by Hilary Green
That did not dispel the nightmares in which he found himself beset by demons and tormented by fire. Yet, in daylight, he understood that far from being punished he had been blessed. He had been found by a good man and given a new life. He had been allowed to prosper, and preserved from the storm. He concluded that his punishment was being reserved for the afterlife, in which he would undoubtedly suffer for his sins. Only occasionally, when he was off guard and thinking of something else, he would hear the tempter's whisper that perhaps there was no God; that everything he had been taught by the monks was an invention to suppress the natural instincts of men.
Next evening, to his surprise, Dirk came up to him with a friendly smile.
'I owe you a drink, for what you did to save the Waverider. Anyway, I want you to meet Lisbet. Come to the inn with me tonight?'
It was the last thing Ranulph wanted to do, but he told himself that it would be wrong to reject the proffered olive branch, so he agreed. The inn Dirk chose came as a surprise. It was a tavern normally frequented by the better off members of Bruges society, particularly by young men with a reputation for having 'more money than sense', as Mariella put it, when their latest exploits became public knowledge. Ranulph was not surprised that Dirk should wish to be one of their company; what puzzled him was how he could afford it.
They were greeted with cries of welcome as they entered from a group of three young men and five girls sitting at a table in the corner of the room. The men were all well dressed and ostentatiously bejewelled. The girls were too respectably clothed to be whores, but obviously not from the same background as the men. He guessed them to be serving girls from some of the better houses. Five girls! Three men, plus Dirk and himself. With a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach he understood what Dirk's motive had been in inviting him. It was too late to turn back now. If he walked out he knew he would be the butt of Dirk's jokes for the rest of the winter. So he allowed himself to be drawn into the group and introduced.
The girl presented as Lisbet giggled and said, 'Oh, so you're the hero who saved Dirk's father's boat. We've heard a lot about you.'
It sounded complimentary, but it left Ranulph wondering what else had been said.
The girls moved to make room for them, and Lisbet settled herself on Dirk's lap. Another one squeezed herself onto the bench next to Ranulph and told him her name was Agnes. She was pretty enough, with large brown eyes and lips that were moist and slightly pursed as if waiting for a kiss, and he was sharply aware of the softness of her body pressed against his side. He wondered what was supposed to happen. Would a time come when they were all expected to take their respective girls off to some secluded spot and then … then what? Tankards of beer were set in front of them and one of the men said, 'Well, come on. Let's play. I want to get back what I lost the other night. It's time someone else had some luck.'
Dice were produced and the game began. Ranulph had played often enough, in slack moments on board the Waverider, and he had money in his purse. The arrangement with Bertrand had proved lucrative. In recognition of the part Ranulph had played in getting the contract Piet had allowed him a percentage of the returns, and Ranulph had developed his own trade in small volume, high value goods. In a locked coffer in his room he now had a small nest egg, the first step towards assembling the fortune he would require to furnish an army to drive the invaders out of his native land. He hoarded it carefully, but he had no objection to using some small change for occasions like this.
The game proceeded, and Martin, the man who had proposed the game, won twice in succession.'There,' he exclaimed, 'I told you! The luck can't be all one way. Let's up the stakes.'
The rest agreed, and this time Dirk won.
Martin insisted on raising the stakes again, and Dirk won again. It was becoming clear how he was financing his inclusion in this affluent company. Ranulph began to watch him closely. He lost a couple of times, but as soon as the pot had reached a fairly large sum he won again. Martin and his friends were getting frustrated and voices were beginning to be raised. Ranulph had the feeling that violence was not far away; but he had understood what was going on now. Whenever the amount on the table reached a certain level he saw Dirk's hand slide into the purse attached to his belt. Lisbet was still sitting on his lap, and her skirts hid the act from all the others. Undercover of tickling Lisbet till she giggled and begged him to stop, he saw Dirk skilfully palm the dice on the table. Then he threw the dice from his purse, and invariably won.
Ranulph waited, and saw the loaded dice returned to Dirk's purse. He felt in his own and his fingers closed on the dice he carried there, a legacy from his games on board ship. The other men were all kissing and cuddling their girls between throws but so far he had ignored Agnes, as far as it was possible to ignore someone snuggled against your side. Now he took a breath and, with a quiver at the pit of his stomach, pulled her onto his lap. Using her as cover, he slid his hand into Dirk's purse and extracted the dice, and substituted his own. The game went on, and once again he saw Dirk reach into the purse. He had wagered all his winnings against a jewelled pin belonging to Martin and his face as he threw was flushed with triumph. Ranulph watched as his expression changed to one of consternation and disbelief, and then to something close to terror.
The other men cheered and Martin gleefully collected the money and returned the pin to his hat. 'Now then,' he crowed, 'what can you put up to win it all back? Come on, I'll give you a chance. You can't stop playing just because your luck's run out!'
The others joined in, demanding that he continue. Ranulph saw him pick up the dice, and realise that they were not his own. He felt in his purse, but it was empty. His face had lost all its colour. He shoved Lisbet off his lap and got to his feet.'
'I … I'm not well. The bloody beer must be off. I've got to go …' And he turned, to the accompaniment of their jeers, and stumbled towards the door.
Ranulph gently eased Agnes off his lap and got up in his turn. He took the loaded dice from his purse and cast them onto the table.
'I don't think Dirk will be wanting to play again, gentlemen.' He laid a few coins down, enough to pay for his share of the beer, and followed Dirk into the street. They watched him go in stunned silence.
Outside, Dirk turned on him. 'It was you! You did it. I don't know how, but it must have been you. Why can't you keep your bloody nose out of other people's business?'
'You invited me to join you,' Ranulph pointed out. He hesitated, unsure whether it was worth continuing. 'Look, you can't do this, Dirk. You can't make a life that depends on cheating people.'
'What am I supposed to do? I don't get taken on trading voyages, with a chance of making myself a nice little pot of money on the side. I should have been! If Father had never brought you home, it would have been me. Instead I've been left to make my own way, and you've got no right to interfere.'
Ranulph struggled with emotions in which distress and guilt were equally balanced. 'But I thought you were happy, learning to weave.'
'Oh yes!' Dirk responded satirically. 'Happy being nothing but an apprentice, having to depend on hand-outs from my father for everything I need. I'm his son! You're just a nobody, who has muscled in on the family and pushed me out!'
He was weeping now and Ranulph's anguish deepened. He made to put his hand on the other boy's arm. 'Look, I never intended …'
'Don't touch me!' Dirk shook him off with a violent gesture. 'And don't you dare preach at me. I've had enough of your mealy-mouthed, holier than thou, attitude. I watched you. You didn't even know what to do with that girl. Go back to your monastery, and leave normal people to get on with their lives.'
He turned and went off down the street at a shambling run, leaving Ranulph gazing after him. Then he headed in the opposite direction. He wandered the streets until he found himself sitting on the bench where Piet had reassured him about his future. Now it seemed impossible to return to the house that had given him shelter. How could he go back and share a bedroom with Dir
k, after what had been said? He was an intruder, and could never be anything else.
The night was cold, and he began to shiver. There were people about in the streets, still, hurrying home from the inns, or from visiting friends, but no one spoke to him. He longed for the warmth and security of Piet's house.
A voice roused him. 'What's a good looking boy like you doing on his own at this time of night? Fallen out with your girl? Never mind. I'll soon show you how to forget her.'
He looked up. A woman stood nearby and he recognised her as one of the whores who met the ship every time they came into port. Her blonde hair was uncovered and her gown was split so that he could see the cleft between her breasts. She stretched out her hand and stroked his sleeve and he saw that he finger nails were bitten and dirty. He got up quickly.
'No, no thank you. I'm just on my way home.'
'No need to hurry is there?' She moved close to him and he smelt cheap perfume and sweat.
'Yes. I have to go. They will be expecting me.'
He began to move away, and heard her call after him. 'Your loss, my duck. You don't know what you're missing.'
He was standing outside Piet's front door before he stopped to think where he was going. He tapped, and after a wait the serving woman opened it, her hair rumpled and her voice thick with sleep.
'Thought you'd decided to spend the night elsewhere,' she said grumpily.
'I'm sorry,' he answered. 'I lost track of the time.'
'Want anything?'
'No, thank you. You get back to bed. I'm sorry I woke you.'
She trudged away to her sleeping place beside the warmth of the kitchen fire and Ranulph found a stool and drew it close to the dying embers in the hearth which warmed the hall. He was afraid that if he went up to the bedroom Dirk might still be awake and the quarrel might start all over again. In the end, he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down on the rushes. Eventually he slept.
He woke to the sound of someone pumping water in the courtyard and realised that it was daylight and the household was rousing. Feeling stiff and slightly nauseous he headed out to the privy and then ducked his head under the icy water from the pump.
Re-entering the hall the first person he saw was Beatrix. She came quickly over to him.
'Ranulph! You are here. We wondered where you had got to last night.'
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I … went for a walk and forgot the time.'
She gave him a direct look. 'Dirk came in in a filthy temper. Did you and he quarrel?'
There seemed no point in trying to pretend otherwise. 'I'm afraid we did have – a disagreement.'
Her eyes sparkled. 'What about? Go on. You can tell me.'
'No, really. It was nothing important.'
'It made Dirk very cross – but then that's nothing new. He's always complaining about something.'
'I thought he liked what he was doing.'
'Oh, he doesn't mind it really. He just likes to moan. I don't take any notice.' She moved a little closer. 'Your hair's all wet.'
'I just put my head under the pump.'
'Why? Headache? Did you and Dirk get drunk last night? Is that what was wrong with him.'
'Maybe. Just a bit.' On an impulse he added, 'Dirk doesn't like me being here. He thinks I've taken the place he should have had.'
She wrinkled her nose. 'That's stupid. He would never have gone to sea with Father. He's not brave enough. He couldn't have done what you did.
She smelt faintly of sandalwood. He had bought some of the exotic soap in London to bring home as a present for her. He hair was loose and fell over her shoulders in amber drifts and her skin was so clear it was almost transparent. He remembered the sensation of Agnes's body pressed against his own and the quiver of excitement he had felt when he took her on his lap.
As if she knew what was in his mind, she said, 'Anyway, I like you being here. I miss you when you go away.'
He put his hand up to touch her hair and she moved closer still and lifted her face. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to bend his head and kiss her. Her lips were warm, and parted under the pressure of his own, and he felt fire run through his blood. He wrapped his arms round her and pressed her to him.
'Let go of her! You son of a pig, leave my sister alone!' Dirk stood a few feet away, his face white with fury. 'How dare you? This is what happens when you let a wandering cur into your home!'
They had sprung apart at his first words, but now Beatrix turned towards her brother.
'Oh, be quiet, you stupid boy! Ranulph's not a cur. He's one of the family …' then, realising the implications of what she had said, 'I mean, he's a friend. He didn't mean any harm.'
From above, they all heard Piet's voice, speaking to his wife but heading down the stairs.
Beatrix caught hold of Dirk's arm. 'Don't say anything, please!'
He shook her hand off and stepped close to Ranulph. 'I'm not going to say anything. This is between us. We'll fight this out, and let God decide who is in the right. This evening, behind St Jan's hospital. Be there, or I'll find you and kill you!'
There was no time for more. Piet came into hall and greeted them and they responded as normally as they could manage. The serving woman came in with fresh bread and a flagon of milk and Mariella joined them for breakfast. As soon as they had eaten Dirk got up, kissed his mother and headed for the door. In the doorway he turned and fixed Ranulph with a look.
'Don't forget!'
'Forget what?' Mariella asked as he left.
'Oh, we've agreed to meet up again this evening,' Ranulph said.
She smiled at him. 'That's good. I'm glad you two are getting on better. Dirk needs a good friend, someone with a level head on his shoulders. I'm afraid he's been getting into the wrong kind of company.'
Ranulph thought back to the previous evening. Well, there perhaps he had achieved part of what she wanted. He forced a smile. 'I don't think you need to worry too much about that.'
Piet announced that he intended to go to Damme that morning to assess what repairs were required to the Waverider and set the work in train. It was taken for granted that Ranulph would go with him. For most of the day he was kept busy, making notes and recording prices, but his mind kept wandering to what was going to happen that evening. For almost the first time Piet had cause to reprimand him for lack of attention. Piet's temper was shorter than usual, too, and Ranulph noticed that he still looked tired and frequently pressed his hand to his brow as if his head ached. If he had not had so much else to worry about, he would have been concerned.
Finally Piet declared that they had done all that could be done for that day and they made their way back to the house. When they reached it, Ranulph made the excuse that he had agreed to meet Alberik for a training session and left. He had not made any such arrangement but to his relief the master-at-arms was at home. He contemplated telling him about Dirk's challenge, but he knew that if he did Alberik would put a stop to it and then Dirk would accuse him of cowardice. He was not, in fact, frightened of fighting him – or not for his own safety. He knew from experience that he was the better swordsman. He was stronger and faster than Dirk. What worried him was how to finish the fight without doing his opponent serious damage.
He could say none of this to Alberik, who greeted him with a grin. 'What's happened? Are we going to war? Dirk was here an hour ago, desperate for some practice.'
'Did he have some?'
'Oh yes. We had a good session. For the first time he really seemed to put his mind to it.'
At the end of the bout Alberik was panting. 'Well, you've come on. We'll make a swordsman of you yet.'
He took the weapons they had been practising with and hung them back on the wall. Ranulph felt a sudden lifting of tension. Neither he nor Dirk possessed a sword; so the encounter would involve nothing but fists, and he felt fairly sure of being able to put Dirk out of action without doing any serious damage. He was surprised at himself for imagining a sword fight.
He hea
rd one of the many church clocks strike the hour and knew that Dirk would be waiting for him. He thanked Alberik and headed for the Mariapoort, where a community of religious brothers and sisters had built a hospital dedicated to St John, to care for sick pilgrims and merchants. Behind the building there was a green space, hidden from the street, a spot where children played and lovers met; but at this hour of the evening, when people were gathering at home for the evening meal, deserted – except for Dirk, who was carrying a pair of swords.
Ranulph stopped short. 'How did you come by those?'
'Mind your own business. I've still got friends, in spite of your efforts.' He thrust the hilt of sword towards Ranulph. 'Take it! I've measured them. They're both the same length.'
Ranulph grasped the hilt and immediately Dirk sprang away and levelled his blade. 'Come on! Let's get on with it.'
Ranulph took up his guard and was just in time to parry a violent thrust. Suddenly he remembered the fight with toy swords when he first arrived in Bruges. This must not end in the same way, he told himself. Dirk thrust again, and again he parried. Dirk attempted a slash that would have taken Ranulph's arm off if it had connected. Instead, his weapon met Ranulph's blade and was answered with a twist and a wrench that nearly dragged it out of his hand. For breathless minutes, the fight continued. Thrust and parry, cut and parry, but never a riposte. Ranulph gave ground, content to let his opponent exhaust his fury.
The reverse happened. As every attack was thwarted, Dirk's anger grew. 'Fight, damn you!' he gasped between blows. 'What sort of a coward are you? Are you too lily livered even to try?'
A barrage of blows followed, growing wilder all the time. Then Dirk lowered his blade and stood panting, and Ranulph thought for a moment that it was all over.
'Are you too much of a monk to fight like a man?' Dirk's voice was hoarse with contempt. 'Did they tell you it was wicked to fight? You fight like a girl! Frightened of getting your pretty face scratched?' Then his eyes blazed with a sudden gleeful triumph. 'That's it! You're a pretty boy! You don't know what to do with a woman. You'd rather have some man's dick up your …'