‘Minding Captain Spry’s goods, are you?’ I asked, adopting William Pride’s blunt tone. And when he merely blinked, I added: ‘I sailed in with him… I’m a friend of the Mountfords.’
But the name appeared to mean nothing. Rough-clad, muscular and sunburned, the man frowned and asked what I wanted from him. On impulse, I decided to say nothing of what I had seen the previous day. Instead I asked if he knew where I might find a vessel going up the Severn, whereupon the reply came readily enough.
‘You could ask Darrett. His trow will sail in today.’
‘Indeed?’ I managed a smile of thanks. ‘That’s good to know… will he moor up here?’
I gestured towards the empty berth where the Lady Ann had been, to which the man merely gave a shrug. After that he waited, with a look that said I should leave him to his work. But I lingered.
‘I saw the unloading,’ I said in a casual tone, nodding towards the stacked ordnance. ‘Heavy toil, eh?’
The other said nothing, but his impatience was growing.
‘How long will it lie here?’ I persisted. ‘I don’t see anyone guarding it, save you.’
A moment passed, while the porter looked me up and down with unconcealed distrust. But just as he was on the point of uttering some rebuff, or so I believed, there came a shout from some distance away. He looked round - as did I, to see two men approaching, making their way along the crowded quay. One of them was a porter, another of those I had observed shifting cannons the day before.
The other was Yakup.
My instinct was to turn about at once and make myself scarce – but it was too late. The Turk had seen me, and recognition was immediate. Briefly he slowed his pace, then walked forward swiftly – and very soon I was the object of all three men’s attention. Thinking fast, I nodded a greeting.
‘Master Yakup… I thought you had sailed on the trow.’
But my answer was a cold silence. There we stood, as ill-assorted a company as could be imagined. The porters glanced at each other, then back at me… whereupon the man I had first spoken with put on a blank stare, and moved his hand deliberately to his belt. I glanced down swiftly, expecting to see a poniard, but there was only a stubby oak billet - plain and serviceable, yet in skilled hands, just as deadly.
There was no remedy. Wordlessly I stepped back, turned and left them. After I had walked a few yards I looked over my shoulder to see the porters had turned their backs and were in close conference. But Yakup stood apart, looking hard at me… and at once Russell’s words came to mind, back at the Crickepit foundry: I’d keep a wary eye on that one.
Ill-at-ease, I left the quays and made my way back to the inn – only to learn that my chamber had already been bespoken, and there was no other room free.
Whereupon, when I consoled myself at a corner table with a cup of strong sack, the matter I had managed to forget returned abruptly – with such force that I almost bowed down with its weight.
I could still lose Thirldon. And here I was many miles away, friendless, on foot and likely in danger too. It was as low a moment as I had known, in many days.
***
And yet, even when a man is at his lowest ebb, solace may come in ways unexpected; even as I write it, I can feel the relief I felt that day. For late that afternoon, making my way cautiously back to the harbour – and I confess, somewhat the worse for the drink I had taken – I was surprised to find that the words spoken by the taciturn porter were true. Moored at the same berth previously occupied by the Lady Ann was another Severn trow, smaller and higher in the water, her sails tight-furled. As I drew near, I read the name painted about the prow – and almost laughed: she was called the Last Hope.
I stood a while, looking for signs of activity, before throwing caution to the winds and walking up the gangplank with my pack. When I glanced at the hold, I saw that it was but half-filled, its contents covered – and there was little doubt in my mind, from its shape, that the cargo was similar to Spry’s: cannon, tightly packed.
This time, however, it was of no interest. I turned to the aft awning, screened by sailcloth, and called aloud for Captain Darrett, prompting voices from within. A head appeared - and I moved forward, to beg a passage back to Lydney.
To bring that matter to a close, after some conversation it was granted, and at a comfortable price. Whereupon I smiled in relief, to which the lugubrious-looking trow-master merely grunted. He was a sour fellow, I decided.
But in that too-brief judgement of the man’s character, I would find, I had made another error.
EIGHT
The Last Hope, I soon discovered, was an Upstream Trow: to whit, one which usually sailed up the Severn as far as Worcester, unlike the Lady Ann which was a Downstreamer. She was of shorter beam, and lighter in build. Captain Darrett rarely came to Bristol, it seemed. I had told him of my connection with the Mountfords, which drew a glum response.
‘I’m carrying the scrag-end of their whoreson shipment,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be glad to see the back of it… the Last Hope’s not fitted out for such.’
He gestured vaguely to the cargo, as we stood on deck. Evening was drawing in, but the port was still abuzz. The sheeting was gone, and preparations were already in train for Darrett’s cargo to be unloaded, to join the other cannons stacked on the quayside. His freight was smaller guns, minions and falcons. Finding him a man who was at least willing to talk, William Pride set to.
‘Where’s the shipment bound for, then?’ I asked casually. ‘London, or…?
‘I couldn’t say, for I don’t ask,’ came the reply. ‘I’m content taking timber upriver to Gloucester or Tewkesbury, as a rule. I’m a peaceful man - carrying cannons makes me nervous.’
I nodded in understanding fashion, then asked when he expected to make sail back up the Severn. The next afternoon, I was told, whatever the tide. Captain Darrett, it seemed, was a countryman born and bred, who disliked cities. In truth, he seemed to dislike most things. Choosing my moment, I ventured to ask him about accommodation for the night, to which he eyed me above drooping moustaches, his beard thin and greying.
‘You mean you want to sleep here, onboard?’ And when I indicated assent, he sighed wearily.
‘Well, if you must. You’ll have my two crewmen for company… I’ve a berth on shore. Once we’re on the river, there will be four – nay, five of us. We’ll be squashed up like stockfish… you’ll have to shift for yourself. And I’ll ask you to lay aside your sword.’
I offered my thanks, then frowned. ‘Five of us? Besides you and I and your men, who is the other?’
To which, the answer came as something of a shock. ‘There’s a fellow going back to Purton with us. A foreigner name of Yakup, or so I’m told.’
With that the captain left me. I made my way to the stern, ducked beneath the awning and found a place to stow my pack. I then sat down heavily against the gunwale, with grim forebodings about the voyage ahead.
Captain Darrett’s habitual gloom, I found, was catching.
***
The voyage out of Bristol, down the Avon and out into the Severn was uneventful enough. I had spent a tolerable night under the awning with Darrett’s crewmen, who left me in peace. The following day I had been ashore to eat and drink, paying discreet attention to the unloading of the Last Hope, which proceeded apace. I did not stay to look for the porters; I knew enough about where at least a part of the ordnance from both trows was going. Nor did I question Darrett further, for I discovered he knew little of the Mountfords’ business and cared even less. Once on the water, I was far more concerned with keeping an eye on my unwelcome fellow-passenger.
From the very start, Yakup ignored me. While I kept to the stern, or moved about the deck betimes, he remained seated in the prow of the vessel: a silent figure, gazing ahead. I was non-plussed as to why the Turk was travelling with us, having assumed he was leaving England with the cannons. And yet, the Dutch merchantman was bound for Hamburg, not Constantinople… here was a mystery that stil
l confounded me.
Yakup and Darrett did not appear to know each other, and rarely spoke; nor did the crew appear to like the man. How we were all supposed to spend the night together, crammed beneath the awning, I could not imagine; hence I had already resolved to sleep on deck once again, as I had done aboard the Lady Ann. At least I could admire the Great Comet, still burning its way across the night sky. How long was it since I had first seen it, in the garden at Thirldon… a fortnight?
But by the afternoon I was restless. Being unladen, the trow moved swiftly enough upstream on a south-west breeze, and the following day we would be docking at Purton, yet my discomfort only increased. There was silence aboard the Last Hope, unlike that on the Lady Ann with the ill-tempered Spry bawling at his men. Captain Darrett was generally on deck, pointing his hangdog features ahead as we forged upriver.
Slowly the Severn narrowed, both banks now visible as the sun began to fall. I ate supper with the crewmen, sharing a pie I had bought in Bristol; and there was a small keg of beer in the stern, which was most welcome. Having stated my intention of sleeping on deck, I comforted myself with the thought that this night would be the last I ever spent on a boat - of any sort, anywhere. Hence, by the time dusk came and we dropped anchor close to the shoreline, I was in better spirits, my only concern being that it would not rain.
It did not, but it would have made little difference if it had. For the events of that night and what came after will remain with me, I believe, for the rest of my days.
The water was calm enough; just a light swell, which I had almost grown used to. All was quiet under the canopy at the stern, just an occasional snore which was almost reassuring. For a while I lay on my back under a blanket loaned by the crew, contemplating the heavens and, as always, finding my thoughts drifting homeward. But I was forced to stay those: worries about Thirldon threatened to overwhelm me, and could leave me unable to sleep. Instead I thought on my quest, now somewhat mudded, to uncover what had happened to Richard Mountford’s lamented brother. Thus far, I realised, I had found no evidence of treachery: only rumours and evasion, and a tangled tale of clandestine shipments of gunnery. I thought briefly of Tobias Russell and the Willets - and poor Thomas Peck. How much longer I should spend in Lydney, I did not know; I was eager to return home to find out whether my son-in-law George had made any progress in London.
I believe those were my last thoughts before I drifted off to sleep… only to wake with a jerk, my senses jangling.
To this day, I know not how I avoided the blow. Some instinct from the time of my restless youth, perhaps - or more likely I had heard a creak of boards. All I can say is that as I awoke I snapped my head aside, dimly aware of a shape looming over me - and heard a loud thud as something struck the timbers an inch from my neck. The next moment my hand flew out to grasp the arm that went up, ready to strike again – and then I was embroiled in a struggle for my very life. For a man of any age, it would have been hard enough - for one of my years, it was desperate.
Gasping aloud, I was forced to use all my strength just to keep my assailant from getting a hand about my throat - let alone using the billet he wielded. But this soon dropped to the deck, to be replaced by something deadlier. In the dim moonlight, I caught the flash of a blade – and on a sudden I was shouting for aid while I gripped the man’s wrist, struggling to avoid being impaled. The dagger was long, its point only inches from my neck – and by now, I was in no doubt who was trying to kill me.
‘Darrett!’ I yelled. ‘For pity’s sake, will someone come?’
An oath that I did not understand flew from the lips of my attacker. While still trying to force his blade downwards, with his other fist he slammed me in the ribs. Winded, both hands shaking as I held his wrist, I let out a grunt of pain… and realised that I was losing the fight. Yakup was strong, and determined. So - was this how I would meet my death, I wondered? At the hands of a silent stranger?
With what strength remained I fought him, bringing up a knee to dig into his ribs, but to no avail. He was astride me now, pinning me to the gunwale, my head on the hard boards. The poniard hovered, trembling as we both strove for mastery of it… whereupon to my immense relief came shouts and hurried footfalls - and in a moment, it was over.
Strong arms seized my tormentor, dragging him away in the gloom. I heard muffled curses, a blow or two, and the blessed sound of the knife falling to the deck. Then I was forcing myself up on my elbows, shaking and panting… until a lantern appeared, and another figure loomed over me.
‘Are you hurt?’
Captain Darrett was peering down, his jowly features drawn into a frown. ‘What in God’s name were you-’
‘He tried to kill me!’ I exclaimed breathlessly, gesturing at my assailant. And there was Yakup on his knees, held at the shoulders by the Last Hope’s burly crewmen, arms about his stomach where a blow had been delivered. He too was breathing hard, but his eyes were cast down.
‘By the Christ.’
I looked up sharply to see the Captain nodding. Before I could speak, he added: ‘I had a feeling he was up to something… I was asked to take him, though I didn’t know why.’ He threw a look at the man in question, who refused to meet his eye, then turned back to me.
‘You must have upset someone mightily, Master Pride. I won’t ask who that is… but no-one attempts murder on my vessel.’ He straightened himself, drew a breath and addressed his men.
‘Get some rope and bind this varlet up, good and tight,’ he ordered. ‘What happens after can wait until morning.’ Facing me again, he put out a hand. I took it, and was hauled to my feet with a strength that surprised me.
‘You and that one had best change places,’ he muttered. ‘My fellows will keep a watch on him, while you’re coming under cover with me. I’ll wager you need a drink… am I right?’
To which I could only nod, letting out a long breath. I was about to give my unlikely saviour a smile of gratitude; but seeing his familiar doleful expression returning, I forbore to do so, and followed him.
***
The following days would bring revelations that astounded me – but once again I leap ahead in my tale. First let me speak of Captain Darrett, a man I had so carelessly misjudged.
He was a countryman as I have said, of a humble family, beholden to the Forest of Dean landowners as were so many. But he was not, I learned to my satisfaction, in the pay of Tobias Russell; nor did he owe allegiance to the Mountfords. He plied his river trade as his father had done, taking whatever cargo came to hand. He knew the foundries, of course, but rarely took their cannons, and only when the price was high enough. He had harboured misgivings about this return voyage, he admitted - not least when he had encountered the Lady Ann on the river on his way down to Bristol, and lowered sails to receive news from Captain Spry. He knew the man well enough, he said, though the two had never been friends.
‘But I came alongside, and heard him out. He gave me a fee, asked me to meet our friend the Turk at Bristol Quays and bring him back upriver. It was a favour, he said, that would not be forgotten.’ He sighed gloomily. ‘Now I see that I should have said no… but money’s money.’
I made no reply. We stood before the awning in the early morning, the Last Hope still rocking at anchor. I knew Darrett would not delay his return to Purton for long – but there was the small matter of the man who was now his prisoner, seated on the deck trussed like a fowl. I glanced towards him now and then, and received cold looks in return. The moment he was free, I feared, Yakup would again try to snuff out my life.
‘Then, you know nothing of him?’ I asked Darrett, watching him closely. I was falling into Belstrang habits, alert for any sign of duplicity.
The other shook his head. ‘Only that he’s a foreigner. I don’t even know what tongue he speaks, for he never opens his mouth.’ He paused, then: ‘Why in God’s name did he try to kill you? Do you truly not know?’
I hesitated; it was another turning point, I see now, yet at the time I was u
ncertain what to do. But for better or worse, I had decided to trust this dour trow-master… or perhaps I was merely tired of playing William Pride. Hence, I drew a breath and met his eye.
‘I might have a notion. And I owe you an explanation – as surely as I know you and your crew saved my life last night. So, shall I make my explanations now, or do you prefer to make sail and head for Purton? The choice is yours.’
Some time passed while he considered; he was not a hasty man. His crew were on deck ready to raise anchor, eying him with puzzlement at the delay. Finally he nodded to them, threw a look at the bound figure of Yakup, and turned to me again.
‘We’ll sail now,’ he said. ‘But there’s no reason you can’t tell your tale as we go, is there? I hope it’s worth the hearing – and more, I hope it’ll set my mind at rest a little. For I’ve never had a would-be murderer for a passenger before… nor do I intend to carry one again.’ He paused, then: ‘So, Master Pride, will you get yourself out of the way, and leave us to our business?’
‘I will, Master Darrett, and gladly,’ I answered. ‘But henceforth you may call me by my true name. I’m not William Pride – and I’m relieved to bid the man farewell as we speak. I’m Robert Belstrang, of Thirldon by Worcester: former Justice, and in pursuit of the same. And I’m in your debt.’
Whereupon I moved to the stern, out of his way. As I went, I saw him gazing after me in astonishment.
An hour or so later, after a riverman’s breakfast and a mouthful of ale, the two of us sat close together under the awning. And while the Severn’s banks drifted by in September sunshine, I gave the man a brief account of my business from first arrival at Lydney. Already it seemed an age ago, and yet my purpose was unfulfilled. It took less time than I feared, and I was heard in silence. Finally, the trow-master fixed me with one of his gloomy looks.
‘So… when all’s said and done, sir, you’re a man of the law,’ he murmured. ‘In which case, I’ll be mighty glad to hand the prisoner over to your charge. And the sooner the pair of you are off my vessel, the easier I shall be.’
Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery Page 7