Ironhand Read online

  Shortly after this a man in a shabby black robe arrived, followed by an apprentice carrying a bag. He was clearly put out by being sent down from the castle on such a night to attend a stranger, but he examined Piet and anointed the wound on his head with an unguent of some kind and bandaged it. Straightening up, he said gruffly, 'He'll do, as long as you keep him quiet.' Ranulph offered money, but it was refused equally gruffly. 'I work for them up at the castle. They pay me.'

  That night, fed and with more mead and beer in their stomachs than was wise, he and the crew slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion. Next morning, Ranulph woke aching in every limb but with an overwhelming sense of relief. His first thought was that he should thank the Almighty for their deliverance, but he rarely prayed. Being so far from a state of grace it seemed an impertinence to address supplications to the God he had offended. He crawled out of his blankets and went over to where Piet was lying. He was just in time to stop him from getting up.

  'Stay still. You need to rest.'

  'There's work to be done. I must go and look at the ship and see what state she's in. We shall need repairs.'

  'Yes, we shall,' Ranulph agreed, 'but you can leave that to me and Jan and Alberik. This is a busy port. There must be carpenters and sail makers who can do what is needed, and we have money to pay for it. Lie quiet. I will go and see what needs doing and then come back and report to you. We shall not be able to sail for some days. That will give you time to get well again.'

  He was standing on the jetty with Jan, the helmsman, making notes on the repairs that were needed, when a young man in a tunic and cloak that struck Ranulph as rather too fine for ordinary use came striding along the quayside.

  'You! You're wanted up at the castle. Come with me.'

  Ranulph's stomach clenched. Had someone in the inn heard him speaking English? Would anyone there want to give him away to the enemy? Why had he been summoned?

  He turned to Jan and tried to sound unconcerned.'Can you locate a sail maker and get that part of the job started? I'll be back before long.'

  Following the young squire up the steep path to the castle he tried to open a conversation. 'What am I wanted for? I've got a lot of work to do to get the ship repaired.'

  His companion shrugged and replied curtly, 'You'll find out.'

  As they neared the top of the hill Ranulph looked back. From here, he could see how the River Dour had been split into two streams by a spit of mud. Below him, the westerly of the two had formed a sheltered basin able to accommodate a large number of ships. He remembered that they had harboured here on his first voyage, bringing tin from Cornwall. That was why he had recognised the profile of the castle when it loomed up out of the mist.

  His escort looked round impatiently. 'Come on. What are you dawdling for? Sir Geoffrey is waiting for you.'

  'Sir Geoffrey?'

  'Sir Geoffrey Peverill, the warden of the castle. Hurry up!'

  He led Ranulph through a gate in the wooden palisade and up the slope of the motte to a timber keep. In the great hall a hard-faced man in a furred cloak was standing with three others behind the table at the far end. One of them was the officer who had inspected his documents the night before. The squire gave him a shove.

  'Here he is, Sir Geoffrey.'

  'Ah, the young mariner!' The man looked him up and down and then, to Ranulph's surprise, his expression softened into a smile. 'Well, Master Richard was right. A youth, no more. Dirk, I think he called you.'

  Ranulph swallowed. He had told a lie and now he must sustain it. 'Yes, lord.'

  'From?'

  'Bruges, lord.' He realised that he was clenching his fists again, and put his hands behind his back.

  Blue eyes regarded him with something like amusement. 'How old are you, Dirk?'

  'Seventeen, lord.'

  'And where did you learn to be such a competent sailor?'

  'From my master, lord. His name is Piet Joossens. He is a merchant and a master mariner.'

  'How long have you been with him?'

  'Four years, lord.'

  'And before that?'

  Now it was getting difficult. He made a stab in the dark. 'I was studying in Bruges, lord.'

  'Ah yes, Richard told me you can read as well as sail. You are a young man of many talents, I see. And what do you intend as your future?'

  'I wish to be a merchant, like my master, lord.'

  'An excellent ambition. Trade is vital to the well being of both our nations.' He turned to a page who stood behind him and took something from him. 'Courage and skill should have their reward. Take this, and may it bring you good fortune.'

  He held out his hand and something bright gleamed on his palm. After a brief hesitation Ranulph reached out and took it. It was a medallion depicting St Nicholas and, from the weight of it, pure gold. His first instinct was the cast the thing to the floor, but common sense told him that the warden's mood of generosity could quickly turn to anger.

  'He is the patron of sailors and of merchants, I believe, among other things,' Sir Geoffrey said.

  'Come now. Thank Sir Geoffrey,' the officer said. 'Have you forgotten your manners?'

  Ranulph swallowed. His throat was suddenly parched. 'It is a generous gift.'

  'Is that the best you can do, clod?' It was the squire's voice from behind him. 'You should be on your knees.'

  'Let be!' Sir Geoffrey said. You cannot expect court manners from a boy brought up among the common people. You may go.' He nodded to Ranulph and turned away.

  Ranulph straightened his shoulders. The casual insult had cut deep. 'I am aware, sir, of the value of the gift and of the generosity of the giver. But in truth it is too fine for one brought up as a commoner. I beg you to let me return it.'

  Sir Geoffrey turned back and looked at him, his eyes narrowing. Then he gave a brief laugh and turned his gaze to the squire. 'So, young John, you are given a lesson in manners yourself.' Then, to Ranulph. 'It is well deserved, whatever your origins. Keep it.' He moved back to the table and took up some documents lying there. 'See him to the gate.'

  On the way back down the path to the gateway neither Ranulph nor his escort spoke and when they reached it the squire jerked his head in the direction of the harbour and turned back with a gruff, 'on your way!' Ranulph walked slowly down the steep hill, trying to come to terms with conflicting emotions. First, there was relief and a kind of dizzy amusement. He had been summoned to the lion's den and come out, not only unscathed but rewarded. Beneath that there was something more troubling. Pride, that his achievement in bringing the ship safely through the storm had been recognised; gratitude and a grudging respect for the warden; and shame that he had been forced to speak his enemy fair and was now beholden to him. It would have been easier, he thought, if he had been harshly treated. Then he could continue to hate the Norman lord who was keeping his people in subjection.

  When he reached the quayside he paused and looked at the medallion, which was still clasped in his hand. It was undoubtedly worth a good deal of money. He could never wear it, that was obvious. He could sell it, perhaps? But that meant profiting from his contact with the enemy. He could give it away. But how would he account for its provenance? He might be accused of stealing it. He studied the figure of St Nicholas. It was supposed to invoke the saint's protection, but what saint would care for the safety of one already damned? He hesitated a moment longer. Then he drew back his arm and pitched the medallion as far out into the still waters of the harbour as he could manage.

  8.

  A week later the Waverider slipped into her mooring at Damme and furled her brand-new sail. Her hull was patched in places but she was sea worthy and, better still, her captain was in his place beside the helmsman and able to give the necessary orders. Nevertheless, it was Ranulph who oversaw the off-loading of the cargo and its safe transfer to the barges that would take it up river to Bruges; and Ranulph who sat at the table in the stern and paid out their wages to the crew. When all the necessary formalities were comp
leted he took his place beside Piet in the last barge.

  'You go straight home. I can go with the barge to the water house and see all the cargo safely stored and listed.'

  Piet looked at him. 'I put a lot of weight on young shoulders, but I know I can trust you to do it all correctly. I shall be glad to get home.'

  He was still pale and the frown that formed between his eyebrows told Ranulph that he was still suffering from the headache that had plagued him since the accident.

  'Go,' he said. 'You need to rest. Tell Mariella and the others that I will be there as soon as I can.'

  The barge dropped Piet at the bottom of his street and Ranulph watched him walk away and saw that he swayed slightly. Perhaps it was just the effect of being on land again after spending most of the summer at sea; but he had not noticed him unsteady on his feet on previous occasions. He dismissed the thought and concentrated on the work in hand. The wide doors of the water house were open as the barge drew into the quay and porters came hurrying to haul the huge bales of wool out of the hold. Ranulph checked them off against his record and noted that only two had been damaged, which was a miracle in itself. He conferred with the municipal tax collector and paid the necessary dues and then he was free to head for home. It struck him as he shouldered his sea chest and set out that he thought of Piet's house as home. Every time he returned from a voyage he was welcomed back by Mariella and the others as one of the family.

  The months of winter stretched ahead, when there was no sailing, but he would find plenty to occupy him. The promised lessons in swordsmanship continued and he knew Alberik was pleased with his progress. Moreover, last year he had almost succeeded in drawing a longbow to his teacher's satisfaction. This winter he was determined that he would do it. He would spend time, too, learning all he could about navigation and listening to the reports of returning mariners, who could speak of ports and countries he had never visited. He would help around the house and around the shipyard, where the Waverider was being repaired and readied for her next voyage. But this year he was aware of a feeling restlessness, a desire for some new experience.

  He walked through the now familiar streets and many of the people he passed called greetings to him and welcomed him back. A voice hailed him from an upper window.

  'Hey! My angel's come back to me. Why don't you come up and make a lady happy?'

  He tipped his head back and grinned at her. It was the woman who had plucked at his sleeve when he first set foot on the wharf at Damme four years ago. Women were not quite such strangers to him as they had once been. In port in Gascony and London he had watched the crew taking their pick among the whores who met every ship. But he knew that Piet never took advantage of their offers and he had followed the captain's example. Sometimes the men laughed at him and called him 'little monk', but it was good natured chaff; and the truth was that he had never felt tempted. The warnings of the monks who had brought him up were ingrained in his heart and the women who offered themselves were too blatant to be attractive.

  'I'll light a candle for you. That's the best an angel can do.'

  'Don't you believe it!' she responded. 'Come up, and I'll show you different.'

  He shook his head and went on his way.

  It was Beatrix who opened the door to him, and for a moment they both stood staring at each other. He recalled that before he left in the spring he had noticed that she was looking different, more grown up, but it had only been a passing thought and he had forgotten about it as soon as they set sail. Now, he was suddenly confronted by a young woman with glossy chestnut hair and hazel eyes shaded by long lashes. More disturbingly, her green gown clung to her body in ways that drew his eyes to the curves he had not noticed before. Looking at her, he felt himself moved in a way that disconcerted him and brought the colour to his face.

  Something in her eyes told him that she was experiencing a similar shock, but all she said, after a breathless pause, was 'You're taller.'

  'So are you,' he responded, and mentally kicked himself for his ineptitude.

  She stood back for him to enter and Mariella came hurrying to greet him. She took him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, then held him off and said, 'By our Lady, I swear you put on two inches every time you go away. What a splendid fellow you've grown into! I'd never have believed it possible for a scrawny boy like you were when you came here.'

  She was interrupted by Catalina, now eight years old but completely without her elder sister's restraint. She threw herself at him and clasped her arms round his waist, crying, 'What have you brought me, this time?'

  'You'll see, kitten, all in good time,' he responded, laughing.

  'Really, Catalina,' her mother scolded. 'Ranulph's hardly through the door. That's no way to greet someone who has been through what he has.'

  She took his hand and drew him further into the room. 'We have been beside ourselves with worry.' She was serious now. 'The storm was bad enough here but we knew it must be ten times worse at sea. When other ships made port and there was no sign of you we feared the worst. God be praised, who has brought you safe home.'

  'Praise Him, indeed,' said Piet's voice behind them. 'But all credit, too, to this young man. It was him who took command when I was unconscious and brought us into a safe harbour. But for him, we should have gone to the bottom, without a doubt.'

  He had changed his salt-stained clothes for clean ones and Ranulph was glad to see that his face had more colour. Mariella was looking from him to her husband in astonishment.

  'You, unconscious? How? What happened?'

  'Let's sit down, shall we?' Piet said. 'Bring us some wine and we'll tell you the whole story.'

  They had just settled themselves around the table, and the serving girl was pouring the wine, when Dirk came in. Piet had followed his instinct and apprenticed him to a local weaver, two winters back, instead of taking him to sea. He had been furious at first, but Ranulph had guessed that underneath the anger there was relief. By the time they returned from the next voyage he seemed resigned to his new life. Nevertheless, relations between the two of them had never been easy.

  'You're safe!' There was no mistaking the relief on his face. 'We were afraid …'

  Piet rose and embraced him. 'Yes, we're safe, thanks to Ranulph here. Sit. We were just about to tell you all the story.'

  Of necessity, most of the telling fell to Ranulph, since Piet had been unconscious for a large part of it. He tried to make light of what he had done, giving credit to Jan, the helmsman, and the rest of the crew; but Piet would not allow him to downplay his own role. As the tale unfolded, Ranulph became aware of two very different reactions round the table. Beatrix was gazing at him, breathless and wide-eyed. Dirk was glowering. He managed to conceal his feelings, however, and joined in the chorus of gratitude and congratulations that followed the ending of the story.

  That night, when they were getting ready for bed, Dirk said, 'Got yourself a girl yet?'

  Ranulph felt a stab of unease. He had had conversations like this with Dirk before and not enjoyed them. 'I've been at sea all summer. I only got back today, so it's hardly likely, is it?'

  'What about all those other ports. Don't tell me there aren't any women in London.'

  'Plenty. But not the kind that attract me.'

  'Oh, not good enough for our hero!' Dirk put on a superior voice and sniggered. 'What are you waiting for? Some grand lady to notice you and pluck you away in her carriage? Or maybe a holy angel to come down from heaven?'

  'That's blasphemy.'

  'Well, what do you want? Don't tell me you're still a virgin!'

  'Like you,' Ranulph said. He had listened to Dirk talking about girls long enough to know that he was not speaking from experience.

  'That's where you're wrong!' the other boy crowed triumphantly. 'Her name is Lisbet. She's got a mouth like a strawberry and tits like a prize Frisian.'

  'That's obscene!' Ranulph objected.

  'Oh, is it? You're such a mealy mouthed
little creep. You should have stayed in the monastery, with the rest of them. If I didn't know better I'd guess you were a eunuch! '

  'That's enough!' Ranulph turned on him. 'Just shut up, before I punch you.'

  'Oh, that's right. Take refuge in threats, just because you're stronger than me. Fact remains, I'm a man and you're still a boy!'

  He turned away and got into bed, leaving Ranulph struggling with a mixture of fury and shame. Many nights in the past four years he had lain awake, listening to Dirk's bed creaking and shaking and guessing what he was doing. He had been inflamed by the same desires, but his upbringing had taught him to force them down. He had had dreams that made him ashamed, and had punished himself by going out into the yard and standing there in his shirt until he shivered and his feet were so cold that he could not feel them. There had been times when he had been tempted to quench the fires through practical experience, but always at the last moment he had turned aside, sickened by the idea of physical intimacy. It revived memories too painful to be confronted.

  Next morning Piet decreed that they should all go to Mass, to give thanks for their safe deliverance from the storm. Ranulph went along with the rest of the family. Piet and Mariella were devout, and expected their children to follow their example; and they all went to church on Sundays and saints' days without complaint, though Ranulph noticed that Dirk spent most of the service trying to catch the eye of any young woman nearby. His first instinct had been to refuse, to make some excuse not to attend; but he had realised that he could not maintain that over the whole winter, and had been afraid that if Piet concluded that he was not a true Christian he might reject him, and he would lose the only family he had ever known. So he had followed in the family's footsteps, and found something comforting in the familiarity of the service. He had even taken Communion. He knew that to do so while not in a state of grace was to commit a cardinal sin. But the only remedy for that was confession, and he could not bring himself, still, to speak of what had happened to him on board the Seagull. He trembled as he received the wafer, that first Sunday, expecting the wrath of God to strike him down on the spot. But nothing happened, and next time it was easier and eventually it became a matter of routine.