by Sam Burnell
Before Richard could complain Elizabeth had slid from the bench and was on her feet next to Lizbet, skirts held in ringed hands, revealing silk stockings on her ankles and a pair of Venetian calfskin shoes embroidered with small roses, the centre of each one glinting with a jewel, Lizbet gasped when she saw them, appreciation apparent on her face.
“Oh and to think I had those legs wrapped round me a while ago,” Jack smirked at his brother.
Richard made to grab Jack’s arm but his brother was faster and evaded him; there was a murderous edge in his voice. “She’s not a bloody tavern wench; still your tongue. What did you do to her tonight?”
Jack regarded him levelly and wisely, for once, backed down. “Nothing. I had to carry her over the river, that was all.”
The jig went on, Lizbet tucked her arm into Elizabeth’s and the pair went round, side by side. As Elizabeth passed the opposite table, a hand came out and gave her backside an appreciative squeeze. “Get off her Roddy,” Lizbet warned, sending one of her feet towards his shin.
Notes from the whistle fell one upon another as the pace became frenetic. Lizbet, releasing Elizabeth, took to the floor alone, her feet matching the quick notes. There was one long last note and Lizbet finished with a spin, her arms in the air. The inn cheered. Elizabeth clapped and Roddy, ignoring Lizbet’s threats, went for another exploration of the silken behind not too far from his face; Elizabeth yelped. “Why don’t they do that to you?”
Lizbet, breathing hard, swiped her hand across the back of Roddy’s head, “They can see who I’m with, love, there’s none in here that are stupid enough to pick a fight with Jack over a lass. You just need to show them you’ve declared and they’ll sharp leave you alone,” Lizbet explained.
“Declared?” Elizabeth was confused.
Lizbet couldn’t resist, a smile on her face. “Here it’s simple, I’ll fix it for you.” taking Elizabeth’s hand she led her back to the table and there gave her a gentle push landing her on Richard’s knee. Leaning forward so they could both hear she added, “Now they will sharp leave you alone, m’lady.” And with that, Lizbet returned to sit again on Jack’s knee. He didn’t even look up as she settled herself back down.
Spinning around so she had her back to Richard and Elizabeth, an arm around Jack’s neck, she pulled his head close to hers saying, “So who’s the lady then?”
“Don’t ask, Lizbet, just leave this one be, we’ll not be here for long,” Jack warned.
“Good. I don’t think I can watch him suffer for much longer anyway,” Lizbet chuckled.
“Suffer?” asked Jack his brows furrowed, confused, “He looks fine to me.”
“Really? Lizbet exclaimed, then lowered her voice even further. “Look again.”
“What are you on about, woman?” Jack was puzzled, seeing nothing at all.
“He’s smitten and I’ll bet his lady there doesn’t even know it either,” Lizbet announced.
“Are you serious?” Jack looked at the pair across the table from him with fresh eyes.
“Yes look. He’s got his hands curled into fists so tight I’d wager his nails have drawn blood. And look every time she leans towards him he moves away. He can’t bear the thought of touching her.”
Jack, watching them closely now saw that Lizbet did indeed have a point.
Lizbet continued to talk quietly in his ear. “And look, her hair has caught on the button on his doublet. He wants to move it but he just can’t allow himself to touch those red locks. He’s as rigid as a statue and I’d wager if you hit him now he’d break into tiny pieces,” Lizbet supplied and then added. “Oh and he’s never once looked in her face since you brought her in here. Anything else you need to know, just ask.” Lizbet leant back from Jack, pinched his cheek and winked at him. Jack’s face told her he still wasn’t convinced. “You still don’t believe me do you?” there was a hurt tone in her voice. “Well you just wait, I’ll make him proper suffer for you then.”
“What are you going to do?” Jack warned, holding her a little tighter
“Ah me, nowt, just watch.” Lizbet whistled again and the lute player saluted her across the room. “Would you play for me a song I’ve not heard in a while?”
“Name it,” he replied, strumming chords still from the lute.
“My love see’s me not,” she called back across the taproom. Then to Jack, “Do you know it?” Jack grunted an affirmative reply.
“Bit melancholy tonight aren’t you?” he asked smiling, then grinning at Jack, “You not been treating the lassie right?”
“I want me man here to join you, he has a fair voice and I’d be hearing him sing it for me,” Lizbet returned, giving Jack a sideways smile and a squeeze around his neck.
“I think, lad, that she’s on to you and trying to tell you she knows you’ve got another woman,” the whistle player joked. Jack ignored them.
The whistle player put down his instrument and picked up his beer while the lute player began; this was a piece for the strings alone.
“There’s a tale, an old old tale.” He strummed the lute and three more chords drifted into the air, “When old King Hal went wooing for his new Queen.” The gentle notes continued to fall like sprinkled water - “he wrote her a song and when she heard it,” he paused making sure he had all of their attention, “she could do nothing other than fall in love with the King. Her heart broke when she heard his pledge of love, for none can love as truly or as faithfully,” - there was a little rumble of laughter in the Inn - “as a King.” His fingers crashed across the strings, the sudden noise raising all eyes to him. Then he began.
My love is lost, my love is gone
How ever will I live through a day
I see her with another man
She sees me not at all
My heart is lost and pledged for life
How ever will I live through the years
I see her love is another man’s
She sees me not at all
Lizbet looked back over her shoulder at Richard, then quietly in Jack’s ear, “Told you so.” The lute player moved into the chorus joined by many in the inn.
The lady has all my love
The lady is my hearts desire
The lady cares not at all
Whether I shall live or die
The lute player strolled over and took his place again, leaning on the table between Richard and Jack. He inclined his head to Jack, indicating he should take the next verse as he finished the chorus.
In a voice that was surprisingly steady, Jack took up the song,
My desire is lost and gone from me
How ever will I live through my life
I see her happiness is another’s
She sees me not at all
The lady has all my love
The lady is my hearts desire
The lady cares not at all
Whether I shall live or die
Jack held Richard’s eyes for a moment as he sang; Lizbet could never have even guessed how close the words were to a truth. The look on his brother’s face of open torment and pain was real; indeed he had gone quite pale. Jack signalled to the Lute player and handed him back his song. He left the table as he encouraged the patrons to join him in the chorus one more time.
The lady has all my love
The lady is my hearts desire
The lady cares not at all
Whether I shall live or die.
“Now then lets see if we can get the lassies to dance for us again,” said the whistle player and the tone altered as his high pitched notes sparkled through the tavern.
“Oh I like this one.” Lizbet was on her feet in a moment. “Come on.” She’d taken hold of Elizabeth’s hands again and pulled her from the seat on Richard’s knee. It was obvious what Richard thought about Lizbet’s actions, but to stop them would have meant taking hold of Elizabeth and pulling her back to his knee; he couldn’t do that.
“We go back to back like this,” Lizbet reversed into Elizabet
h, “then forward four steps and both backward four.”
Richard reached out blindly for a cup, knocking it over, ale pouring over the table top to drip between the planking to the floor.
“Here, have some more,” Jack spoke with mock sincerity, raising the jug and pouring more into the empty cup. Jack put the jug down. “I thought so, look at that?” He smiled and held out his hand flat. Both men looked at it - the tremor was absent.
Richard laughed hoarsely, holding out his own right hand for a moment. “I think you’ve passed it to me!”
He picked up the ale cup and emptied it, gesturing for Jack to refill it straight away.
“Steady, we still have our charge remember and we are not out of this yet,” Jack warned.
“Yes, pray God they are not long,” Richard agreed. “Oh God, they are back.”
Both women returned laughing and breathless from the dance and resumed their seats opposite each other on the brothers’ knees.
“So are you Jack’s wife?” Elizabeth was asking.
Lizbet laughed loudly, “Lord no, your man there’d not be letting his brother marry the likes of me.”
“Brother?” Elizabeth swivelled round to face Richard.
“It is a long story. The details would most assuredly bore you, but it’s true,” Richard leaned away from her.
“But,” Elizabeth looked between them, “you don’t even look alike.”
Jack spoke this time, catching Richard’s eye, “I’m saddened he never thought to speak of me.”
“The occasion never arose,” Richard replied bitingly.
“Well, I shall introduce myself then, John Fitzwarren, Richard’s older brother. I would get up, but, as you can see, I’ve been pinned to the trestle by Lizbet’s backside.” He managed some kind of bow, seated as he was with a woman on his knee with her arm around him.
Richard had posted a look-out at the front door and the lad, half frozen from his hour in the street, dived through the door, his eyes casting about for Richard.
“That’s us.” Jack saw him before Richard did. Rising he deposited Lizbet neatly on the bench.
“I’m afraid we must leave. Parry is here and I’m sure you’d rather not be found with us,” Richard was unable to bring himself to move, he was still seated with his knee employed as a chair.
“Lady.” Jack held his hands out. She took them and rose. “Sit yourself next to Lizbet for a few moments please, while we” - Jack whipped his jacket from off the chair - “make our exit. And I think the best one is that one over there.” He pointed behind Richard to the door through which they had entered.
†
Thomas Parry had followed the directions sent in the note. However unlikely they may be, he was a desperate man. He arrived with three liveried men and was more than a little surprised to find a distraught Elizabeth, who wanted nothing more than to return home. He could get little from her, only that she had become disorientated in the smoke and fog, that initially she had been with Kate and that somehow she had become separated from her as they walked the streets, becoming more and more lost as they went. A kindly lady it seemed had taken pity on her and had taken her to the inn and sent a message back at her direction.
Wrapped in Parry’s own cloak and seated in front of him, he had been further scandalised when Elizabeth slipped off both her shoes and insisted they be taken to the lady who had been so kind to her.
Richard and Jack watched them leave and both breathed a sight more easily, even if it were for very different reasons.
“And us?” Jack asked. “We can’t stay here now. Fairfax will be after your hide damned soon I would say.”
“Agreed,” Richard headed away from the dark street and back to their rooms. “Let’s leave.”
“Where to this time?” Jack asked.
Richard grinned. “Fairfax has paid for a passage for six to Holland; we may as well take advantage of the situation.”
Jack smiled: Holland would be a damn sight safer then London.
“Come on then, it sails at seven. I doubt very much that they will go there to look for us,” Richard supplied, then added, “wait here, I just need to pay Lizbet.”
Jack let Richard go back downstairs alone into the inn. He didn’t want to see her again, didn’t want to say goodbye. The woman would make it hard he told himself and busied himself making sure he’d left nothing he needed.
†
The dawn was beginning to break through the dark night sky by the time they got back to the Dutch Flower. Hugo and his crew were already getting the Fluyt ready to take the tide. Richard showed Jack the small cabin they would share. It suddenly felt like the end of a very long journey. Jack sat down on the edge of the cabin bed and rubbed his palms over his face.
“Have you ever had a day without an end? This one surely has come close,” Jack began to unbuckle the sword belt. “Do you need me?” he asked.
Richard clapped him on the arm. “Not at all. I won’t be long. Stop in the cabin and stay out of sight, even if Fairfax’s men come looking they don’t know who you are so you will be safe.”
Jack placed his sword on the floor next to the bed and slid his poniard under the pillow. He lay down and pulled the blanket over him. Richard, watching from the door, was sure that the other man was almost instantly asleep. About to leave, he stopped himself. There was a heavy brass gimble lamp on the table and, taking it, he left the cabin and came back a moment later with it lit and set it on the floor near the sleeping man, the glass closed on the lamp to preserve the flame.
†
Christian was asleep in bed when a servant knocked nervously on his bedchamber door. “Master, a visitor, he is most insistent,”
Christian was out of bed in a moment, a cloak hastily thrown over his linen shift; this could only be bad news. His friend, Mercher, had woken to find his warehouse picked clean by thieves and when he was directed by his own servants to the kitchen where the visitor was, he expected a messenger bearing this calamitous news. The terrible dread in his chest disappeared as soon as he laid eyes on the man in his kitchen - his warehouse was safe. Then another kind of worry set about his nerves. He shooed away the servant who stood behind him and quickly closed the door.
“Richard, what’s happened?” Christian asked, his eyes taking in the state of the man before him. He looked tired. His clothes, usually so ordered and neat, were marked. There was a tear in the velvet at one shoulder and several buttons were missing. There’s been a fight, Christian concluded.
Richard raised a hand. “Nothing you need worry about. I’d never bring trouble to your door, Christian.” Then, “I’m leaving England and I want to take some of your cargo with me. I have a buyer in mind” - then he added grinning - “in Malta.”
Christian pulled out a chair from the table, sat down heavily and listened. When he’d heard it all, he sat quietly. “They are dangerous people to deal with Richard, you know that, don’t you?”
“Dangerous, I agree. However the Knights of St John are well financed and at the moment there are many parties who would prefer that they retain control over the Mediterranean. A large shipment, such as the one you keep in your warehouse, could be useful in keeping the Ottoman Empire to heel,” Richard laughed. “And if they don’t want it, then Suleiman certainly has the wealth to buy it.”
Christian looked at him askance. “You wouldn’t? Would you?” Then shaking his head, he added, “Keep those thoughts to yourself. If the Knights suspect you would do that should they turn you down you’ll not be leaving Malta in one piece.”
“Forgive me, it’s been a long night,” Richard sounded serious once again.
“How do you propose to do this? You can’t take all the cargo to them; it’s too much,” Christian was drumming his fingers on the table thinking over the proposal carefully. “You’ll need samples at a guess?”
Richard smiled. “Samples of everything.” Then tapping his head with a forefinger he added, “I have your inventory in here. I told you, I
would not act without your consent. I am asking for it now.”
Christian eyes held Richard’s steel-grey ones for a moment before he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Richard smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’m guessing you are leaving soon given your early morning visit?” Christian questioned.
“In an hour or so all being well, can you get me some sent to the Dutch Flower. I’ll be leaving with her this morning.”
“So you are the Protestant escaping persecution,” Christian raised his brows enquiringly.
“Not quite, but the passage was paid for and I am, at the moment, looking for an open door to duck through, so this is as good as any,” Richard smiled.
Christian laughed rising from the table, “Richard, you’ve spent your whole life looking for open doors. There is no time to waste. I will have what you need on the quay in an hour.”
Jack didn’t know how long he’d slept, only that it wasn’t long enough; his eyes felt as they were full of grit and his mouth was dry. He seemed to be surrounded by noise. The slap and suck of the water against the ships sides, the unnerving voice of the oak timbers as the fluyt settled and twisted on the ever moving sea. Jack had never liked ships. His first voyage from England to France had been thankfully short and he’d made the passage drunk so he could remember little of it, adopting the same condition when he’d made the return journey. An irrational notion gripped him when he was at sea and he didn’t like to dwell on the fathomless depths over which the wooden vessels hovered. Nor did he understand why they remained on the surface and were not sucked beneath by the ravages of the waves. There were voices outside as well, the accents foreign and guttural as they readied the ship to sail; then his ears picked out the shouting of one voice in particular.
“If you bloody drop that I’ll piggin’ skin you myself,” Lizbet was yelling.
Jack was on his feet in a moment; the ship hadn’t sailed. Why? What had gone wrong? What the hell was Lizbet doing here!