Ironhand Read online

  He woke to the sound of voices. Light was coming in through the east window above the altar, making splashes of colour on the stones of the floor. A priest and an acolyte were preparing for the first service of the day. Ranulph lay still, praying that they would go back to the vestry so he could make his escape. His bladder was bursting and he was not sure how long he could hold out. To his despair, the main door was opened and the congregation of townsmen and women started to come in. Before long, the nave was crowded. He realised that this was his opportunity. Moving slowly, so as not to attract attention,he eased himself to his feet and crept along the side aisle towards the door. No one noticed him slip out into the street, or if they did they thought nothing of it. He found a partly hidden corner in the churchyard and pissed gratefully.

  The city was awakening. Tradesman were setting off to work, women coming out with baskets, shopkeepers opening up. A man went by carrying a tray of fresh loaves on his head and the smell sent a waft of hunger that was almost like nausea through Ranulph's belly. On an impulse, he stepped out into the street and deliberately collided with the man. He stumbled and swore, and two loaves dropped off the tray into the mud. Before the man could recover, Ranulph had grabbed one and was running. He charged along, snatching mouthfuls of fresh bread as he went, until he found his way barred by a large man in a ragged tunic.

  'I saw that! You little ragamuffin! Give it here!'

  'What? No!'

  'Oh yes! Give it, or I'll cut you open and get the bit you've swallowed out of your gizzard!'

  A knife had appeared in the man's hand and Ranulph saw that there was no point in trying to argue. Angry and bitterly disappointed at the loss of his meal, he handed the bread over. The man took it with a laugh, and stood back.

  'On your way!'

  Later, sitting on a mooring bollard at the edge of the river, Ranulph came to a conclusion. He was alone in a city full of enemies. If he was to survive, he must have a weapon. He remembered the stall he had seen the day before, selling knives and daggers. If only he could get hold of one of those! He dared not venture back to the same place, for fear of running into one of his shipmates, or Piet himself, but there must be others like it. He set out along the dock in search.

  He did not have to go far before he found a courtyard much like the one he had visited with Piet. There were stalls displaying the same kind of goods and, as he had hoped, there was one where knives and swords and various tools were laid out. He edged closer. His eye was caught by a selection of daggers, some in ornate sheaths, others in plain leather; but they were stacked in the centre of the table, well out of reach. Closer to the edge were simple eating knives, shorter but sharp enough for his purpose. The stall holder was engaged in an argument with a man in a blood stained apron, a butcher Ranulph guessed, and no one was paying any attention to a scruffy boy. He moved nearer, gazing about him as if searching for someone in the crowd, until he stood beside the table. His hand flickered sideways and a knife disappeared into his sleeve.

  He was about to turn away when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

  'Oh no, you don't! Thieving little devil. I've been watching you. Now, put it back.'

  Ranulph slid the knife back onto the table. 'Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm.' The words babbled out without thought.

  'You knew what you were doing all right. Who are you? What's your name?'

  'Ranulph, sir. Please let me go. I won't do it again.'

  'Save your breath. I know your sort. Who do you belong to?'

  'Belong …?'

  'Who do you work for?'

  Ranulph shook his head. If he told the man about Piet he would be handed back and he did not know what the consequences might be. 'No one. I don't work for anyone.'

  'A masterless man, and a thief to boot!' His captor glared down at him. 'Come on. It's a whipping for you and then the stocks.'

  He shifted his grip to Ranulph's arm and began to drag him through the crowd towards the entrance.

  'No! I don't think so!' A familiar voice rang out behind them and Ranulph turned to see Piet heading in his direction.

  'And who might you be?' his captor enquired.

  'My name is Piet Joossens of Bruges. I am the captain of the Waverider and that boy is one of my crew.'

  'He told me he worked for no one.'

  'He has been misguided enough to run away. But it is for me to deal with him, not you.'

  'I'm one of the watch for this area. It's for me to punish him.'

  'No. He is not one of your people. We are foreigners, come to trade. You have no jurisdiction over us. Give him to me. I shall see he is punished appropriately.'

  The man glared from Piet to Ranulph and then gave him a shove in Piet's direction. 'Take him, then. And tie him up on your ship. If I see him again, it'll be the stocks for sure.'

  'Don't worry,' Piet replied. 'We sail with the tide. You won't see him again.'

  Some minutes later Ranulph found himself sitting opposite Piet at a table in a quiet corner of the inn. He risked a glance at the captain's face and saw that although he looked sombre, and perhaps puzzled, he did not appear angry.

  'Why, Ranulph?' he asked eventually. 'Why did you run away?'

  Ranulph wriggled in his seat. He had never felt more ashamed. 'I thought … some of the men … they think I've got the pox.'

  'What, in God's name, gave them that idea?'

  Ranulph pulled at the collar of his tunic, exposing the top of his chest. 'Because of these.'

  Piet made a sound somewhere between laughter and incomprehension. 'For Christ's sake, boy! Those are flea bites, not the pox.'

  'I know,' Ranulph muttered. 'But I let them think it was.'

  'Why?'

  'They … some of them don't like me being on board. They think … they called me 'pretty boy' and tried to tear the clothes you bought me.'

  'Who did this?'

  Ranulph hesitated, then he shrugged. 'Dunno.' He knew the men perfectly well, but instinct told him that to name them would not do him any good with the crew.

  Piet studied him in silence for a moment, then he said, 'Why did you take the knife?'

  'I wanted something to defend myself with.'

  Piet reached across the table and touched his cheek, where a bruise was turning from red to purple. 'Have you been in a fight?'

  'Yes.'

  'Who with?'

  'Some rough boys, a gang. They call themselves the London Wolves. I wanted to shelter with them. The leader challenged me to fight him.'

  'Did you win?'

  'Yes. I suppose I did.'

  Ranulph looked up and thought he saw the beginning of a smile in the captain's eyes.'Good. Now, when did you last eat?'

  'Dunno. Yesterday?'

  Piet turned on his stool and called to the inn keeper to bring bread and cheese. 'Listen to me. I am the captain of the Waverider, and I decide who sails on her. No one else. I shall make that clear to the whole crew. My guess is that the men who tried to bully you were drunk, and it won't happen again. But if you have any trouble, of any sort, you come to me with it. No running away. Understood?'

  Ranulph nodded. 'Yes, master.' It was the first time he had used the term. 'Thank you.'

  The bread and cheese arrived and Piet said, 'Good. Now eat up quickly. We need to get back on board. I've already lost a day's sailing, looking for you.'

  5.

  The mooring lines were cast off, the rowers took to their benches and the Waverider slid out into the current. Soon they were racing down river, with both the current and the tide behind them. Once they reached the open sea the sail was raised and the course was set and Piet left the helmsman in charge and retired to his table under the after deck to study the record of the previous two day's dealings. After a while he called Ranulph to him. He was frowning.

  'There seem to be some discrepancies here.'

  Ranulph widened his eyes. 'Oh?'

  'Look here.' Piet thrust two tablets in front of him. 'According to your
records we off-loaded fourteen bales of marten fur to be sold. See? But here you show payment for fifteen.'

  Ranulph peered at the tablet. 'I see what has happened. I gave it to the merchant's clerk to check. I thought he was a bit careless. He must have gripped it like this …' he demonstrated.'The warmth of bis hand must have softened the wax and blurred the figure.'

  Piet gave him a long look. 'And here?' he said. 'We bought eighteen hides from the bailiff of Lord Robert. You have registered it as seventeen, Another warm thumb?'

  Ranulph was beginning to feel uneasy. 'I suppose so.'

  'So I have received payment for more furs than I sold, and have paid out for fewer hides than I bought.'

  Ranulph produced his most innocent smile. 'Well, that's good for business, isn't it?'

  'No, Ranulph. It is dishonest.'

  Ranulph dropped his eyes. 'Well, what does it matter?' he muttered. 'They were all Normans.'

  Piet took him by the shoulders and forced him to meet his eyes. 'Ranulph, trade depends on trust between merchants. I have a good reputation, which is why people are happy to deal with me. If a man finds he has been cheated, he will not deal with that person again. You have probably lost me two good contacts.' He paused and Ranulph bit his lips. 'I took you on board when you were starving. I have fed you and bought you new clothes and trusted you with a most important task. Is this the way to repay me?'

  Tears blurred Ranulph's vision. 'I thought I was making extra profits for you.'

  Piet looked at him for a long moment, then he let him go with a sigh. 'Perhaps you meant well. But remember, if you are going to stay with me, I have to be able to trust you absolutely. It will be some time before I can do that again.'

  Ranulph, released, stumbled forward and found a position in the bows where he could keep his face turned from all the crew. He knew what he had done was dishonest, but it had seemed a clever way to benefit his employer and at the same time cause some annoyance, however small, to his hated enemies. It was a sin, of course, but since he was already damned it could not put his immortal soul in any greater danger. Now he saw that his actions did not exist in isolation. They impinged on the well-being of others, to whom he owed a debt of gratitude. Future acts would have to be considered in that light. And somehow he must find away of restoring Piet's confidence and making good the damage he had done.

  A shout cut through his soul-searching.

  'Master! Look! On the larboard bow!'

  Ranulph scrambled to his feet and peered ahead, balancing himself with a hand on the upraised prow, which was carved into the shape of a sea serpent. As the ship rose to the crest of the next wave he saw what had caught the lookout's attention. Some distance off two ships were grappled together and figures were moving on their decks. One of the ships was sleek and black, the other a round-bellied cog like the Waverider. Objects were being passed hand to hand from the cog to the other ship and as Ranulph watched he saw others being flung overboard and those, to his horror, had arms and legs which flailed in the air as they fell. Yells and screams came faintly over the noise of the sea.

  'Pirates, God damn them!' Piet yelled. 'Get to the oars, men! Archers to the ready! Helmsman, alter course.'

  For a moment Ranulph thought that the Waverider was about to turn tail, but he was wrong. The helmsman swung the bows towards the pirates and the rowers flung their weight on the oars and sent her scudding forwards. The men-at -arms came running along the gangway and one of them seized Ranulph and shoved him aside.

  'Out of the way, boy! And keep your head down if you don't want an arrow through it.'

  Ranulph crouched in the bilges, his heart thumping. They were going into battle, but were they a match for the pirates? He felt the ship shudder as the men released their crossbow bolts. Then one of them gave a shout of triumph.

  'That's put the fear of God into them! They were so busy looting they didn't see us coming.'

  'Cut the cackle and reload,' was the response of Alberik, their captain.

  Ranulph raised his head, eager to see what effect the volley had had, but Alberik pushed him down again. He was only just in time, as a bolt thudded into the gunwale close to where Ranulph's head had been a second earlier. Somewhere behind him one of the rowers cried out and cursed.

  'Loose!' ordered Alberik and again the Waverider shuddered.

  'That's it!' he heard Piet shout. 'They've had enough. They're making off with their loot. Make for the cog.'

  Cautiously, Ranulph lifted his head again until he could see over the gunwale. The black ship had cast off the grappling irons that had held it to the cog and was heading away as fast as the rowers could take it. He would have liked the Waverider to give chase, but then a final volley of crossbow bolts from the pirates raked the ship and another man cried out in pain. He understood Piet's decision then. A pursuit would have resulted in further casualties.

  'She's sinking!' Alberik called out. 'The whoreson bastards have holed her.'

  'Pick up the pace,' Piet ordered. 'We may still be able to save some of the crew.'

  The rowers increased the stroke rate and the ship surged forwards but before they reached the cog she tilted, hung for a second or two suspended, and then disappeared below the waves. Alberik was scanning the water.

  'God damn their souls! They threw all the crew overboard. I can't see a single one.'

  Ranulph stood up and stared across the choppy waters. A few spars and other bits of flotsam bobbed on the surface, but there was no sign of life. The rowers rested on their oars and Piet came forward to join him in the bows.

  'Why is it sailors refuse to learn to swim?' he muttered. 'It's nothing but stupid superstition.'

  Something caught Ranulph's eye and then vanished into the trough of a wave. He lifted himself up onto the gunwale and strained his eyes in that direction. As the ship rose on the next swell he saw it again.

  'Look! Over there! There's something floating.'

  Piet peered in the direction Ranulph was pointing. After a moment he exclaimed, 'You're right, lad! It's someone clinging to a spar or a chest to stay afloat.'

  He issued fresh orders and within minutes the Waverider was alongside a piece of floating wreckage, to which a rotund man in a furred robe was clinging. Hauled on board, he broke into voluble speech in a language no one could understand. At Piet's instructions he was taken to the small cabin in the stern, stripped of his soaking clothes and given a serviceable homespun tunic and cloak in their place; and a beaker of strong wine was placed in his hands. All the time, he talked agitatedly. Piet answered him in Flemish and French, but although he seemed to understand his answers were incomprehensible. Then, as he stopped shivering and recovered himself, he broke into a different language and Ranulph heard words that he recognised. He laid a hand on Piet's arm.

  'Can I try, master?'

  Piet looked at him in surprise and shrugged. 'By all means, if you think you can make head or tail of this gibberish.'

  Ranulph turned to the man and said, in careful Latin, 'What is your name, please?'

  The man's face, which had been contorted with frustration, cleared. 'At last! Someone who speaks a civilized language!'

  'What is he saying?' Piet asked.

  'He's speaking Latin.'

  'You know Latin?'

  'Yes, of course. We had to learn it in the monastery.'

  The stranger was speaking again. His accent was strange to Ranulph's ears but the words were clear enough. Latin had been an essential study in the monastery and, like all forms of knowledge, Ranulph had sucked it in as a starving man sucks in nourishment. Soon he had the whole story.

  'His name is Bertrand. He is a merchant from Gascony – I'm not sure where that is …'

  'South,' Piet said. 'In the land of the Duke of Aquitaine. Go on.'

  'His ship was carrying a cargo of wine. They were attacked by pirates. Well, we know that.'

  'Where was he bound for?'

  Ranulph put the question and relayed the answer. 'For Lond
on. He planned to sell his wine there.'

  'Well, tell him we can't take him there, but we can take him to Bruges. Does he know anyone there who will take him in?'

  It seemed he did. He was voluble in his gratitude and promised to reward Piet and his crew in any way that was within his power. As the Waverider forged on towards Flanders, Piet and Bertrand sat on either side of the table with a flask of wine between them and Ranulph, perched on a stool between them, acted as interpreter. Bertrand told them that he operated a three branched trading system. He carried wine to London, and with the proceeds he bought wool which he took to Bruges. From the sale of that he bought finished cloth, for which Flanders was famous, and took it back to sell in his native Bordeaux.

  'Wool,' said Piet enviously. 'You have an agreement with the Staplers?'

  'Of course. Your captain does not buy wool?' The inquiry was of necessity addressed to Ranulph.

  'No. It costs too much money to buy into the Company of Staplers.'

  'I understand.' Bertrand rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, 'Tell this to you captain. I have said I owe him my life and I wish to make some form of repayment. I have lost my ship, and my crew. I am not a seaman. I need a new ship and a good ship master. If he is willing, I will employ him and his ship. I have enough credit with friends in Bruges to buy a consignment of cloth to be shipped to Bordeaux. There, I will buy more wine for London, but I have no wish to take ship again myself. He will convey my wine to London and I will give him the name of my agent there who will arrange a price. I will also give him a letter to my colleagues in the Staplers Company, which will allow him to purchase wool for Bruges. Tell him this and ask if he is interested.'

  Ranulph translated and saw Piet's eyes widen and then narrow again. 'Tell him I'm interested, but I'm used to trading on my own behalf and keeping the profit. What's in this for me?'

  'I have said that I will employ him and his ship,' Bertrand responded when Ranulph had conveyed the question. 'I will also negotiate a percentage of the profits with him, and, of course, he would be free to trade on his own behalf as well. This is a large ship. There is plenty of capacity.'