‘Then it cannot be a penalty to stay here,’ answered Hew.
‘The penalty is in your purse, for you will pay full duty on your wine, forfeiting the privilege. Though it may hurt your pocket, tis a small price to pay. God speed, you, sir,’ said Beck.
A young girl showed Hew to his room. Her name was Annet. ‘The sheets are fresh for every guest,’ she told him.
‘Thank you, that is good to know.’
‘Will you stay here long?’
‘Tomorrow I must go to Ghent.’
She nodded. ‘One night, then.’ The girl was tall and fair, with pink scrubbed cheeks and a white linen apron and cap over her blue-striped dress. ‘You speak English well,’ he complimented her.
‘Thank you. My father wished for me to learn. He thought it would be good for trade. You will not find it spoken so much, when you go further south.’
‘Do many Scots come here?’
‘Only the rich ones.’ She smiled at him. ‘Why do you not stay at the Scots house, sir?’
‘Because I quarrelled,’ he confided, ‘with a merchant on the boat. A man called Archie Chandler.’
‘Ach!’ She exclaimed, with a word he did not understand.
‘What did you say?’
‘Your pardon. It is a bad word in the Dutch,’ she admitted. ‘It is the name of a disease, and I do not know the English for it. In our language, we use sickness, sometimes body parts, as expressions of disgust. My father would not like to hear me say it. But I do not like that man.’
‘Nor do I,’ answered Hew. ‘Is your father the innkeeper here?’
‘No, sir, but his friend,’ the girl said enigmatically. ‘The innkeeper has many friends. He is – what would you call it? – a man of diverse parts. He will find you horses to take you down to Vlissingen, once you have crossed the ferry. What will you have to eat, sir?’ she changed the subject suddenly.
‘What you think is best.’
Annet considered this. ‘I do not know,’ she said at last. ‘The lobsters and the waterfowl are best, but it is now too late in the year. The roasted pork is good. But the Scots do not like to eat pork, or salad roots, or greens, or any of the things that might be good for them.’
‘I will have the pork,’ said Hew.
‘Then I will tell the cook. We have a very good cook here. It is the cook, who cooked the fowl for Prince Willem’s wedding feast. There were peacocks, and herons, and bittern, and quail.’
‘That must have been a grand occasion.’
‘It was, sir,’ she agreed. ‘But I was then a small child, and I do not remember it well. The linens and glass were brought from Middelburg. My father said a great deal of it was lost or broken. Perhaps he will marry again,’ she said, a little wistfully, ‘and have another feast here.’
‘Why should he marry again?’
‘Because a prince must have a wife, must he not? And his wife died shortly after he was shot. That was his third wife, that escaped the nunnery, the one he loved the best. Everybody loved her, and I do not think that he could love a fourth wife more.’
‘You say that he was shot?’
‘Yes, sir. Did you not know? I supposed that everyone knew,’ said Annet. ‘The Spanish king has put a price upon his head, of 25,000 guilders. That is more money than I have ever dreamt of. He was shot at his house in Antwerp, several months ago, and though he did not die, the shock of it has killed his wife. It is a tragic tale.’
‘How did it happen?’ asked Hew.
‘It happened because the Prince of Orange is a good and proper prince, who always gives close counsel to those who wish to speak with him, and so he is exposed. He was shot at close range, in the face, and the force of the blast was so fierce that it blew off his assailant’s hand, though it must be said that that he did not live long enough to notice it, before the prince’s men had cut him down. And it were well for him he did not live long after, for the people are devoted to the prince. Well, sir,’ Annet went on, ‘the first that the prince was aware he had been shot was when he noticed by the smell of singeing that his ruff was on fire.’
‘Good God!’ Hew exclaimed. ‘But had the gunshot missed him, then?’
‘Indeed, sir, not! It went in here,’ the girl gestured to her jaw, ‘and came out here,’ she brushed against her cheek, ‘and the powder burned so hot that it closed up the wound.’
‘It cauterized it?’
‘I expect so,’ she agreed. ‘But the wound did stay not closed. And when it opened up again, his doctors could find no way to stop the flow of blood, until one found the place inside his mouth from where the issue came, and stopped with his finger, which they did, in turns, until the blood was stemmed, as I heard, after seventeen days.’
‘A finger in the dyke!’ smiled Hew. ‘Then he has not been in command, these past few months?’
‘Oh, no, sir! He has never lost command. He gave orders from his bed, and when he could not speak, for all the doctors in his mouth, he wrote the message down. He asked that his attacker should be spared. It was, of course, too late for that.’
‘Annet, that is a wondrous tale.’
‘He is a wondrous prince, and much loved, especially here in the Walcheren. He seeks to free his people from the Spanish tyranny, allowing us to choose how we may say our prayers. But perhaps you also have a prince like that, in Scotland?’
‘We have a young king, James,’ answered Hew.
‘And is he also patient, resolute and brave?’
Hew struggled with the answer. ‘He is very . . . young,’ he said at last. ‘How old are you, Annet?’
‘I am fourteen,’ Annet said proudly.
‘Then he is a little – but only a little bit – older than you,’ he told her.
‘Ah,’ Annet allowed. ‘Then perhaps he is yet to grow into it. The pork is roasting on the spit, and will take another hour or so to cook. You may come below to have a drink, and watch the boats.’
‘I should like that,’ answered Hew. ‘I look forward to the pork. Did you know, Annet, that pigs can see the wind? They see it coloured red.’
Annet screwed up her nose. ‘Who told you that?’ she asked.
‘A little Scottish boy.’
‘And who would ask the Scots? What do they know about pigs, or about the wind?’ she answered critically. ‘If you want to know of wind, then you should ask the Dutch. And as to the pig, then no one but the pig knows what it sees.’
Hew did as Annet had advised, and was sitting in the window with a cup of claret wine, admiring the sunset and looking at the boats, when a gruff voice addressed him, ‘You are Hew Cullan, as I must suppose?’
‘I am,’ admitted Hew.
‘I heard that you were looking for a man.’
This stranger had the rough and ready manner of the Scottish soldier, dressed in dark brown breeks and jacket of thick wool, with a battered leather jerkin on the top. He was solid and thick set, above the middle height, with plain dark looks and thoughtful eyes that marked a clear intelligence; a force, thought Hew, to reckon with.
‘I might be,’ Hew said cautiously. ‘Did George Hacket send you?’
‘He might have done,’ the man agreed. He lacked the air of deference that was usual in a servant, which was no disadvantage, in Hew’s books. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
The man said, ‘Robert Lachlan.’
‘Then sit down, Robert Lachlan, and tell me what you do. I want a man that kens the Flemish tongue, and knows the way to Ghent.’
‘A little more than that, by all accounts,’ Lachlan answered cryptically.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hew.
‘I saw your wee bit street lass, tumbling by the barracks.’
‘She is not my . . .’ Hew gave up the protest, asking, ‘What has become of her? Is she safe from harm?’
‘I left her on a lancer’s horse, on her way to Flushing. She’s free lancing, you might say. She telt me that you wanted looking after.’ Robert Lachlan grinned.
‘You are presumptuous, both of you,’ Hew scowled at him. ‘For I require no nurse.’
‘She meant you no offence.’ The soldier met his gaze. ‘Hussy that she is, she took a shine to you.’
‘For a servant, you are bold in your assertions,’ Hew objected, less indignant than amused.
‘For that I beg your pardon, sir; I am a soldier, used to speaking plain.’
‘So I understand. Your manners matter less, to me, in truth, than if you know the way to Ghent,’ said Hew. ‘If you can take me there, I’ll pay you well.’
‘If you can pay me well,’ said Robert with a smile, ‘then I can take you there. I came from there but lately, sir. We stood in battle for her, only this last month.’
‘Dear God!’ answered Hew. ‘Then what was the outcome?’
‘The outcome, sir, for Ghent, is that the Calvinists did hold her; the Spanish retreated, and are somewhere further north. It is to be hoped that you do not meet them on your travels.’
‘Yet if you are a soldier, are you not presently engaged?’
‘I am at present idle, sir. In truth, I am resolved to now retire from soldiering, for I have fought here for ten years. And I thought of going home, which is why I fetched up here. If I am honest, sir, I hoped to work my passage, for I cannot pay the fare,’ Lachlan answered frankly.
‘Ten years in the Scots brigade! Is there no recall?’ asked Hew.
‘Doubtless, if I had spent ten years in the Scots brigade. I am a soldier, sir. I fought first with the Spanish, and after, with the Dutch. And lately, I have been engaged among the Scots brigade.’
‘You mean you are a mercenary!’ Hew exclaimed.
‘I am a man for hire, sir.’ Robert Lachlan answered. ‘Was it not a man for hire that you required?’
Hew shook his head. ‘I thought that men were dying here, for conscience, and their faith.’
‘Then you know very little, sir, how wars are fought and won. Doubtless, there are some,’ the soldier answered thoughtfully, ‘who fight for honour, or for faith. Some for duty, some for love. Myself, I fight for money, because it is my trade.’ He yawned and stretched. ‘And I confess, I weary of it, grening to retire.’
Though it was plain to Hew that Lachlan saw no fault in this, he could not reconcile it with his own view of the world. ‘Then you have taken arms against your fellow Scots?’ he pointed out.
Robert Lachlan sighed. ‘Who do you think is fighting, here?’ he answered patiently.
‘The Spanish,’ Hew retorted, ‘and the Dutch.’
‘And do you then suppose the Spanish side is full of Spanish men? They’re few and far between. There are Flemish, Spanish, English, Scots, Welshman and Walloons, fighting on both sides. And I have lately come from Ghent, standing with the Welsh and Scots, to save that town from falling into Spanish hands. And do you think the Flemings there were pleased to have our help?’ Robert Lachlan spat onto the fire. ‘They’d see us damned to hell.’
‘Aye, and so they might,’ Hew suggested grimly, ‘when it is for fortune that you fight.’
‘You dinnae get it, do you?’ Robert said exasperated. ‘Do you have your ain profession, sir? Or are you but, a gentleman?’
‘I trained up in the law,’ admitted Hew.
‘As what, an advocate?’ Robert Lachlan asked. It now seemed he was interviewing Hew. ‘Then can you claim you do not do precisely what I do, when you stand in court? Are you not yourself, no better and no worse, than a man for hire?’
‘I thank you for your trouble,’ Hew replied abruptly, ‘but I do not want your service. I will find another man.’
Lachlan sighed. ‘Pray pardon, I speak bluntly, I do not know right well how to parley with a gentleman. I am a soldier’s soldier, and a soldier’s man. By your good grace, sir, I may learn my place,’ he capitulated humbly.
Hew grimaced. ‘Understand, I have no quarrel with the way you speak to me; I am not your master, thus you have no place. I have no doubt that what you say about the law is true, and it is why I do not practise it. Your pardon, and I mean no offence, but I cannot share my quarters, my thought and my goodnights, with a man who is a mercenary, fighting on both sides.’
‘Strewth,’ said Robert Lachlan. ‘For a man that means no offence, you’re good enough at giving it. Tis little wonder you have enemies already in the town.’
‘I have no wish at all to make an enemy of you,’ Hew replied sincerely. ‘The truth is, Robert, you and I could not get on. We do not, and we cannot ever, understand each other. Yet since you came here in good faith, and had hoped to find a place, I gladly give you money so that you may have a drink.’
‘That you will not share with me. I thank you, but I do not want your money, and I do not want your drink,’ Robert said abruptly, ‘if I can give you nothing in return.’
To Hew’s dismay, he did not leave the inn, but joined a group of Flemish merchants drinking at the bar, whose raucous laughter soon ensuing proved him expert in their tongue, and must have cost him dearly on a common soldier’s pay. The soldier’s pride was hurt, as Hew supposed. In due course, Annet brought the pork, which was just as crisp and succulent as promised. He was finishing the dish, and a second cup of wine, when a messenger appeared, with a note from George Hacket. He was wanted at the Groote Kerk, straight away.
‘Where, and why, and what?’ he asked the boy.
‘It is the great kirk on the square, the Dutch and Scottish church, for they have caught the hussy, that was brought here on the ship, and the minister is holding her for questioning,’ the young boy told him breathlessly.
‘Aye, then, very well,’ Hew answered anxiously. ‘Will you come to show the way?’
‘I cannot, for I’m wanted, now, elsewhere; I am a messenger. And yet you cannot miss it, sir. It is not far.’
Robert Lachlan looked up from his stool, drinking down his cup. Once Hew had left the room, he paid his bill and went.
In the darkness, several lamps were lit, and Hew made his way from doorway to doorway, following the lights towards the market square, beyond which he could see the church. Once or twice, he felt a shadow stir, as though something followed, but turning back, saw nothing but the moon. He kept the harbour on his right, afraid of falling in the darkness, conscious of the lapping of the water on the wall. The path narrowed slightly at the entrance to the square, and there he saw a figure stepping from the shadows, and a calm voice spoke in Scots, ‘Master Cullan, is it not?
‘It is, sir,’ Hew confirmed it. He thought at first that the Conservator had sent out a guide, until he caught the glint of steel.
‘Your purse, Master Hew,’ the voice continued pleasantly, ‘may purchase you your life.’
Hew had met cut throats before, and held fast his nerve. ‘Aye, for certain,’ he said softly. ‘Take my money, spare my life. Let me find my pocket.’
He opened out his cloak, shadowing his purse, but as the stranger lunged to cut the strings, Hew drew his sword and struck. He heard a curse, the clatter of a dagger on the ground, as his assailant clutched his wrist. Hew stepped forward, ‘Ah, I do not think so, friend.’ This triumph proved short-lived, for a blow from behind set him thudding to the ground. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, unable to defend himself, and felt his eyelids sticking, thick with blood.
And for a while, it did not end. He knew it would not cease till he was sick and senseless, every sense distorted, heightened, stretched and flooded with the stream of blows. He heard a far off roaring, like the rush of blood, a distant curse and cry, the sound of running feet. And then, to his surprise, the onslaught stopped. Someone was sitting him upright, easing his hands from his head. ‘Sit up, now, peace, you are not killed.’ He saw Robert Lachlan somewhere up above.
‘Chandler’s men,’ said Lachlan.
‘How did you know?’ groaned Hew.
‘I followed you.’
‘And why would you do that?’ Hew returned suspiciously.
Lachlan looked affronted. ‘I have saved your life,’ he
pointed out.
‘So it would seem,’ agreed Hew. ‘But how am I to know that you are not in Chandler’s pay?’
‘Because, if I had been, you would be dead,’ Lachlan said simply.
From the corner of his eye, Hew was looking for his sword. ‘Is this what you were searching for?’ Lachlan inquired. ‘Better not to leave it on the ground.’
‘Thank you,’ Hew conceded. ‘The Conservator . . .’
‘Must not see you have been brawling,’ Lachlan interrupted. ‘For all he is a patient man, you wear his patience thin. And he is another man, that hasna taken much to you. Let us get you off the street.’
‘How, brawling?’ Hew objected. ‘Clearly, this was a trap.’
‘As I understand it, you made the first cut,’ Lachlan grinned. ‘And a pretty stroke it was. I had not hoped to see you fight so well.’
‘Much good did it do me,’ Hew acknowledged sourly. ‘I missed the oldest trick, and did not watch my back.’
‘Aye, well, there were three of them,’ Lachlan conceded graciously. ‘You had little chance. Whisht, I hear the watch. Let’s get you home.’
‘What about him?’ As he struggled to his feet, Hew caught sight of a body, slumped in the shadows. ‘Jesu, is he dead?’
‘Good point.’ Lachlan turned the body over with a kick, leaving Hew to wince as the figure stirred and groaned. ‘Not killed,’ he called out cheerfully. He kicked the man again, and pulled him to his knees. ‘Open up your coat.’ Robert Lachlan lifted up Hew’s sword, and the man screamed in terror, as Hew shouted, ‘No!’
‘Dinna be a fool!’ Robert snorted. He wiped Hew’s bloody blade across his victim’s shirt and sent him sprawling back into the dust. ‘Clean and tidy,’ he approved, as he returned the sword to Hew. ‘Now we shall see you home. And you may thank your stars that you have not offended Annet.’
They returned to the inn, where Annet helped to smuggle them in through the back, bringing fresh towels and water to the room. Lachlan sat Hew on the bed. ‘Take off your shirt!’
‘I thank you, but I do not think . . .’ said Hew.
‘Whisht, you silly beggar, and do what you’re telt,’ instructed Robert Lachlan. Robert stripped the shirt from Hew’s back, using it to wipe the blood from his head and face.
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