“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 soare
d 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.”
He regarded me curiously. “Is that you talking, Will? It was you who put us onto it, after all.”
“Yes, but, I didn’t think—”
“If you’re right, then it is well worth the risk of a kingdom,” Bran said.
“Whose kingdom, my lord?” I wondered. “William’s . . . or yours?”
We talked until Cinnia called us to our food which, following a little good-natured teasing by the sailors, we were able to get down. After we had eaten, Ruprecht gave orders to his crew for the sail to be run up. Once this was done, the ship began to run more smoothly. We had no more trouble with the ever-contrary weather and reached the French mainland that evening. We dropped anchor until morning, then proceeded up the coast until reaching the estuary of a wide inland river at a place called Honfleur. Although some of our provisions had been damaged by seawater in the storm, we did not stop to take on more provisions because Ruprecht assured us that Rouen was only a day or so upriver and we could get all we needed there at half the cost of the harbour merchants.
So, we sailed on. The storm we had endured at sea had gone before us and was now settled over the land. Through a haze of rain we watched the low hills of Normandie slowly slide by the rail. Although we could not escape the rain, the river remained calm, and it was good to see land within easy reach on either side of the ship. I confess, it did feel strange to go into the enemy’s land. And I did marvel that no one tried to apprehend us or attack us in any way. But no one did, and we spent the night anchored in the middle of the stream, resuming our slow way at sunrise the next day. As promised, we reached the city of Rouen while it was still morning and made fast at the wharf that served the city. Iwan and Siarles readied the horses, and Bran meanwhile arranged with Ruprecht to provision the boat and wait for our return.
Then, pausing only to ask directions of one of the harbour hands, we set off once more beneath clearing skies on blesséd dry land. Oh! It was that good to be on solid ground again, and it was but a short ride to the palace of the archbishop where, it was said, the English king had arrived the previous day.
“Here is the way it will be,” Bran said as we entered the palace yard. “To anyone who asks, we are still ambassadors of the pope with an urgent message for the king.”
“Aye,” agreed Iwan dryly, “but which pope?”
“Pray we do not have to explain beyond that,” Bran told him. “At all events, do not any of you speak to anyone. Let Jago, here, do the talking for us.” He put his hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Brother Alfonso knows what to say.”
“What if someone asks us something?” wondered Siarles, looking none too certain about this part of the enterprise.
“Just pretend you don’t speak French,” I told him.
The others laughed at this, but Siarles, bless him, was worried and did not catch my meaning. “But I don’t speak a word of French,” he insisted.
“Then pretending should be easy,” Mérian chirped lightly. She patted her hair, working in the ashes that greyed it; then took out the small wooden teeth that were part of her disguise and slipped them into her mouth; they were an off colour and made her jaw jut slightly, giving her face an older, far less comely appearance.
Bran and the others straightened their monkish robes and prepared to look pious. I had no disguise, but since no one in France had ever seen me before it was not thought to matter very much. Then, standing in the rain-washed yard of the archbishop of Rouen’s palace, Brother Jago led us in a prayer that the plan we set in motion would succeed, that bloodshed could be avoided, and that our actions would bring about the restoration of Elfael to its rightful rule.
When he finished, Bran looked at each of us in turn, head to toe, then, satisfied, said, “The downfall of Baron de Braose is begun, my friends. It is not something we have done, but something he has done to himself.” He smiled. “Come, let us do all we can to hasten his demise.”
CHAPTER 42
We were given a beggar’s greeting by the archbishop’s porter, who at first thought us English and then, despite his misgivings, was forced to take Bran at his word. For
standing on his threshold was a legate of the pope and his attending servants and advisors. What else could he do but let us in?
Thus, we were admitted straightaway and shown to a small reception room and made to wait there until someone could be found who might more readily deal with us. There were no chairs in the room, and no fire in the hearth; the board against one wall was bare. Clearly, it was not a room used to receive expected, or welcome, visitors.
“Pax vobiscum,” said a short, keen-eyed cleric in a white robe. “Bona in sanctus nomen.”
“Pax vobiscum,” replied Bran. He nodded to Brother Jago, who stepped forward and, with a little bow of respect, began to translate for Father Dominic and his companions.
The man, it turned out, was a fella named Canon Laurent, and he was the principal aid to Archbishop Bonne-me. “His Grace has asked me to express his regrets, as he is unable to welcome you personally. Your arrival has caught us at a very busy and eventful time. Please accept our apologies if we cannot offer you the hospitality you are certainly due, and which it would be our pleasure to provide under more ordinary circumstances.”
The priest was as slippery and smooth as an eel in oil, but beneath the mannered courtesy, I sensed a staunch and upright spirit. “How may I be of service to you?” he said, folding his hands and tucking them into the sleeves of his robe.
“We have come bearing an important message for King William from His Holiness, the pope.”
“Indeed,” the canon replied, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps if I knew more about this message it would aid your purpose.”
“Our message is for the king alone,” explained Bran, through Jago. “Yet I have no doubt that His Majesty will explain all to you in the time and manner of his choosing. If you would inform him that we are waiting, we will be in your debt.”
That was plain enough. The canon, unable to wheedle more from our Bran, conceded and promised to take our request to the king. “If you wish, I can arrange for you to wait somewhere more comfortable,” he offered.