply. “The storm blew itself out overnight. The sea has been running high, but it is calming now. Och! That was a bad one—as bad as any I’ve seen in a month of years.”

“Are we still on course?” asked Bran.

“More or less,” affirmed the master. “More or less. But we will be able to raise the sails soon. Until then, have your men see to the horses. Unbind them and give the poor beasts a little food and water.”

While Iwan and Siarles saw to that chore, two of the sailors began preparing a meal for us. Bran and I watched this activity as we leaned heavily on the rail, neither of us feeling very bold or hearty just then. “What a night,” Bran sighed. “How is the hand?”

“Not so bad,” I lied. “Hardly feel it at all.” Looking out at the still-rumpled sea, I asked, “What will happen when we get to Rouen, if we should be so fortunate?”

“I mean to get an audience with Red William.”

“As Lord Bran,” I wondered, “or Father Dominic?”

He showed me his lopsided smile. “Whichever one the king will agree to see. It is the message that is important here, not the messenger.”

“Leaving that aside,” I said, “I’m beginning to think we’re mad for risking our necks aboard this mad ship and storm-stirred sea to save a king we neither love nor honour.”