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  'Would that include trading in wool?' Piet wanted to know.

  'Assuredly. My letter will allow you to trade on my behalf and on your own.'

  'Then tell him I accept!'

  The two men shook hands on the deal and Piet slapped Ranulph on the shoulder.

  'Well, lad, you've earned your keep today – and more.'

  Before Ranulph could react, the helmsman shouted from above them that land was in sight and he followed Piet and Bertrand onto the afterdeck. At first he could see only a low smudge of grey but as they drew closer he began to make out a landscape of flat fields where cattle grazed and here and there the tower of a church. Soon a river mouth opened up ahead of them and the sail was brought down and the rowers took over. They pulled with a will, and sang as they worked, and Piet smiled at him.

  'Nearly home, now.'

  Ranulph had been feeling buoyed up by his recent success but at those words the elation drained away, leaving him empty. Piet and the others might be nearly home, but he had no home and never had had. He wondered, for the first time, what was going to happen to him now the voyage was over.

  The river narrowed and the helmsman carefully kept the Waverider to the centre of the channel. They were not alone. Vessels of all shapes and sizes were ahead and behind them and others passed them heading for the open sea. There were cogs like their own, and barges and tiny fishing coracles. At length, they came in sight of a small town and a dock where a number of ships were moored. Ranulph regarded it with disappointment.

  'This is Bruges?' he asked.

  Piet gave a shout of laughter. 'No, by Christ! This is Damme. It's the closest seagoing ships can get to the city now.' His face grew solemn. 'It's a shame. When I was a child, the big ships could sail right into the heart of the city. But ever since I can remember, the Zwin – that's the name of this river – has been silting up. Now Damme has taken over as the main port and all the goods have to be transferred to small boats for the rest of the journey. If the silting up continues God alone in His wisdom knows what will happen. I suppose we can make a fresh port at Sluys, but that's a long way further from the centre.'

  While the cargo was being transferred to barges Piet had his table brought up onto the afterdeck and the crew filed past one by one to receive their pay. Then they shouldered their sea chests and walked down the gangplank to where a small crowd had gathered to greet them. Ranulph saw that there were a large number of women among them and many of them greeted the returning sailors with embraces. Some of them were respectably dressed, but there were others who shocked him with their uncovered hair and low cut bodices. Piet was packing away his money bags and Ranulph turned to him.

  'Are those women the sailors' wives?'

  Piet glanced over the side and grinned. 'Some of them.'

  'What about the others? Shouldn't they … cover themselves. They look …'

  Piet gazed at him and shook his head. 'I keep forgetting you'd hardly set foot outside the monastery until I found you. Keep away from those women. They mean no harm but they're not for the likes of you and me.'

  'You mean they're harlots?' It was a term he had heard in the monastery without really knowing what it meant.

  'Not to put too fine a point on it,' Piet agreed. 'Come on. The cargo has all been off-loaded. Time we were on our way.'

  Bertrand had already left, promising to meet Piet at an inn they both knew the following day. Ranulph followed the captain down the gangplank and they were immediately surrounded by the women. Several of them plucked Piet by the sleeve but he disengaged himself with good humoured comments in his own language. Then one or two of them transferred their attentions to Ranulph. One caught him by the arm and another put her hand under his chin and gazed into his face, murmuring.

  Piet pulled her away, laughing. 'They think I have brought an angel back with me. I've told them to leave you alone, or they'll have the rest of the Heavenly Host to contend with.'

  Piet boarded the last barge and Ranulph followed, his cheeks burning. He had not been invited to, but it seemed to be taken for granted. Soon he saw the walls and towers of the city ahead and the barge glided through a water gate and along a canal between tall, gabled buildings, finally coming to rest alongside a quay.

  'Here we are,' Piet said, jumping ashore with the ease of long practice.

  Ranulph followed him along the quay, where the houses were solid and stone built but so tightly crammed together that each presented only a narrow frontage to the road. Piet stopped at the door of one and knocked. A moment later it was opened by a small woman, respectably veiled, with cheeks as round and red as apples. She cried out in delight and embraced him warmly. Piet kissed her and then turned to Ranulph.

  'This is my wife, Mariella. My dear, this is Ranulph. He's an English lad and he doesn't understand much Flemish yet, but I've no doubt he'll soon learn. He's a bright boy and he's already proved his usefulness. Please make him welcome.' He spoke in French and Ranulph saw the woman frowning as she made an effort to follow it, but when he finished she turned to him with a warm smile and said in the same language.

  'Enter and be welcome.'

  The door led directly into the main room. It was long and narrow, with a vaulted roof and wood panelling on the walls. The floor was of flagstones, covered with fresh rushes, and there was a raised dais at the far end with a table and benches. To one side of that was a narrow staircase, which he guessed must lead up to the family's private apartments.

  As soon as they entered Piet was fallen upon by two girls, squealing with joy. He hugged them both and spoke to them in Flemish, then turned to Ranulph. 'These are my daughters, Beatrix and Catelina. Girls, this is Ranulph. He has come all the way from England.'

  Ranulph gazed at them in confusion. Women were an unknown species as far as he was concerned, young ones especially so. Beatrix was, he guessed, around his own age. She had long plaits that hung in front of her shoulders, of a colour that reminded him of autumn leaves, and light coloured eyes with flecks of green in them. Her small sister was blonde and plump, with her mother's rosy cheeks. He made an awkward bow and the girls bobbed little curtsies. Beatrix smiled but Catalina gazed at him, owl-eyed, her thumb in her mouth.

  A door opened at the far end of the hall, giving a glimpse of a paved yard outside, and a boy came in. He had his father's sturdy build and corn coloured hair but lacked his strong-boned features. Instead, his face shared something of his younger sister's chubbiness and his lips were full and seemed set in a permanent pout. He hesitated at the sight of his father until Piet strode over to him and cuffed him affectionately on the side of the head.

  'What's this? Have you forgotten who I am? I haven't been away that long!' He pulled the boy into an embrace and then drew him forward to where Ranulph waited.

  'This is Dirk. Dirk, this is Ranulph. He's English but you can speak to him in French.'

  Ranulph extended his hand and murmured a polite greeting. Dirk took it briefly, but said nothing.

  The next hour was difficult. A neat serving maid brought food and wine to the table and Ranulph was given a place on one of the benches beside the younger girl. Piet sat at the head and Mariella at the foot, with Dirk and Beatrix opposite. The conversation was mainly in Flemish. Ranulph had picked up some Flemish phrases from the crew, most of which Piet had warned him were only suitable for use on board ship, but he found it very difficult to follow the family's rapid speech and Catalina seemed to find it hard to comprehend that he did not understand what she said and kept repeating things and tugging at his sleeve. He began to feel very uncomfortable. He did not know how he fitted into this family gathering. He was a guest at the moment, obviously, but for how long? He was very tired and it was a relief when Piet rose to his feet. He said something to the children and the two girls went to him obediently and kissed him and the serving girl led them away, presumably to bed. Then Piet turned to his wife and asked a question. She answered and Piet said in French,

  'You will share Dirk's room.
A bed has been prepared for you. He will show you where to go.'

  Dirk had said little during the meal, and when he had caught Ranulph's eyes on him he had responded with a scowl. Now he led him out to the yard behind the house. There was a pig pen on one side, where a sow was suckling a litter of piglets, and chickens scratched in the dirt. Dirk directed him with silent gestures to the privy in the corner of the yard and when they had both relieved themselves he led him up a narrow staircase on the outside of the house to a small room under the eaves. There were two beds, and with a nod the other boy indicated which was his. Then he turned away and began to undress. Ranulph tried once or twice to start some kind of conversation, with gestures and grimaces, but Dirk just shrugged and got into bed. Gnawed by a hunger that was not physical, Ranulph followed his example.

  6.

  In spite of everything, it was the best night's sleep he had had in a long time and when he woke things seemed brighter. Dirk was still asleep and Ranulph lay quietly, luxuriating in a warm, comfortable bed He took the opportunity to review his situation. It seemed that he was to stay with Piet's family, for the time being at least; though what would happen when Piet went to sea again he did not know. Meanwhile, he was being fed and he had a roof over his head. It was clear to him that what he needed to do, as rapidly as possible, was learn Flemish.

  It seemed Piet had the same idea. Over breakfast he began to teach him the names of the various items on the table, and then to use them in simple phrases. Piet made a game of it, telling his daughters to repeat the same words and phrases in French; but when Ranulph asked why he did not teach them English instead he shook his head with sympathetic regret.

  'I think they will find the language of the Normans more useful in the long run.'

  Dirk did not join in. He had come down to breakfast late and had been reprimanded by his mother. Ranulph gathered that he had work to do in the yard, feeding the pig and cleaning out the sty. He was still stuffing bread and cheese into his mouth when Piet said, 'Ranulph, get your cap and your cloak. We have an appointment to keep.'

  Dirk, watching, asked an angry question and was answered curtly. Ranulph, following Piet out of the yard, said, 'Your son doesn't like me being here.'

  'He is annoyed that you are coming with me and he must stay at home,' Piet replied. 'I told him that you have a skill that neither he nor I possess and I need you to speak for me.'

  Following Piet through the city, Ranulph gazed around curiously. They made their way up a narrow, cobbled street leading away from the canal and as they walked Ranulph became aware of a light, clacking sound which he could not identify. At first he wondered if it might be the distant noise of donkey's hooves trotting over cobbles, but it was too regular and constant for that. Moreover, it seemed to come from inside the houses they were passing.

  Unwilling to show ignorance he puzzled for some time, but eventually asked, 'Sir, what is that noise?'

  Piet cocked his head on one side, as if he had only then become aware of any sound. Then he smiled. 'That is the sound of Bruges, lad. It is the clacking of looms, creating the cloth on which our wealth depends.'

  Occasionally, as they passed, Ranulph was able to catch glimpses of the interiors of the houses through open doors. He saw men sitting at looms and women with spindles. It seemed every family in the city was engaged in the weaving trade. The street was busy. Women passed them with baskets on their arms or live chickens held squawking by their feet, men with the tools of their trade; carpenters with saws, masons with hammers and chisels, bakers with trays of fresh bread. Shortly they reached another canal, broader than the one that ran behind Piet's house, and thronged with vessels of various sorts. There were barges like those that had collected the goods from the Waverider, loaded with casks and boxes and bundles. Others were much finer, with decorated prows and painted hulls, propelled by bargemen in livery. The houses that lined that canal were larger, several stories high with gables that rose up in steps and façades hung with coloured tiles. The people passing were more finely dressed, too; older men in long gowns with gold chains stretched across their bellies; young ones with swords on their hips and jewels in their caps. There were ladies, too, in hooded cloaks and skirts that swept the ground, accompanied by women servants and followed by liveried pages.

  They arrived at a large square, flanked by imposing buildings and filled with market stalls, displaying a greater variety of objects even than the ones he had seen in London. Ranulph would have liked to wander among them but there was obviously no novelty here to attract Piet's attention.

  'See that large building over there?' He pointed to one edge of the square. 'That's the water hall. The canal is on the far side. Barges can moor up right alongside it and unload goods straight into it. Then they can either be stored there until wanted, or brought out to the market for sale.'

  A stall displaying swathes of vividly coloured fabric, brighter than any wool Ranulph had ever seen, caught his eye. 'Please, master.' He touched Piet's sleeve to draw his attention. 'What is that stuff over there?'

  Piet looked. 'That's silk. Finer and softer than the finest wool or linen. It comes from somewhere far away to the east. No one knows where, or how it is grown or harvested. It is very costly, but some of our burgesses have pockets deep enough to buy it for their wives. Come along, or we shall be late for our appointment.'

  The inn that Bertrand had nominated for the meeting was just off the market. He had commanded a private room and it was clear from a first look that he had, as he said he would, found friends in the city. His robe was the same deep colour as the wine in his goblet; his leather belt was finely tooled and decorated with gold studs and he wore several rings. He was a very different spectacle from the drenched, shivering creature they had hauled out of the water the day before.

  He greeted them warmly and poured wine for them both. 'You see? I am known here in Bruges, and my credit is good. But tell your captain I have not forgotten that I owe him my life.'

  Ranulph translated and Piet replied that he was glad to see that the immersion in salt water had had no ill effects.

  'Tell him,' Bertrand went on, 'that I hope he finds the wine to his taste. It is the same wine that he will receive from my factor when he reaches Bordeaux. It is much sought after in England.'

  The exchange of pleasantries continued and from time to time Bertrand lapsed into his own language and Ranulph realised that, now he was less agitated, some of the words were recognisable.

  'Excuse me, sir,' he said. 'You have forgotten that we are speaking Latin. But it seems to me that your own tongue is a form of French.'

  'Ah!' Bertrand exclaimed. 'It is so easy to forget which language we are using. But you are right, of course. My native tongue is French, but it is the langue d'oc, which is the language of Gascony. So called because the word for yes is 'oc'. Further north they speak the langue d'oeil, where the word for yes is 'oeil'. You, I would guess, speak the language of Normandy, which is different again.'

  Ranulph frowned. 'My native language is English. I speak the language of the conquerors out of necessity.'

  'Ah, I understand,' Bertrand responded. 'But at least we can speak Latin without betraying our native tongues.'

  The talk moved on to business matters. It would take Bertrand two weeks to assemble the new cargo. Piet agreed that this was reasonable, but pointed out that any delay might make it impossible for him to complete the round trip before winter brought an end to the sailing season. The two men agreed to meet again in ten days' time and they parted company.

  The wine, as Bertrand had promised, had been good and although Ranulph had only sipped it cautiously he could feel its effects. It gave him the courage to ask, as they walked back, 'Master, am I to stay with you?'

  Piet turned his head to look at him with a puzzled frown. 'Why? Do you not want to?'

  'Yes! I do, of course. I just wondered … Am I to sail with you when you leave?'

  Piet grinned. 'Of course. What would I do without my inte
rpreter?' He hesitated and became serious. 'Unless you don't wish to ...'

  'I do!' Ranulph broke in. 'I want to go with you. I wasn't sure, that's all.'

  Piet stopped walking and smote his forehead with the heel of his hand. 'God forgive me! I take too much for granted.' He looked round. There was a bench nearby, against the wall of a large house.'Come, sit down.' He led the way to it and when they were both seated he went on. 'I took you on board in Dublin because there seemed to be no alternative. But since then you have proved that you can be a useful member of the crew. I just assumed that you would be happy to stay with us. But I should have talked to you about it. You may want to make other plans. If so, I will do my best to help.'

  'It's not that. I love being on the Waverider, now I'm not sick any more. But until we sail … am I to live with you?'

  'Of course. Where else would you go?' Piet reached out and laid his hand on Ranulph's shoulder and this time he did not flinch. 'A ship's crew is like a family, you know, or it should be if it is to be a happy ship. All my men have families of their own to go to when we are here, but you don't. As far as I'm concerned, you belong to my family now.' He slid his hand round the back of Ranulph's neck and gave him a small shake. 'Does that answer your question?'

  Ranulph dropped his eyes, to hide the sudden tears that had risen to them. 'I've never had a family – at least, not that I remember.'

  Piet's voice was unusually husky. 'Well, you have now.' He got up 'And it's time we got back to them, before they start to think we've been taken by pirates!'

  A little later Ranulph said, 'Dirk doesn't go to sea with you. Why not?'

  'He's too young yet. He's only fourteen.' A pause, then, 'I've never asked how old you are.'

  'Thirteen, I think. Dirk is older than I am.'