Harry stood over him, sword up, as their attackers backed off again. No shout or cry had accompanied the wound he’d inflicted, which made him doubt his success. He yelled again, encouraging James to do likewise. Pender had picked himself up from the ground and he joined in. Without warning, or a word of command, their attackers came on, seeking to involve them in a general mêlée in which they could separate the trio and deal with them one by one. Harry grabbed Pender, preparing to drag him to the edge of the quay. If he kept hold of the man when he jumped perhaps he could save him from drowning. For if they stayed on this quayside, outnumbered, they were most certainly going to die.
He stopped moving, but carried on shouting, as he saw a glimmer of light in one of the narrow alleys that ran from the quayside up into the town. The light grew brighter, and he increased the sound, bellowing his lungs out as he lunged and parried at the footpads who were trying to club him to the ground. He heard a gasp of pain by his side and Pender went down again. Suddenly a whole group of men holding lights came onto the quayside. They hesitated for a moment, taking in the scene before them, then they rushed forward to assist. Their still silent attackers turned to meet them. Harry saw that they were indeed blackened up, and that both their clothes, as well as the scarves wound round their heads, were black. It was little wonder one could barely see them in the pale moonlight.
Equally extraordinary was the professional way, without a word of command being spoken, in which they melted away from this group of rescuers. They seemed to just disappear out of the area of light, and individually and in pairs they shot up the numerous alleys. In a few seconds, Harry, James, and Pender were left looking into the faces of their rescuers. Not one of their assailants could be seen, not even those that must have been hurt in the assault.
‘Allow me to thank you, gentlemen,’ said Harry in French, hoping that these local people might understand that better than his appalling Italian.
‘Ain’t you English?’ asked the man at the front, a thickset individual, seemingly the leader of the group.
‘Indeed we are,’ said Harry, surprised.
‘Thank Christ for that then,’ said the man. ‘Wouldn’t want to go a-rescuing no Jean Crapaud.’
James spoke up, a mite breathlessly. ‘Pray, sir, whom do we have to thank for our deliverance?’
‘More light there,’ the man commanded, and all those behind him edged forward lifting their lanterns. Some of the party, seeing the Ludlows in the increased light, hastened to try and hide behind their fellows. Harry thought he recognised one of them as a member of the Swiftsure’s crew. No doubt there were others, but his attention was elsewhere. Pender, now standing again and swaying unsteadily, had a nasty cut above his eye. Blood ran down his cheek, dripping onto his white shirt.
The man addressing them was a squat, barrel-chested fellow with a round flat face made more so by the nose which seemed crushed against it. Obviously not a man to take the sun, his countenance was bright red, set off by purple broken-veined cheeks. He was dressed, like Harry, in a good quality blue coat with gold edgings, and a tricorn hat. In his hand he held a long club. Behind him a sea of half-lit faces, most hiding, but one or two leaning forward eagerly to see what they had come upon.
‘William Broadbridge, master of the Dido, at your service.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘By your tone, and your attire, I seem to be addressin’ someone of quality.’
‘Harry Ludlow, Captain Broadbridge. My brother James Ludlow, and my servant.’
This caused increased scuffling at the back of the Broadbridge group. Harry ignored them and turned back to see if Pender was all right. As soon as the light fell on his servant’s face, a voice came out of the crowd. ‘By Christ, Pender, what the devil are you doing in these parts?’
‘Who’s that?’ snapped Pender, gently pushing Harry aside and peering at the sea of shaded faces. One man pushed further forward.
‘Don’t say you don’t know me, Pious. Carey Sutton.’
‘Bugger me,’ said Pender. ‘I thought you was in Botany Bay.’
‘I was on my way, Pious, old lad. But then one of His Majesty’s ships in Gibraltar was a bit light on hands, and we was given the chance to volunteer.’
‘Be quiet, Carey Sutton,’ snapped Broadbridge. ‘No wonder you was had up, with your babbling tongue.’
‘They’re off the Swiftsure,’ said a voice from the back, causing Broadbridge to start with alarm.
Harry spoke quickly, taking Pender’s arm as the man swayed again. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, or my brother, Captain. We are not in the navy. And what you are about is none of our concern. Let me thank you again for your timely arrival. I fear we would have been hard put to survive if you hadn’t happened by.’
‘I dare say,’ said Broadbridge, gruffly. His tone had become less friendly. It was obvious that he was suspicious of them. ‘Who were those fellows?’
‘I’ve no idea, Captain. I thought perhaps you would know.’
Broadbridge merely shrugged, but in reality he wasn’t listening to Harry. One of the sailors behind him was busily whispering in his ear, and his eyes expanded at what he was hearing from that source.
‘Cut-throats and robbers, of that I’m certain,’ said James. ‘And a professional crew the way they were got up in black. I fear they must have had an arrangement with the boatmen to bring their victims to this lonely spot.’
Broadbridge coughed noisily as Harry picked up the conversation.
‘If I could further presume upon your kindness and ask for directions, indeed an escort to some inn, I would gladly stand a round of drink to convey our thanks. Not that they’ll run to a decent tavern in these parts.’
‘Why that’s all you know, Mr Ludlow.’ Broadbridge’s face had a cunning look as he spoke. You could almost see his mind working. ‘You come along with us, and we will show you to a place as good as any at home, and one that serves a tankard of ale as good as any brewed in England itself. And if you wish it, a place to rest your head for the night. Indeed you may take it, sir, that I insist.’
‘Why that is extremely good of you, Captain,’ said Harry. He hadn’t missed the look in Broadbridge’s eye as the sailor told him all about the Ludlows. At the very least they were being taken to a place where they could be kept under observation.
Again a slight bow. ‘If you will follow me, gentlemen.’ He peered at Pender, still being supported by Harry. ‘And you, whatever your name is. I should get some’at round that wound, you’re drippin’ blood everywhere.’
James, standing on the other side of his brother, had not noticed the extent of Pender’s cut. He whipped out a fine cambric handkerchief, folded it into a bandage, and wrapped it round the man’s head. As soon as that was done, Broadbridge ordered a couple of his men to pick up their small overnight chest and they set off along the quayside, their rescuers in front and behind them. James, holding one of Pender’s arms, leant forward and spoke softly to Harry.
‘What were you on about back there, when you said they had nothing to fear?’
Harry responded quietly, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I would say that Captain Broadbridge is short of hands. He was out trying to collect any deserters. There’s more than a couple of Swiftsures in this party.’
‘Would that have anything to do with us being dropped off in that deserted quay, your honour?’ asked Pender.
‘Very likely. If Broadbridge had any sense he would have bribed the boatmen to land anyone from the ship there. It’s a perfect spot.’
James could not keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘And our attackers. What of them?’
‘I don’t know. But if it’s perfect for picking up deserters, then it’s just as good for other things.’
‘Like robbery?’
‘More than that, James. They were too organised and numerous for casual robbers. Did you notice, not a word passed between them? They made no attempt to seize our baggage …’
Broadbridge, walking in front of them
, had been in earnest conversation with some of the others in his party. Suddenly he dropped back to talk to Harry, interrupting his speculations. He ordered two of his men to take care of Pender, freeing Harry and James from the task.
‘Might I be allowed to ask how you come to be in Genoa, Mr Ludlow?’ he asked, and for the remainder of their journey, Harry obliged him, but omitting both the success that they had enjoyed and the fact that he was looking to buy a ship. James, walking alongside his brother, contributed nothing. But he did wonder whether his brother was being wise to leave out so many details.
After all, Broadbridge could hardly be unaware of what they had in mind, since it had been common gossip on the Swiftsure. It was also likely that he had been apprised of the amount of gold they were carrying. But nothing in his manner betrayed this, and he seemed quite well disposed towards them, cursing sympathetically under his breath about the ‘bloody navy’ as Harry related their tale.
They left the darkened part of the port behind. The party was now walking along the brightly lit and bustling quayside to the north of the Customs Fort. They passed through the teeming arcade that ran under the sea wall and came back onto the quay, heading for a brightly lit section that seemed the busiest part of the port. Slender alleys ran between the tall narrow houses, all seemingly some kind of drinking or eating place. Given the warmth of the climate much of both activities took place outdoors. As a busy commercial harbour there would be plenty of loose coin around in the pockets of sailors and merchants. With the added business which war had brought, the place had the air of easy money.
Street urchins were accosting the men and noisily trying to sell their sisters. Others, darting round behind the men, were intent on relieving the prospective client of the means to pay. Whores of all shapes, sizes, and ages paraded up and down the quayside, mingling with the traders carrying baskets full of fruits and sweetmeats. A carriage clattered along the cobbles, scattering the men and women plying their wares, and obliging Broadbridge and his party to stand close to the water’s edge. Harry and James caught a glimpse of several wealthy men in the carriage, and though he couldn’t be sure, Harry thought he saw the uniform of a British naval officer.
The sound of steady marching feet behind them made them all turn and they, like the rest of the crowd, immediately cleared a space for the oncoming file of blue-coated marines. Each man had a musket slung over his shoulder and a tricolour cockade in his black hat. The man Harry had seen on the French sloop was in the centre of the party, easily visible from his superior height. He walked past looking neither left nor right and his carriage added to the air of superiority that hung naturally upon him.
Broadbridge cursed under his breath, then headed straight for the noisiest doorway on the quay. Drunks milled around outside and they could hear the sound of several fiddles being played inside, to the accompaniment of much singing, shouting, and banging of tables. The surprise was that English was the dominant tongue. Harry looked above his head at the swinging sign. The limner who’d painted it had essayed a portrait of a round-faced man, bewigged and with goggle-eyes. Underneath that he’d painted the name. The place was called the Royal George.
‘Here we are, Mr Ludlow. A little bit of England stuck right here in the middle of all these Eyetalians. I venture to suggest that we go in by the side door, since the tavern is packed to the gunnels, and I reckon you’ll want to see where you’re to berth before thinkin’ of enjoyin’ yourself.’
Broadbridge led them up a narrow alley by the side of the building, as Harry, taking Pender’s arm, called after him: ‘I must see to my servant’s wound.’
‘Never fear, Mr Ludlow. I have a surgeon here, and if he be upright enough, he’ll attend the wound.’ Broadbridge stopped by a dimly lit door and turned to address the others. ‘Carey, ’round the back, lively now, we don’t know who’s about.’
Sutton went off with Pender and the rest of the men, going past the side entrance and into the darkness beyond. Broadbridge led Harry and James through the door into a side parlour. The noise of the tavern pounded through another door at the rear of the room. An enormously fat woman sat at the table in the middle of the parlour. She had a bright red face, with blotched skin that looked as if it was swollen. The eyes were narrow slits, in between the jutting forehead and the huge cheeks. Despite the warmth of the night, and a fire burning in the grate, she was covered in a quantity of multi-coloured shawls. From the little Harry could see, there was no welcome in the eyes.
‘Ma Thomas. We have here two gents looking for a berth, short-term like,’ said Broadbridge, leaning over and talking to her in a friendly voice. The round face, which was already possessed of a permanent scowl, looked even angrier. The woman opened her mouth to speak, exposing toothless red gums. Broadbridge dropped his friendly manner as he cut her off.
‘Now don’t you start gettin’ on your high horse and sayin’ there’s nowt, ’cause I knows there is. So you just be a-shiftin’ your whores and bumboys out of some of them rooms, and get it ready in double-quick time for Mr Ludlow and his brother, who, I might say, are to be my guests.’
‘Like fuck I will!’ she spat in a lisping voice. ‘How am I going to raise a crust if’n I don’t get the use of them rooms? Fuckin’ captains, you’re robbin’ bastards the lot of you. Left to you I’d be without a pot to piss in, nor a window to sling it out of.’
She stuck her huge fleshy forearms on the table and heaved herself to her feet.
‘Guests!’ she spat, then throwing her head back she opened her mouth and laughed, though it emerged as a cackling sound. ‘Who the fuck do you think you be, William Broadbridge, comin’ in here, all high and mighty, when you’ve yet to show your mettle? Not that I ain’t shocked to see you upright, you drunken arse. You come and talk to me when you’ve a prize or two under your belt …’
‘I am a shareholder here,’ shouted Broadbridge. ‘And I will not be addressed so by you!’
‘Would it assist if we offered to pay, Mrs Thomas?’ said James gently. Her eyes opened a fraction at being so addressed, since no one had called her Mrs Thomas for an age. James smiled graciously, and added a courteous little bow. She looked him up and down, her face showing just a trace of appreciation for such a handsome fellow.
‘I fear we must throw ourselves on your good offices, since we have nowhere else to go, and we have just been involved in a most fearsome fracas. Because of that we have a wounded servant to attend to.’ James then reached into the inside of his coat. ‘It wouldn’t be just if our sudden arrival put you out of pocket.’
Broadbridge opened his mouth to protest but James, still speaking gently, still smiling sweetly, continued without pause. ‘I’m sure that a woman of your parts will take pity on a weary traveller.’
‘Now there you be,’ she lisped, responding to James’s polite tone with the smallest of curtsies. ‘If’n you was to go askin’ polite like this gent here, instead of barging in and yellin’ like the fuckin’ swab you are, you might get some change out of old Ma Thomas.’
The noise from the tavern, which had been growing louder, reached a crescendo of shouting and whistling.
‘You’ll forgive me, sir,’ she said to James, in a different, more refined voice, almost coquettish, ‘but I must attend the paying out of the wagers, or else some poor bastard might get a knife in the ribs.’
She spun round and went through the door, moving with surprising grace for a person of her bulk. The noise rose and fell as the door opened and shut, though Harry glimpsed the crowded room, the rafters full of smoke.
‘How I envy the way you have with the ladies, James,’ said Harry, smiling. ‘Why, you positively made her simper.’
‘Damned woman,’ snapped Broadbridge. ‘Allow me to apologise for such an unseemly welcome. You will not pay, sir, and I insist upon it. If I say that you’re my guest, then that is what you shall be, or my name isn’t William Broadbridge.’
He made a dismissive gesture towards the door to the taproom. ‘Pay no
heed to her. She behaves as if she owns the place, yet she’s only employed to run it for us, making what she can from our absence.’ He jerked his head towards the closed door. ‘And the gambling.’
‘Us?’ asked James.
There was a pause while Broadbridge debated with himself whether to answer the question. For the first time Harry got a good look at him. Pale blue eyes underneath thick sandy-coloured eyebrows only served to exaggerate his high colouring. In the full interior light the broken-veined patches on his cheeks stood out, even from the bright red of his face, as did the state of his nose, which was not flat as result of nature. Finally he spoke, but quietly, as though imparting a confidence.
‘The privateer captains. Half a dozen, all told. We all have a share in the place, which when times are good not only gives us a decent berth, but returns a tidy profit.’
‘The crews entertain themselves here after a cruise?’ said Harry.
‘They do, and that be what they are doing right now, having just come in two days ago.’ Broadbridge smiled, looking at the brother intently, waiting for one of them to articulate the conclusion. It was James who obliged.
‘So having paid them out anything they have coming in the way of profit, you then encourage them to spend it a place in which you have a share.’
‘That be the way of it,’ the older man replied. ‘I have yet to see a decent return myself, since I’m new out here. I’ve had one cruise. Not trying to catch anything mind, more in the nature of workin’ up the crew, so to speak.’
Harry said nothing, which must have worried Broadbridge for he continued breezily. ‘Not that I would have turned anything away, mind. But it was not blessed with any success.’
‘Was that because you’re short of hands?’ asked Harry.
Broadbridge shot him an angry look.
‘Please, sir,’ said Harry quickly. ‘I do not mean to alarm you. But I have told you that I am a sailor, and in the same line of business as yourself. I would be making myself look very foolish if I didn’t smoke what you were about tonight.’
Dying Trade Page 7