Gerard looked over William’s shoulder at Peruzo, who was amused at them both. ‘And what is an old dog like Peruzo doing here?’
‘Captain,’ Peruzo greeted, but his cool expression belied a friendship that reached back before William had known him.
Gerard straightened his jacket and looked proud as usual. ‘If I’d had prior warning, you would have taken the guest cabin, Captain,’ he smirked. ‘Alas, it was not to be.’
‘We don’t have a cabin?’ William said, trying not to show his displeasure.
‘I’m afraid not. Another notable has that honour, and I’m sure you would not wish to turn out a fellow companion of the Secretariat?’
William frowned.
‘The Papal messenger, Andreas.’ Captain Gerard gestured over to a short gentleman in fine clothes standing at the prow of the ship, one foot resting on the rail.
‘Andreas?’ Peruzo said under his breath to William. ‘What is he doing here?’
‘I don’t know,’ William conceded. He knew Andreas from his visits to Rome. A Pa pal messenger used much by the Secretariat, he had been employed to take letters to William’s family at Fairway Hall in England on more than one occasion. Andreas had been missing of late, sent to treat with princes and statesmen around Europe no doubt. His absence suited William, as he liked to expound about such matters, often to the point of irritation.
‘Where might we be staying, Captain?’ William asked, not taking his eyes from Andreas as the messenger stepped away from the rail and began to walk aft. His eyes alighted on them, and he waved.
William waved back.
‘You’ll be sleeping below deck,’ Gerard told him. ‘The space will be a little cramped, what with the pigs . . .’
‘Pigs?’ William frowned.
‘Prize-winning pigs. The best on the Continent, they tell me.’
‘Pigs are going to a largely Islamic country?’ William said, surprised.
‘They’re not for the people, but an English ambassador to Alexandria. Some gentry fellow He loves pork, so he’s being sent pigs.’ Gerard struggled to hide his indignation. William guessed that transporting pigs was a dent to his pride. ‘It’s quite a squeeze in there. I’ve even had to remove the cannon.’
‘No guns?’ William said, concerned.
Gerard shook his head.
‘But if we’re attacked .. .?’ William said seriously, remembering his previous journey on the Iberian several years before.
‘Aye, it is a risk, Captain Saxon,’ Gerard added, ‘but I’m being paid well for it. And we’ll have the escort of the Sussex. She lies just outside of Naples and will run with us halfway before making a patrol west.’
Well, if you are not uneasy, then who am I to argue with the captain of the Iberian?’
V
Jericho hung his thick leather bag over the rail and walked down to the gangplank past two of the sailors who were walking Peruzo’s horse on board. One of them brushed by him, and Jericho halted for a moment to look back. The sailor was only a young man, about fourteen, with shoulder-length hair, but he was someone Jericho seemed to recognize, though he wasn’t sure from where. Was it Rome, or maybe Naples? It certainly wasn’t the Iberian.
Dismissing the suspicion, Jericho walked up to the deck, leaving the young sailor to take William’s horse to the hold.
The young sailor glanced nervously over his shoulder, screened by the horse as he guided it up to the deck. Ahead he spotted Captain Saxon and Lieutenant Peruzo, and he ducked low until the horse was at the winch. With a backward glance at the monk he had brushed past, the young man sneaked down into the hold below and out of sight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rashid
I
The Iberian rocked along the sea, ploughing through the heavy swell as the sails billowed full. William held on to the rigging and looked ahead, his eyes tired. He had slept little during the first night on board. Neither Peruzo nor Jericho had slept much either, as a night of bad weather had tossed them about in their makeshift hammocks surrounded by squealing pigs in their cages. The dung smelled strong and it seemed they would never get used to it. Brother Jericho made the best of their situation by nursing a farrow of piglets after their mother died one day into the crossing.
On the third day the weather broke and the sun came out. It was the warmest weather William had known in months, and it cheered the crew. Captain Gerard encouraged high spirits where he could, for the sake of morale. The Iberian’s captain was gruff and entertaining as usual. He regaled his guests with stories that bordered on the preposterous, yet William said nothing, nor did he attempt to correct the gregarious captain when he described at full length their first meeting seven years ago: the voyage from Southampton to Naples that had almost cost them both their lives. The battle on the Iberian had been embellished over the years, yet Gerard’s account over dinner reminded William what a savage struggle it had been.
Andreas listened attentively strangely muted as Gerard spoke animatedly about the skirmishes, the vampyre and the strange creature that interceded. At the mention of the Dar’uka, Andreas glanced at William, who at once felt uncomfortable.
The Papal messenger had previously imparted to William his own orders for the journey, which were to contact an ambassador from England by the name of Henry Isaac, who was being bribed with pigs to join the Secretariat as a spy for them in northern Africa. It was hardly a dignified trip, Andreas had confessed, yet it served two purposes: one, to gain a valuable contact, and two, for Andreas to remain as liaison to William while they were in Egypt. Andreas could be used to summon additional monks from Rome if required, and to send word if any massed forces of Count Ordrane were seen disembarking in the ports of Rashid and Alexandria. William grudgingly saw this move as supportive. Andreas could be irritating, but was an astute negotiator and persuader.
Once Gerard had finished his description of the battle, he gulped down his remaining wine, and looked pleased with himself. ‘So what happened to that brave friend of yours, Captain Saxon? That Kieran Harte?’ he asked.
‘He took a different path,’ William said sadly, folding his napkin.
‘Ah,’ Gerard noticed. ‘A friendship broken?’
‘Not broken, sir,’ William replied, a little too curtly for comfort, ‘just lost.’
They retired soon after, and Peruzo and Brother Jericho excused themselves for some moonlight sparring on deck, one of the few training opportunities the pocket-sized ship afforded.
William elected to watch from the quarterdeck, and annoyingly, Andreas decided to join him.
‘Fine men, Captain,’ he remarked as he walked over, resting his arms on the deck rail. Andreas was a portly man, a few years older than William, with fine tastes in clothes. He always seemed to wear what was in fashion, disguising himself as a courtier. His fair hair was powdered and tied back with a blue silk ribbon, yet his face was craggy, and one cheek bore a scar he barely bothered to cover. The only clue to his profession was the signet ring on his left hand that held the same inscription and profile as the chain around William’s neck: the seal of Pope Pius.
‘I noticed some tension on the matter of Harte, Captain,’ Andreas remarked.
William ignored him.
Andreas turned away from the two men sparring, the clatter of steel in the background. ‘Do you see him often?’
‘No,’ William said abruptly.
‘It must be difficult,’ Andreas considered. ‘I am a great observer of men – being a messenger has afforded me that pleasure. Since I have known you, I ’ve always noticed a burden in your eyes.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ William said, growing irritated.
‘Forgive me, Captain,’ Andreas said, and raised his hands in defence. ‘I only meant that it must be hard to be away from England. And from your home, especially without your good friend Kieran Harte.’
William turned angrily to Andreas. ‘That is no concern of yours.’
‘Quite, Captain,’ Andreas said polit
ely. ‘It was merely an observation.’
Andreas fell silent and turned back to the men sparring, Peruzo disarming Jericho much to the young monk’s frustration.
‘You have not written home to England for quite some time,’ Andreas said at last.
William let out an exasperated sigh. ‘What is this about, Andreas?’ he demanded.
‘I have returned to Fairway Hall twice in the last year, Captain,’ Andreas said plainly, ‘yet in that year not once have I brought a message from its heir.’
William was struck dumb with guilt.
‘As promised, the Secretariat does look in from time to time, to ensure that your family in Lowchester are not molested by the agents of Count Ordrane. Yet not once have you asked about your father’s welfare, nor your mother’s. Not even your sister’s. I find that . . .’ Andreas paused, ‘. . . quite sad.’
William wanted to rebuke him, but he could not. He had neglected his family, and used his exile as reason enough. But there was no excuse for not writing home. And this stung him.
Andreas stepped closer. ‘It is not a criticism, Captain Saxon. Just an observation. But may I suggest that at some point you pick up your pen and write home? It must be hard for them, must it not?’
William conceded. ‘If only it were that easy,’ he said. ‘What would they make of my life?’
Andreas shrugged. He stretched his arms and walked away to retire. At the top step he paused and looked back. ‘Who knows? But don’t you think they’d be pleased with the news that you’re simply alive, Captain? Would not any parent?’
II
The following afternoon William and Peruzo checked over the horses braced in stalls in the hold. The animals looked content enough, though probably impatient for dry land.
William grunted. ‘My horse wants to be in Rashid and off this damned boat,’ he said and stroked the animal’s neck.
‘I don’t think it is the boat my captain dislikes,’ Peruzo quipped.
William ignored him and calmed the horse as it pounded the floor of the hold with its hoofs.
‘How is Andreas’s company?’ Peruzo asked.
‘Irksome,’ William replied. ‘Can you believe he has inspired enough guilt in me to write a letter!’
‘A letter?’ Peruzo said.
‘To England.’
Peruzo gave William a strange look. ‘May I ask what is wrong with that?’
‘No you may not,’ William replied testily. The ship rocked as the sea grew choppy, the horses stamping their feet, blowing out irritably. William patted his horse again to calm it.
‘I haven’t written to my parents in almost a year. Andreas believes I should,’ he confessed. ‘And he may be right, but it isn’t as easy as I hoped. How does one talk about one’s calling, if one cannot mention details?’
‘With difficulty, I’m sure, Captain,’ Peruzo said tactfully. ‘But as a challenge, sir, not harder than this mission, surely?’
William laughed. ‘Yes. You’re right. I’m making heavy weather of this. It’s only a damned letter.’
The ship lurched to the other side and something heavy rolled astern with a crunch. It was followed by a sudden yelp.
Both men looked around.
‘Did you hear that?’ William whispered.
‘Someone is down here,’ Peruzo said back to him. ‘One of the crew?’
‘Hello?’ William called out.
A barrel rolled again and there was another audible groan and the sound of someone clambering out of the way. William stalked between the horses to the rear, passing by sacks and barrels. He lifted up a nearby lamp and looked about expecting to find a crewman trying to pack away the stores. But there was nothing.
Peruzo came up behind him. ‘No one here,’ he murmured.
William was about to agree until he saw movement by some crates. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to the corner of the hold. Peruzo nodded and both men stepped forward.
William, angry that the fellow hadn’t announced himself, jumped to the side of the crate and shone the lamp directly in his face. ‘Eavesdropping, were you . . .?’ he growled, but his voice tailed off.
Peruzo looked over William’s shoulder and his jaw dropped open. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed as William hauled the listener to his feet.
It was a boy of fourteen with fair hair to his shoulders.
‘Marco!’ William shouted. ‘What in blazes are you doing on this ship?’
III
They stood nervously outside Captain Gerard’s cabin.
Marco stood by William, trembling slightly.
‘You’ve placed me in an awkward position,’ William said. ‘A stowaway to boot.’
‘I didn’t stow away,’ Marco protested.
‘Then what are you doing here?’
Marco fell silent, fidgeting before Captain Gerard’s voice boomed from within. William grabbed the boy by the scruff and hauled him inside.
The captain looked up at them both, but said nothing, and William was surprised.
‘Is there something amiss, Captain Saxon?’ Gerard finally asked.
William looked at Marco and frowned. ‘This boy . . .’
‘Aye, sir. What has he done?’
William’s frown deepened. ‘You know him?’
‘He was signed on at Naples. The morning you arrived, as it happens,’ Captain Gerard replied, more interested in the rolls of paper on his desk.
‘Signed on?’
‘He is a member of my crew.’
William felt exasperated. ‘Unbelievable,’ he replied.
‘Why so?’ Gerard asked.
William let Marco go and stepped forward. ‘Captain, this boy is my nephew.’
Gerard looked at Marco and barely suppressed his laughter. Your . . . ‘Your nephew!’ he chuckled, and sat back. ‘Is this right, boy?’
Marco didn’t reply.
‘Your captain asked you a question, Marco,’ William said, and prodded him in the side.
Marco squirmed and nodded. ‘I am, sir.’
‘I believe, Captain, that he is aboard your ship with the sole intention of leaving it at Rashid,’ William continued.
Gerard sat up, appearing more serious. ‘Is he now?’
William shot a glance at Marco, who did not deny the allegation.
‘Boy,’ Gerard said loudly, causing Marco to look up. ‘You have agreed payment and passage on this ship. You are part of my crew and you cannot renege on the agreement. I own you,’ he said calmly.
Marco looked fearful.
‘Did you really believe you could just leave when you wished?’ Gerard added.
Marco crossed his arms, holding himself aloof.
William felt equally as uncomfortable. Marco was in deep trouble and he felt powerless to intervene.
Gerard settled back and tapped the sextant on the desk.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Captain,’ William said. ‘If I had known . . .’
‘Nonsense, sir. Boys of his age are always strong-willed,’ Gerard replied. ‘But what would you do with him?’
‘It is not my decision, sir. He is part of your crew, not my company,’ William replied, hoping that the punishment would not be too severe.
Gerard pondered and peered down at the rolls of parchment. ‘In his heart, the boy is not a sailor,’ Gerard said, ‘so having him aboard will do little for me. but nor can I just rip up his contract on a whim. It would serve as a bad example.’
‘He is to be punished then?’ William said.
‘And then delivered into your care,’ Captain Gerard replied. ‘Everyone will expect a whipping, you know?’
‘If that is your decision, then Marco will take the whipping, bravely,’ William said through clenched teeth. He hated the idea.
‘There is an alternative, Captain.’ Gerard looked up at Marco. ‘If he is man enough to cheat his way onto my ship, then he is man enough to perform some hard chores. Let him work the rest of the crossing without payment as punishment. It mi
ght be difficult, perhaps harder than a whipping, but it will be a lesson he will not forget.’
William sighed with relief. The punishment sounded fair, and at the very least it would occupy the boy’s time.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ William replied. He placed his hands on Marco’s shoulders. ‘I’ll leave him to you then.’
As soon as William left, Gerard broke into a smile.
‘Why did you cheat your way onto my ship, boy?’
Marco shrugged, a little embarrassed.
‘Seeking adventure, were we?’
Marco shrank. And then nodded miserably.
‘I hope it was worth it. Captain Saxon has left your punishment in my hands,’ Gerard grinned. ‘You will not enjoy it, but by God you will learn from it!’
IV
The next day Rashid appeared out of the morning mist, a quiet port that had seen busier days. The Iberian sailed gently in, passing smaller dhows and other merchant ships across the calm waters, buoying them up and down in the frigate’s wake.
The crew of the Iberian set to immediately, hauling in the sails and rigging, making ready to unload their cargo. William leaned out from the ship, his hands resting eagerly on the rail as he watched the town come into view across the flat expanse. From the quarterdeck he could see all the way into the suburbs, ranging over the tops of the houses to the golden minarets of the mosques that appeared like shimmering candles in the sky.
Captain Gerard bellowed out across the ship and the anchor was weighed, ropes flung out to the quayside, as the ship lost way and came to a gradual stop. He put his hands behind his back and walked over to William. Both men turned from the quay to the main deck where the sailors began to ready the gangplank and unload the cargo.
Amongst them was Marco, dishevelled, sweating, his shirt opened and his face red with exertion.
‘It is a pity he is leaving with you,’ Captain Gerard said aside to William. He gestured with the hilt of his sword to where Marco was toiling. ‘The boy is a hard worker. I should not have torn up his contract so readily.’
William had to check Gerard’s expression to see that he was joking. ‘Hard worker or not, he is a problem,’ he replied.
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