“No!” Josselin answered sharply.
“Why not? We cannot give up now!”
“We do not intend to give up, but if they are making for the Mount, we shall more easily catch up with them by following the shore. My man, could you or someone guide us along the shore? We are ourselves chasing those men. If you can help us, there is a better chance for you to get your boat back.”
The boat owner was just about to expatiate on his own virtues and experience as a guide, when a quiet, sensible looking man stepped out from the crowd and offered his services. Thankfully Josselin surveyed him, and nodded. They left the group, leaving the boatman oblivious of their departure for several minutes.
* * * *
Josselin and his guide conferred briskly before the man departed. Sibylla, bursting with questions, was then able to speak.
“Josselin, why can we not follow by boat? Surely it will be much longer to follow the shore?”
“Mayhap, but safer,” he rejoined, looking at her seriously.
“What do you mean?”
“The bay is very flat and the tide goes out an enormous way, so it is easy for boats to become grounded. If that happens to your brother, I want to be able to see, and then, when they are refloated, be able to move speedily to wherever they are going.”
“Oh,” was all she could say to this.
Then the rest of Josselin’s men came up, and shortly afterwards their guide appeared, mounted on a small but strong pony. He carried some rope, which he handed to Josselin, who coiled it and hung it from his saddle.
“Why do you need rope?” Sibylla asked curiously.
“We have to make our way over reclaimed land and marshes. I do but take precautions.”
She nodded, satisfied, and they set off, keeping as close to the shore as they could. The boat was just visible a long way off, and Josselin stopped every few minutes to make calculations of its speed and direction.
“They will pass very close to the Mount,” he remarked after a while, “but I do not think they are aiming for it, but rather for the shore on the far side of the bay.”
“We must hurry,” Sibylla urged. “They will reach there long before we can, and then they will disappear again!”
Josselin shook his head. “They will not reach the other shore unless they turn northwards soon,” he said. “They are too far within the bay.”
“You mean they will be stranded?”
“It seems like it. The tide is running out fast”
Sibylla looked, and saw the truth of this. Vast stretches of sand that had a short while ago been under water, were now visible and rapidly drying out under the warm spring sun. “Will they be safe?”
“Yes, they have but to wait to be refloated. It will be several hours, but that will not hurt them.”
They rode in silence for a time, picking their way over the marshy ground which, fortunately, their guide knew well. He never faltered, and led them unhesitatingly to the bridges over the dykes, which were often hidden by the grass until one was very close.
Sibylla had time to admire the Mount which raised itself out of the sea as they drew near to it. Eventually it hid the boat they were watching from sight, but they were much nearer to it now. Josselin conferred anxiously with the guide, who was as puzzled as he was as to the destination for which the boat headed.
“They must be total strangers,” the guide remarked eventually. “No one with any knowledge of the bay would attempt to cross it at this state of the tide.”
* * * *
Gerard and Randolph were busy trimming the sails for some time after they cast off. They were some way out from the shore before Randolph looked back. When he did he gave a shout of laughter and pointed when Gerard glanced at him enquiringly.
There on the shore, Gerard could distinguish a small figure jumping up and down and waving his arms about, and could hear the distant sound of shouts. He smiled at the ludicrous sight.
“What do you suppose is happening?” he asked.
“Oh, I would guess the owner has found his boat gone,” Randolph replied negligently.
“What? Do you mean you have stolen this boat?”
Randolph looked contemptuous. “What do you think? There was no one to care.”
“He looks as though he cares enough now!” Gerard said grimly. “Well, are you going to turn about?”
“What in thunder do you mean?”
“I am not going to be an accomplice to your crimes.”
“So you propose to go back and say you’re sorry, you were a bad boy, you won’t do it again, and anyway, naughty Randolph didn’t tell you?” He stared at Gerard in disgust. “What do you think would happen if you did? They would clap us both into gaol, and what help would that be to Sibylla? “
Gerard considered this angrily then sighed. “You win this time, but I swear you will not touch Sibylla, let alone marry her! I would rather she went into a nunnery than be at the mercy of a vile devil like yourself.”
Randolph laughed. “That would be a fine place to bear her child.”
“What do you mean? Have you got her with child?” Gerard leapt up, his fists clenched, and his eyes blazing. Randolph smiled tauntingly.
“I? No such opportunity was vouchsafed me, more’s the pity. The pirate captain seemed mightily taken with her, and who can blame him? She’s a fetching wench. If she should have been unfortunate, I would be willing to pretend we had married as soon as we left England. No one need know of our further adventures. Is that not a good offer? Not everyone would be willing to take damaged goods.”
“You are supposing evil things, and I beg you cease talking of my sister in this way. Not everyone, even pirates, have minds as low as yours!”
Gerard lapsed into silence, while Randolph surveyed him mockingly. The boat skimmed lightly over the water, and needed little attention to keep it heading up the bay. Randolph attended to this, and tried to see landmarks on the opposite shore. He wanted to land as close as possible to Avranches, for the further shore looked isolated, and he very much doubted the likelihood of obtaining horses there. He did not relish a long tramp into Avranches.
He looked with interest at the Mount as it rose almost sheer out of the water on their right hand. It was a most impressive sight. Randolph steered the boat a little nearer for a closer look, taking care to watch for hidden rocks. He called Gerard’s attention to it, but Gerard was sunk in his own gloomy thoughts and did not reply. Randolph left him to them.
They were well past the Mount before he realized their danger. When he saw the miles of sand stretching out before them, he jumped up in alarm, and shouted to Gerard to help.
“For God’s sake man, tack!” Gerard ordered, as he took in the situation, and inwardly cursed himself for his lapse into lethargy. He should never have allowed the less experienced Randolph to sail the boat.
Randolph leaned on the tiller, and Gerard hauled on the sheets, but it was too late. With a shuddering jolt, the boat hit a sandbank. The tacking maneuver they had attempted had merely served to lift them further out of the water and they watched in disbelief as the sea swirled away from them. They seized oars and attempted to push the boat off, but Gerard knew it was hopeless before they began. He sat down again resignedly.
“We shall have to wait for the tide to turn and float us off.”
“ ‘Sdeath! That will be hours, and we have nought to eat, either.”
Gerard laughed shortly. “How like you to be concerned with your own comfort!”
Randolph glared at him, but did not speak. They sat silently for a while, gloomily watching as the sea retreated. Gerard did at last look at the Mount, and, despite his worries over Sibylla and his annoyance at having allowed himself to get into such a predicament, was stirred by the majestic beauty of the buildings. He could see some of the
houses clinging on to the rocks at the base and wondered how many of the inhabitants had seen their disastrous journey. He flushed with shame as he hoped that no one, particularly his navy friends, would ever hear of the event.
Time passed, and they sat silently, neither of them wanting to speak, until Randolph began searching in his pockets and produced a flask. He shook it, then opened it and drank, but it was almost empty, and he threw it down in disgust.
“Damnation, I forgot to refill it.”
Gerard felt in his own pocket. “I have one, and I know it is full.”
He paused, and a look of anxiety came into his eyes. He did not pull out the flask, but continued to search in his pockets. At last he looked up, to find Randolph surveying him sardonically.
“Can you not find it? What a pity.”
“Have you taken aught from my pockets?” Gerard asked through clenched teeth.
“Your flask? I wish I had.”
“Not my flask, damn you.”
“Then have you got it? Let me have a drop, for pity’s sake.”
“Where are my papers?”
“What papers?”
“Randolph Stern, I have never thought much of you, from the time we went to school together.”
“Thank you, dear friend!”
“I have lowered my opinion of you much further the last few days,” Gerard went on, disregarding the flippant interjection. “It is lower than that I have for any other man! Now you stoop to robbing one you claim is a friend!”
“If you continue to revile me, I shall no longer make that claim.”
“Where are the papers I had in this pocket when we set out from Jersey?”
“My dear fellow, how should I know?”
“You know well enough!”
“I expect the boatman took them while we were asleep, or they were stolen at the inn.”
“Then have the goodness to turn out your own pockets, that I might believe you!”
“What? Are you mad? Do you not believe my word?”
“No. Never again will I believe a word you say.”
“Well, how sad an end to our friendship!”
“Where are my papers?”
“Oh, my dear fellow, you grow tedious! What papers are these that are so important to you?”
“If you have taken them, as I believe, you will have a very good idea.”
Suddenly Gerard leapt across the intervening space and his fist shot out, but Randolph dodged in time to escape the full force of the blow, and managed to retain his balance. He put up his own fists, and his eyes gleamed.
They faced one another across the little boat and Gerard, less calm than his opponent, attacked first but Randolph skipped out of the way, and as Gerard slipped on the uneven floor of the deck, managed to land a punishing blow on the side of his head.
“How do you like that, traitor?” he taunted.
Gerard looked at him, realizing his suspicions were correct, and Randolph had indeed stolen his papers.
He forced himself to think calmly. He needed this man’s aid to lead him to Sibylla, for he had only the vaguest of ideas where she was held.
“You would not marry the sister of a traitor,” he said, slowly and somewhat out of breath.
“You admit it, then?”
“I admit nought; but let us behave like adults instead of schoolboys and discuss this reasonably.”
He dropped his hands keeping his eyes fixed on Randolph ready to leap to defend himself if necessary, but Randolph laughed and dropped his own.
“Let us sit down again. The exercise has warmed me enough, and we can always try again later.”
Warily, Gerard sat down, making sure Randolph did the same.
“Let us also drop pretence,” Randolph suggested.
“I would be glad of it.”
“I have some papers of yours, yes. I relieved you of them last night, for I thought them safer in my hands than yours. How long have you been a traitor?”
Gerard looked up proudly. “Charles Stuart is the rightful King. I am no traitor to help him back to his rightful place!”
“Parliament, however, is the power in the land.”
“Not for long I believe, and you would do well to consider saving your skin and joining us.”
Randolph gave a shout of laughter. “What an idea! Thank you, but no. My master can pay more than your impoverished Charles Stuart.”
“So you are a professional informer? I wondered where you obtained your unusual affluence. Somehow I could not believe this was altruistic patriotism!”
“He is a fool who works and risks his life for nought!”
“What do you propose doing with my papers?”
“Mr. Thurloe will be interested in them, methinks.”
Gerard smiled suddenly. “Mr. Thurloe? Where have you been the last few weeks? Did you not know he was deprived of his offices a few days ago? My intelligence seems better than yours.”
Randolph paused then shrugged. “There will still be someone else interested and willing to pay for the information and for the names on the list.”
“What of Sibylla?” Gerard asked.
“How does she come into this?”
“Can we not do a deal? You say you want her. Give me my papers back, and I will assist you to wed Sibylla.”
“What? The honest brother proposing to give his sister to the greatest villain he knows? What would she say, that charming sister of yours?”
“Will you deal with me?”
Randolph pretended to consider. “I think not, my friend.”
“Why? What else do you want?”
“It is not that I am greedy. But you see, I have misled you. It is not Sibylla I am leading you to in Avranches.”
“No? Then where is she?”
“I see no harm in telling you–with her pirate somewhere on the south coast of Brittany. A long way from here, and I do not propose to waste my time going back for her. I would have taken her if I had had the chance, but there are other wenches, more willing. No, keep your distance!”
Gerard, who had begun to move forward, saw the gleam of a wicked looking knife in Randolph’s hand as he sprang to his feet, and paused.
“That is wise,” Randolph said softly.
“What do you plan now?”
“I was hoping to deliver you alive to one of our agents in Avranches, but now I have the papers, you will be just as useful dead.”
He moved towards Gerard, who backed away until he had the mast between them. Randolph, a smile of triumph on his lips, advanced steadily, slowly, across the small space. The faint roar of the sea came to Gerard as he watched, and a seagull screamed above them. Inexorably Randolph advanced.
Suddenly Gerard leaped sideways, then bending double, hurled himself at Randolph’s legs. Randolph struck down and caught Gerard a glancing blow on the arm before he was swept off his balance and came crashing to the deck. He was half stunned by the fall, his head hitting the mast, and Gerard had no compunction about hitting him hard until he became entirely senseless.
Ignoring the pain in his arm, Gerard knelt and searched through Randolph’s pockets. He quickly found his papers. He stuffed them into his own pockets again, and then, after a pause, took all the other papers he could find, and stowed them away too.
Standing up, he swayed slightly, and glancing at his arm, saw a rapidly spreading stain on his sleeve. He winced as he tore off his sleeve, and used his cravat to tie a rough bandage round the cut. To his relief the bleeding arrested. He took out his flask and drank deeply.
He looked out towards the shore. The sand about him was now dry, and he estimated they were less than a quarter of a mile from the dunes. He glanced at Randolph, and decided he would stand a better chance, injured
as he was, if he made for the shore now, rather than wait for the tide to turn and Randolph to come to his senses.
Having reached this decision, he lowered himself carefully over the side of the boat and began walking across the sands. There were occasional cracks in the surface and shallow pools of water in the hollows. He glanced back at the boat, but there was no sign of life from it. He hoped Randolph would remain unconscious until he himself had gained the shore and was lost to sight in the dunes. He wondered whether he had been foolish to leave Randolph untied, but he had shrunk from the idea of possibly preventing the man’s survival if he drifted helplessly in the boat for days, as Gerard knew could happen.
He felt tired, and looked to see if the bleeding had started again, but it seemed all right. He must have lost more blood than he had realized. Each step was becoming more of an effort, and the dunes seemed further away than ever. Then he felt the drag on his feet, and looked down.
To his utter horror, he found his boots were sinking inches deep into the sand at every step, and going deeper each step forward. He stopped to consider, and in those few moments, sank yet further. Now he knew he was caught in quicksand, and he began to try to walk forward, aware that if he stayed where he was he would merely sink until he was unable to move.
Each step became a gigantic struggle, and he sank past his knees with every one. He felt his boots dragged off him, and for a few steps the going was easier, but soon he was almost unable to lift his feet high enough to clear the ground and take another step forward. He began desperately to pray.
Chapter Ten
The party on shore rode past the Mount, looking anxiously for the boat they expected to emerge on the far side. At last Sibylla saw it and pointed with her whip.
“That must be it.”
“Aye,” Josselin replied briefly, shading his eyes as he looked across the bay.
“They have grounded,” the guide said, with a slight trace of satisfaction in his voice.
“There does not appear to be anyone in the boat,” one of the men said in puzzlement, “and it is not big enough for them to be hidden from sight unless they are lying down.”
Suddenly Josselin snapped out a sharp command to the men to follow him, and set spurs to his horse. He galloped furiously across the last few hundred yards that separated them from the dunes. The men, used to prompt obedience, were after him with barely a pause, leaving the guide and Sibylla to follow as best they could.
Sibylla and the Privateer Page 11