to the Far Blue Mountains (1976) (5 page)

"What?"

My voice raised somewhat, and the other man in the common room turned to look at us.

"Why, this is foolishness! The jewels were lost in the Wash!"

There was irony in Peter's tone as well as his glance. "And who comes from the fens near the Wash? You do. Who suddenly appears with gold coins? You do."

Every Englishman knew the story, but we of the fens had cause to know it best, perhaps, because it happened right at our door.

King John's forces were moving up from Weisbeck to a crossing of the Willestrem.

In the train of supply wagons that followed were the Crown jewels, all the royal regalia, along with many ancient possessions of England, valued as greatly as the jewels themselves. Much gold and silver plate, gems beyond number, gold coins stamped with the symbols of many royalties and kingdoms, and also the sword of Tristan.

All he possessed was there, and King John moved forward toward their stop for the night, which was to be at Swineshead. The King was in pain from the gout, impatient to be at ease and off his horse, and the Willestrem was a simple enough stream that seemed to offer no danger.

If they considered the tides of the sea at all, they did not understand how fierce they might become where the rushing force of the sea suddenly narrowed at the river's mouth.

What happened was sudden. The supply train was in the water, fording the river, when the full rush of the tide swept in. In an instant they were engulfed, and in another they were gone-only here and there a man or horse fighting the rush of water, a few splashing ashore.

In an instant the accumulated treasure of the Crown of England was gone, swept away by the tide. Buried in mud, perhaps, or floated into the deeper waters of the Wash, only to sink into the mud at the bottom.

The blow was a bitter one. Within hours, King John himself was dead, poisoned some said, but more likely dead as a result of the cold and wet, combined with gorging himself on the good food at Swineshead.

The treasure had never been found.

And now, because of a few gold coins happened upon when washed from the mud of the dyke, I was accused.

"That is nonsense," I said. "The coins were obviously lost by some traveler, or dropped by some looter after a battle. I found them in the mud, washed out by a heavy rain. They had been in a leather bag."

"I believe you, but there are those who do not."

My thoughts raced ahead. Even to one as relatively inexperienced as I, it was plain to see what would happen. I should be imprisoned and questioned, perhaps tortured. There was nothing for me to tell, so the torture might continue for a long time, and surely imprisonment would follow.

How could I convince them that I had found nothing beyond the coins I had sold?

I was suddenly sick and empty. There had been other coins, too. Following upon my little success with my first find, I had obtained the Leland manuscript and set out to investigate another place I recalled from my travels. There, too, I had been fortunate.

"Believe me, Peter, I know nothing. Only that I must escape, and now. If I do not, I see no way to avoid prison."

My voice lowered. "Peter, I cannot longer wait." In my mind came something my father had told me. It was a chance. "Peter, go to Tempany. Tell him to sail at once."

"And you?"

"Tell him to watch for a boat from off the Bill of Portland."

"All ports will be watched, you may be sure of it."

"Tell him to sail, but to take his time when passing the Bill and to keep a sharp lookout. I have a thought of what I can do."

Turning my head to look, I suddenly noticed that the other man was gone!

Instantly, I was on my feet. "Peter, I shall send you goods. You market them and buy for me. You'll do this?"

"As we planned. Of course."

In an instant, I was out of the door, and in two strides across the narrow stone wharf. Peter followed me. Black Tom took one look at my face and unloosed the mooring.

From in front of the Prospect, we heard a rush of feet and a rumble of voices.

Peter stepped quickly into the boat with us. "I do not think they know me," he said, "and if I can get away-"

We shoved off, but not out into the stream. Hugging the shore where we would not be immediately visible, we eased away from the Prospect-first under some looming houses beside the Thames, then under the reeds that grew along the bank. We were strong men, Tom and I, and we bent to our oars with a will. Behind us we heard curses and shouts, but looking back we could see nothing but the green of the bank, those lovely banks of the Thames that I might never see again.

"Where are you for?" Peter asked.

"The Grapes. I promised to leave the boat there."

"Good! In Limehouse I have friends."

"Can we trust them?"

Peter chuckled. "With everything but your money or your wife. Rob you, they might. Betray you, never!"

It was an old building, patched up and vine-grown, with willows, and in back of these, elms. We left the boat at The Grapes, and went down a lane from the river.

Peter's friends were a motley lot, as pretty a bunch of rogues as it had ever been my fortune to see-and better seen by daylight than after dark.

"Horses? Of a surety! Anything for you, Peter! We have excellent horses, and if you'd not be seen, we have covered lanes leading in all directions."

He leaned toward me, an evil-looking man with a hatchet face and a bad scar pulling down one eyebrow. His breath was foul, but his manner genial enough. I noted a dagger in his waistband.

"You might," he said, 'leave some'at on the table for the poor o' Limehouse ... the poor being me." He spread wide his mouth in what I took for a grin and looked at me slyly from under his brows. "You be one o' Peter's friends, be ye?

Peter it is who knows the gents. Peter's a smart one, a shrewd one, knows a thing or two, he does. He's had me out of Newgate twice, lad ... twice! I owe him for that, and a thing or two else."

The horses were brought around, two fine geldings, and a mare for Peter, who would be riding into the heart of London. We parted, leaving a silver crown.

We rode north, following devious country lanes. We saw few people, herdsmen who waved at us as we passed, and once a girl milking a cow, from whom we begged a draught of the fresh warm milk.

At nightfall we came upon a small tavern, and rode into the yard. A swarthy, hard-faced man faced us inside the gate. He looked from one to the other of us, and liked not what he saw.

"It be a lonely road for travelers," he said.

"Aye, but a pleasant way to see the land," I replied. I think it was of shillings and pence that he thought, and little else beside.

"It's a bed we want, and a bit of something to eat," I said. "And we've enough to pay."

"Aye. Get down then. The woman's inside."

"The horses will be wanting a rubbing down," I said, "and oats."

"If there's a rubbing down, you'll do it yourself," he replied. "As for oats, we've none about."

"Hold up, Tom," I said to Watkins. "We'll go down the road a bit. There's grass a-plenty there, and our horses will fare the better for it."

The tavern keeper saw his pence leaving and it upset him. "Oh, be not so much in a hurry," he protested. "Maybe I can find a bit of grain."

"Find it," I said, "and the rubdown, too. I'll pay for what I get, but I'll get it, too."

He liked me not. There was a hard, even look to his eye, but the thought of a bed was on me, and a warm meal, else we'd have gone down the road to whatever lay ahead.

The door opened under our hand and the common room of the inn. The woman who came out drying her hands on her apron was pleasant-faced.

"A place to sleep," I said, "and something to eat."

She gestured at a table. "Sit. There's a bit of meat and bread."

The bread was good, freshly baked and tasty. The meat was likewise. Whatever else he did, the man lived well. With such food before him, he'd little reason to growl.

He came into the room, drew a draught of ale, and sat at another table. He'd have a swallow and then he'd stare at us. Finally he said, "Do you come far?"

"Far enough for hunger," I said.

"From London town?"

"London!" I said. "Hah!" Then I added grimly, "I've no liking for towns. I'm a country man."

That he had no liking for strangers was obvious. I wondered if it was the way here, or whether he had another reason.

He looked at Tom. "You be lookin' like a man from the sea," he ventured.

"Aye," Tom said, "I've been there."

"So have I," he said then. And to our surprise, he continued. "I did m'self well on a voyage with Hawkins, so I left the sea and came here to where I was born.

I've the inn," he said, "a few cows and pigs and some land of my own out yonder.

It is better than the sea."

He took a draught of ale. "But I liked the sea, liked it well, and Hawkins was a good man. No trouble made him show worry."

A thought suddenly came to me. "Did you know David Ingram?"

He turned and looked at me sharply. "I knew him. Was he by way of bein' a friend to you?"

"I did not know him," I said, "but I'd give a piece to talk to him. He made a walk I'd like to hear about."

He snorted. "It took no trouble to hear him. He talked of little else. Browne ... now there was the man. He saw it all, but had little to say."

"From the land of Mexico to Nova Scotia is a far walk," I said. "It was a time to see what no white man had seen before."

He took his ale and moved to our table. Putting it down, he leaned forward.

"Ingram was a fool," he said. "He was always a fool, to my mind, though there were those who thought much of him. He was good enough at sea, only he had a loose mouth. Browne was the better man."

He went into another room and came back with a sheet of parchment. "See this? He drew it for me. Drew it the year after he got back. He's gone now, but this he drew with his own fist."

He pointed at a place on what was the coast of the Mexican gulf. "They walked from there along the shore, traveling at night to avoid Indians, much of the time. They crossed a big river here," he put his hand on a spot, "on a raft they built. It landed here. They saw some big mounds ... walked north by east."

I watched his hand. "Here." He put his finger on a point almost halfway up the river and east of it. "They found some of the finest land under heaven right here. Great bulls ... shaggy ones ... wandering about in grass to their knees.

Streams flowing down from mountains ..."

"Mountains?"

"Aye ... mountains to the east. They found a way through those mountains, but that was much farther north, I think."

The parchment lay on the table before us, and I looked long upon it as we talked. This man Browne had been beyond the blue mountains of which I had heard.

He had seen a fair land, and great rivers. I had no need to copy the sheet before me, for it was engraven in my mind.

Chapter
4

We rode westward.

Yet soon we were angling off to the south, into areas I knew not of. Here Black Tom had the advantage of me, for he had traveled to Bristol ere this, and even into Cornwall.

"They're a rum lot," he commented, speaking of the villagers. "Some are fine people, friendly to strangers, but others will have nothing for him, not even a word. You'd think they'd be curious and wanting news, but no such thing. They are content with what is about them.

"It is changing," he continued. "Twenty years ago it was much worse, but with Drake, Hawkins, and all the talk of them, many of the country folk know as much of what goes on as do those in London."

After a bit our course changed, to the south. There was only the small beginning of a plan in my thoughts, something of which my father had told me in one of his odd bits of talk, although nothing he said was ever a careless thing. He had lived too long, close to wars and rebellions, not to expect such things to occur again, and there were times when a man must take shelter. It was with this in mind that he had told me of various places, caves, ruins, coves ... all manner of spots where a man might go in need of hiding.

When I had told Peter to have the ship pick me up off Portland Bill it was this I had in mind, for there was a cave on the seaward side of the Portland isle of which few men knew, a cove large enough to hide a fair-sized vessel, as it had on one or another occasion.

Even local fishermen knew little of it. Although some were aware of a black opening there, they had better things to do than prowl about against the face of dangerous rocks. If I could get there I could remain out of sight until my ship appeared offshore. Then a quick dash, and with luck we'd be aboard unseen.

Tom talked much as we rode, yet I listened with only half an ear, for I'd a feeling there was a troublous time before us. If it was truly believed we had found King John's royal treasure, the search for us would be wide as England.