“Best place for me,” muttered Gerald.
Ludovic sighed. “Come to bed, for pity’s sake. Let’s get some sleep before we hit another storm and both end up on the floor.”
“I’d best sleep on the floor anyway,” Gerald said, staring blankly into the furthest corner. “I’ll use my cloak as a blanket and my boots as a pillow. You take the bed.”
“Dear God give me patience,” said Ludovic. “Are you intending to behave like this for the whole voyage?”
The next morning, having managed to sleep together and groan into each other’s ears for most of an uneasy night, Ludovic and Gerald joined the dawn queue at the prow where two heavy wooden seats were built out from the gunwales into the air, their open centres dropping straight towards the sea. Most of the thirty strong crew, muttering and complaining of a variety of headaches and belly aches occasioned mainly from their previous celebrations whilst in dock, appeared to have formed the queue already. Those already perched on the seats of ease, grunted to themselves in concentrated effort. The ship had gained speed in the night and her sail blew full, but the hull pitched forwards as she clipped each wave, tipping deep into the sea before lurching upright once more.
“I think,” Gerald decided, “I shall stay constipated until Flanders.”
“Queasy?” inquired Ludovic.
“Just terrified of hurtling bare arse over head off the privy and into the sea.”
“An ignominious end.”
But the weather stayed comparatively calm for some hours and a tepid sun seeped through the cloud cover. They saw little of Kenelm, the captain being kept busy with his ship, and after striding two circuits of the deck to clear their lungs and heads and then climbing up to the small poop deck to watch the ocean heave for a few monotonous moments, both men finally returned to the cabin.
A meagre breakfast of stale biscuits and cheese had been eaten some time back and a cold dinner was some way off. Ludovic slumped on the stool, hauled off his wet boots, tossed them to the corner and stared at his brother. Gerald stretched on the bed, stared at the low beams, and blew a small trail of dust from over his head.
“I thought I’d like being at sea,” Gerald said with bleak reluctance. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I had a vague idea about ships being exciting.”
“Try climbing the rigging in a storm. I imagine that’s sufficiently exciting.” Ludovic put his feet up on the desk. “I always knew I’d hate sailing. But at least neither of us seems destined to vomit through the entire journey. Evidently some people are more liable to seasickness than others and seemingly I’m not that delicate. But I’ve a hearty dislike for the smell of the ocean.”
“Then I can’t see why you decided on a career as a merchant, dependant on braving these sickly waters,” objected Gerald. “Or why you decided to keep it all so damned secret either.”
“Smuggling’s illegal, in case you’d forgotten,” Ludovic pointed out. “And although you could never keep your mouth shut regarding your own far more illegal activities, I decided to be more cautious. Besides, it’s no one’s business but my own.”
“Distrustful bastard.” Gerald thought a moment. “So, have you forgiven me yet, little brother?”
Ludovic yawned. “It might be pleasant to believe this is anyone’s fault but my own, but I can’t. I’ve voluntarily involved myself in your business for some time now, Gerry, and I’ve supported your cause albeit from a careful distance. Besides, I’m lucky I’ve never been hauled up over my own illegalities. So – I get caught over yours instead. It was an unpleasant shock I admit, but I don’t blame you in particular.”
“It’s because of me and you know it is.” Gerald shook his head. “But how did anyone know we were at The Horn? Don’t tell me Brice, for I won’t believe it. Besides, you said he was already in Flanders.”
“I said he was supposed to be.”
“If Brice had wanted to give me over to the authorities, he could have done so a hundred times. Why now?”
“Because those same authorities are now desperate to find the traitor pinning damned stupid pamphlets to church doors, with a high price offered for information I imagine. And it’s hardly the first time you’ve faced arrest.”
“But the first time you have.”
Ludovic sighed. “And that’s something I don’t fully understand. It may even be a mistake. But I expect my name’s on someone’s list ever since I visited your poor squire in prison and attended his execution.”
“Poor bloody Roland.” Gerald shook his head. “I’m sorry Lu, for everything and everyone. I keep saying that and it doesn’t help, I know, but it’s the truth. God, I really am sorry.”
“At least we’re not locked in the Tower, my dear.” Ludovic smiled gently, gazing across at his brother. “And at least we’ve a few possessions with us. There’s all your meagre property, and what little I’d brought of my own. We’re both armed, have warm clothes, and I’ve plenty of money plus what Kenelm still owes me from the last profits. Shame about the rest of my gear left at the inn, for the crown will be quick to confiscate that. But just some linen, a few furs, boots and other nonsense, so no great loss. William has my horse and will no doubt make a good master.”
“And my pamphlets,” muttered Gerald. “When they find those, it’ll seal my fate forever.”
Ludovic raised an eyebrow. “I thought there was only blank paper left?”
“Oh well. A little more than that.”
It was later when a ragtaggle boy brought them a meal of cold meats and more biscuit, a jug of sour ale and a message from the captain. “Ca’pin says anovver storm’s comin’ up a few miles ahead,” grinned the boy. “Black clouds on horizon. Best stay below.”
Gerald regarded the cold meat and pinched one gristled wedge of unrecognisable grey flesh between his fingers. “Is this all anyone’s eating, and in damned cold weather like this?” he demanded.
“Least it ain’t maggoty,” the boy pointed out, relentlessly cheerful. “Will be soon, if we gets delayed. An’ we can’t cook nuffin. Stones on deck is too wet.”
“So take the stones below and dry them off,” suggested Gerald with fading patience.
The boy sniggered. “Oh yeah. Start a fire below decks. That’s all we needs.” The amused chuckle echoed from above as the boy scampered back up the steps. Gerald stared miserably at Ludovic over the small platter of unappetising food.
“Eat,” commanded Ludovic. “With another damned storm coming, we’ll need our strength. Kenelm took on stores before I saw him yesterday, so the meat’s fresh.”
Gerald poured the ale. “I’d sooner drink and forget everything.”
“Do that and I shall let you drown,” Ludovic warned him. “Saving your bastard life if we capsize will be hard enough, without you being pissed. And let me warn you, the boat will probably split apart if a gale hits too hard. This ship was due for careening and re-caulking at the end of the last trip, and half the nails are rusty.”
“I can’t swim,” said Gerald with a faint smile.
“I know,” said Ludovic. “I can, but it’s of no consequence. The cold will kill us both before we drown anyway.”
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to cheer me up or punish me for having caused all this,” muttered Gerald. “In either case, I’d prefer you just ate your dinner and kept your opinions to yourself.”
“I shall say no more,” Ludovic grinned. “Just lash yourself to the bed. Or better still, the chamber pot.”
Kenelm briefly visited his guests as they finished their meal, stomping into his lost cabin with a wet and leathered smile. “Your lordships all snug and well fed, then?” he inquired. “And slept deep, I trust? We’ve a spot of bad weather coming up, but nothing to worrit over and nothing I’m not used to. Might get a bit rough though, so best keep below.”
“I’ve no wish to sound ungrateful,” said Gerald, “but you wouldn’t get me on deck if you paid me.”
“Well, ‘tis yous paying me, so’s can go
where you wish, my lord.” The captain bowed, his grin fixed. “But it’s a nasty squall by the looks of the clouds, and I doubt we’ll get through it afore evening’s done. Either of your lordships feel a mite shitty, then best stay in here and spew in the pot. And it ain’t no shame on you neither, for there’s seasoned sailors will heave up their guts in a storm. The hold will be awash wi’ it by nightfall.”
Ludovic smiled. “Thank you, my friend. We will endeavour to survive. I didn’t expect calm seas, being December. I’ve trusted you for five years now, and you’ve always come through.”
“And will again, my lord,” Kenelm said. “Never yet met a storm as would frighten me. And she may be old, but the Rouncie’s as strong a ship as ever sailed the German Sea. Try and get some sleep, my lord, and I’ll come visit again in the morning wi’ the sun.”
The gale hit within the hour. They heard it first and felt it immediately after. The wind roared and the ship hurtled sideways, rolling so deep that the crashing boom of wood against water was momentarily deafening and every plank shuddered. Gerald tipped from the bed and sat gasping on the floor. Ludovic laughed and hung on to the stool.
For the first hour the sounds from above vibrated below, the thunder of running feet as loud as that from the sky, the screaming of Kenelm’s orders over the wind, the answering shouts of the crew. The yardarm had been lowered well before the storm hit and the sail remained lashed to the deck, but there seemed many other duties needed to secure the ship and Kenelm’s voice continued to echo. Then the storm hurtled into even greater force, and the men became strangely quiet, all their efforts concentrated in hanging on or staggering to greater safety, with little else to do except bail until the tempest passed.
Neither Ludovic nor Gerald said much. Crouched below, they could barely hear each other, and there was nothing to say. Gerald clasped tight to the chamber pot, vomiting until weak, when he rolled onto the bed, knees clamped to his belly. Ludovic slumped down and wedged his feet to the immovable base of the desk. He breathed deep, keeping his stomach controlled. The lantern went out in the wind from the slamming door and a slime of black water leaked down the steps from above, swamping the boards ankle deep. There was no counting time. They were kept blind below, but could have seen no more on deck. The night swept in, but it was already furiously dark from gale, cloud and rain.
Then the wind dropped. The ship lurched a little, swung between waves, righted itself and floated free. Released quite suddenly from threat and disaster, The Fair Rouncie bobbed peacefully, slapped by the last of the floundering waves. The noise ceased completely. The sky cleared to a fine night and a fat pearly slice of moon stared down at her own peacefully rippled reflection.
Gerald groaned and sat up. Ludovic blinked and smiled. “Still afloat,” he murmured. “Quite a surprise.” He explored the strength of his legs and waded through dirty water to the swinging door and the steps beyond. He peered up. Without light he could guess little and did not trust his feet to the stairway, but the faint moaning of men staggering upright and returning to their posts sounded like a ghostly chorus on its way through Purgatory. “I think,” he said, returning tentatively to the stool, “the crew lives. Though we’ll surely have been swept off course, so God knows where we are now.”
“In the damned ocean,” muttered Gerald.
Ludovic sat again, rather heavily. “This water is ice. But it’s growing no deeper. I doubt we’re sinking.”
“What a boringly practical soul you are,” complained Gerald. “Is there anything left to drink? A candle to light? A dry tinder box? And anywhere to empty this stinking chamber pot?”
“Practical questions indeed, my dear, but why ask me?” Ludovic stretched, pushing his fingers through the knots of his hair. “This ship may be half my own, but I’ve not the slightest idea where anything is. Certainly the ale jug and the cups are somewhere on the floor and floating in filthy water, and I suggest the pot needs emptying over the gunwales.” He stood once more and slopped through the muck over to the bed. Finding the high wooden edge by feel, he rolled himself onto the mattress and curled into a position of acceptable comfort. “Move up, my dear. I am utterly exhausted and now we seem destined to stay afloat, I intend sleeping.”
“How can you?” Gerald objected. “After that?”
“The smell from that chamber pot isn’t helping I admit,” said Ludovic. “But if you try throwing its contents overboard now, you’ll probably fall over after it. I therefore suggest it waits until morning. In the meantime, I hope to dream of sweeter things.” He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket to his ears.
Gerald struggled back against the wall at bed’s edge, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing else we can do, so we ought to sleep if we can. But I’ve a foul headache, my whole body aches, my guts feel punched, my eyes sting and my ears are buzzing. How in purgatory can you sleep so easily?”
“A guilt-free conscience and a thick skin,” murmured Ludovic. “I trust our good captain to do whatever is necessary, and he’ll hardly need any assistance from me. So goodnight, my dear. And if another storm rolls in, I have no desire to hear about it. Let me die quietly in my sleep.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Well nigh back to the English coast, my lords,” said Kenelm. “But time lost is time gained, when you thinks about it.” Since neither of their lordships appeared to appreciate the meaning of this obscure insight and shook their heads, Kenelm patiently explained. “What I means, my lords, is best off closer to the coast when a storm gets a touch above itself, so being blowed back done us a favour. I reckon we’ve ended a touch too far to the south, but once I’ve made sure exactly where we is, we’ll set sail north east.”
“And no serious damage to the ship?” inquired Ludovic.
“We took on water,” Kenelm admitted, “but ‘tis all shipshape now. T’would be a terrible thing to capsize the first time ever in my life, being the first time your lordship were ever onboard.” He grinned with a brief bow. “Mind you, I’ve an idea you’d be coping with the situation whatever happened, my lord, and no doubt you’d be a’rescuing of me.”
Gerald laughed. “Nice to know someone has such faith in you, little brother.”
“Luckily it won’t be put to the test,” said Ludovic, pulling his boots back on as a bright frosty sunshine dazzled through the open doorway. The captain was halfway back up to the deck when the call came.
“Carvel sighted due south, ca’pin. Flying no flag and coming hard at us.”
“Shit,” muttered Kenelm and ran the last steps.
Gerald peered at Ludovic over his cup. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve no idea.” Ludovic quickly drained his own cup and stood. “Some other vessel needing help after the storm perhaps. But Kenelm didn’t seem well pleased.” He went to the door, looking up.
“Best stay here. We don’t want to be in the way,” said Gerald.
“But arm yourself in case, Gerry,” Ludovic said, quickly buckling on his own sword. “This time we carry nothing except ourselves, but there’s no way of telling that from a distance since I imagine we’ve a hold full of storm water. We’ll be lying low as though heavy with cargo.”
Gerald at once reached for his sword, tucking his knife into his belt. “What do you suspect, Lu? Pirates?”
Ludovic nodded. “Something I know very little about, but Kenelm’s mentioned the danger from time to time. Breton pirates are thick on the south coast in summer and haunt the Narrow Sea spring to autumn. But we’re not in the Narrow Sea, and this is winter.”
“I’d sooner fight for my life than lie rolling and spewing down here in some filthy storm,” Gerald said. “And escaping Tudor was necessary policy, but the idea of running away never appealed. Instead I’ll kill a few bastard pirates before they kill me, and die happier than on the executioner’s block.”
Ludovic sighed. “Up until two days ago, I’d no notion of dying in any manner whatsoever. And I always k
new I’d hate going to sea.”
Knife ready, he took the first two stairs up to the deck. The usual sound of wind, the crack of the sail and the creaking of wood, hurried footsteps and voices, were all muted beneath the noises of the sea; heaving water and waves slamming the ship’s sides. Gerald was close behind him. “I’m coming with you, little brother. You’ll not get all the fun to yourself this time.”
The morning was bright and cold. A fair breeze and a choppy sea made for good sailing weather. But the lack of noise had been misleading. The great shadow of a carvel, a three masted ship much larger than their own, blocked the horizon at a bare few minutes distance. She carried heavy artillery and the barrels of four cannon protruded towards them from her side. The deck was crowded, the crew ill matched and heavily armed, gap toothed grins wide in the sunshine. Ludovic stopped in surprise, balancing himself behind Kenelm. The captain kept his eyes steady on the approaching carvel, speaking cautiously from the corner of his mouth. “Pirates, my lord. ‘Tis mighty unfortunate, but we carry nothing worth stealing and I hope to bargain our way clear.”
“Bargain with what?” demanded Ludovic. “The only thing you have to bargain with, my friend, is us. Two hostages for ransom.”
Kenelm shook his head. “Leave it to me, my lord, and stay below I beg you.”
“I’d prefer to be protecting my own ship and my own skin,” Ludovic said.
“’Tis up to you, my lord. But pirates is nasty buggers, and they’ll not be fighting fair. Those cannon could blow the Rouncie to splinters, and our shot’s soaked through. So I’d sooner not be worriting over yous, my lord.”
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