Fair Blows the Wind (1978)

by L'amour, Louis - Talon-Chantry

  I maintained my skill by fencing two or three times each week with any man I could find who wished to cross a blade. Often on the greens I would have at Tosti Padget with the quarterstaff, for I found him uncommonly good. And also with another man, a burly fellow who was an apprenticed bricklayer named Jonson. Many a good bout we had, and all to keep my skills sharpened, for I had no doubt the time would come when I would have need of them.

  Knowing that someday I must test my strength against Rafe Leckenbie, I worked constantly to increase my skill and agility. Once after leaving the warehouse of Emma Delahay I was set upon by thieves and used them quite roughly, breaking the jaw of one with my fist and ripping up the second with a dagger.

  Whether Leckenbie was warned by the white-haired man to have no dealings with me, I knew not, but I saw no more of him.

  By lingering along the river front I soon became familiar with various mariners, men of the sea and those who dealt with them. And with some of the members of the Muscovie Company.

  Of these I made inquiry to discover what manner of goods would fare best in trade with foreign lands, for it was here I hoped to make my fortune, if such I was to have. All talk was of piratical raids, the taking of treasure galleons and such-like, but it seemed to me too chancy to warrant the effort and the risk.

  Trade with America, I learned, was best. Listening to the talk of the savages that lurked in the forests of America, I deemed it wise to acquire a stock of edged tools, needles, copper bells, and brightly colored cloth.

  At that time I also chanced a small venture of my own, exclusive of Emma Delahay. It was a ship to the Baltic lands and I spent a little on gloves of knit and leather, linens, and spectacles of the common kind.

  From these loiterings along the river and talk with mariners I obtained material for a short piece entitledA True Relation of a Voyage Along the Shores of Muscovie, And What Took Place There. It was only a few years since the return of Anthony Jenkinson from Muscovie and there was much interest in those lands. A paper paid me a few shillings, and the trade after a few months returned fourfold. I had done well. Carefully, I put by such small sums garnered here and there.

  I could never be sure of what would transpire in London. Being Irish, I might be at any time found out and forced to flee. Jacob Binns had vanished as mysteriously as he had come, and I was not surprised. I suspected he was a Freemason, although I knew naught of them, only that theirs was a secret society.

  Unusual sightings, miracles and prodigies of all kinds were exciting to me and I listened avidly for news of them. There had been extraordinary appearances in October of 1580 and again in the spring of 1583. Strange apparitions were seen in the air and evil things appeared in storms. I thought much on these happenings, believing little yet willing to speculate.

  Several times I turned these happenings into items that could be published, and from each made a few shillings. From a seafaring man in the White Hart I obtained a story which I soon published. A True Relation of the Frightful Experience of Shipwreck by Hans Goderik, And the Results Thereof. Then from a Spanish prisoner I obtained a hint of a story which I pursued for some time, resulting in two pamphlets, one after the other, entitledA Recital of Events Following Cruel Murder of Inca King and Vast Treasures Then Buried.

  Only a day after this last publication I was leaving the house of Emma Delahay in company with Mr. Digby when a young girl ran past us, pursued by two rough-looking men. They caught her only a few yards on and commenced to beat her, but before they could strike more than a pair of blows, I was upon them. Seizing the first by the shoulder, I jerked him away and flung him against the side of the house. The other then dropped his hold of the girl and turned on me. He had a sword in his hand in an instant, and he had at me. In no mood to trifle, I parried his blade and ran him through the sword arm.

  He dropped his blade, cursing me with vile words while the first man straightened up. “Ah, what a fool you are to interfere withus ! We have those above us who brook no such trifling.”

  “Are you Leckenbie’s men?”

  They were suddenly wary. “And if we are?” said the second.

  “Tell him he would be better attacking men than girls. As for you … if you bother her again, I’ll slit your gullets.”

  “Hah! It is your throat that will be slit. I know you now, and I will speak to those who will have a care for you.”

  “Get on with you!” I replied shortly.

  They walked away, the one trying to bind up his arm, which was bleeding badly.

  Mr. Digby shook his head. “Lad, you’ve but one choice. Be off from London within the hour. The girl was a bawd, one of those forced to pay monies to Leckenbie and his like. They will permit no interference.”

  “If they wish to find me, they know where I am,” I replied quietly. “But what I meant to ask Emma Delahay I can ask you. What news of theGood Catherine ?”

  “She was sighted not long since, and should be coming up the Thames within the day.”

  Arriving back at the tavern, I ordered a slice or two of beef, a bit of cheese and bread with a glass of wine, and waited for Tosti Padget. He had scarcely come when another man entered. A tall man, lean and strong. He looked sharply around, then crossed to me.

  “You are Chantry?” His tone was a challenge.

  “I am.”

  “I have read your paltry tales of shipwreck and treasure. They are trash, and they are lies, and you yourself are a liar!”

  Suddenly my initial surprise was gone. Strangely, I was cool. “And your name?”

  “Tankard,” he replied, “Captain Charles Tankard.”

  “Of course,” I said, “I have been expecting you. What took you so long? Or were you afraid?”

  “I?Afraid?” He was both astonished and angry. “I am CharlesTankard!”

  “Indeed? If I were you I should be ashamed to speak the name. I know of you as a paid murderer, as a creature in the employ of Rafe Leckenbie … and perhaps of others.

  “They tell me also,” I stood up, “that you are a swordsman. Now I have no doubt that you came here to kill me, sent by the masters for whom you run your foul errands. Is not that true?”

  He was angry—coldly, furiously angry. I wanted him so. He was reputed to be dangerous, and no doubt he was. His rage would do him no good, and might make him rash.

  He started to reply, but I was before him. “Please!” I interrupted. “If we must fight, let us do so! Your breath is as foul as your manners, and the sooner we have done the better!”

  I gestured. “There is an inn yard close by. It will be convenient. Be hasty now, for your masters will be awaiting the report from the dog they sent to do their bidding!”

  Oh, it reached him! He rushed at the door. “Come then,” he said. “This is one fight I shall enjoy!”

  “Briefly, perhaps,” I replied.

  Tosti whispered, aghast, “That man is Charles Tankard! He’s killed a dozen men!”

  “Then perhaps thirteen will be unlucky for him,” I said.

  This was what I had trained for. This was the moment I had known would come. And now, would my hours of fence be enough? Or would I die by the blade that had bled so many others?

  Now was the moment.

  The light in the inn yard was ill. There was night upon us, with only the stars above and some light from windows close about. But enough, enough.

  The footing would be bad. There were paving blocks about, roughly squared before being set, yet an easy means of tripping a man. I must be careful.

  Charles Tankard walked past me and turned, sword in hand. He was a handsome man in a dissolute way, a hardy rogue no doubt, and experienced at this sort of thing.

  No matter. I had chosen the moment.

  22

  The air was cool. The inn yard smelled of fresh hay and manure. There was a cart at one side loaded with several casks. A few of the people in the common room trooped out, drinks in hand, to stand as spectators.

  Tankard slashed the air, whipp
ing his blade this way and that, perhaps to overawe me. He was an inch or two taller than I, hence longer in the arm. There was no measuring of blades; we fought with what we had. At least three of those who came from the common room to watch were henchmen of Leckenbie’s, a thought I knew I must keep in mind so as not to present my back to them.

  Yet Tosti, too, was there, and suddenly possessed of a stout staff. “I will stand at your back,” he suggested, “but have a care!”

  Surprisingly, I was not nervous. Several times I had fought in actual combat, but never in such a duel as this was to be. Yet it was for skill at such moments that I had trained. Tankard knew naught of me, or little enough. My one strategy should be to lead him to believe me less than I was, hence to make him grow careless.

  We crossed blades and he looked at me, sneering slightly. “What a pity! To die so young!”

  “Young? I did not consider you so young, Tankard, but it is certainly a pity. Still, better the sword than the gibbet!”

  He moved in, feinting a thrust. I made as if to parry, deliberately clumsy, then retreated a step as if puzzled by him. He moved in with confidence, and in an instant I knew I was facing a strong fencer with exceptional skill. His point circled and he stepped in with a quick thrust low down and for the groin. That I parried—and almost too late. He came on swiftly and I was hard put to keep his point away.

  He drew back after one swift exchange, his point high. “I shall kill you,” he said coolly. “It is almost too easy!”

  There was little sound from those who watched. They stood about in a loose circle, stepping back occasionally to remove themselves from our way.

  Then Tankard lunged suddenly. But his boot slipped on a bit of mud or some such and for a moment he was exposed. My point could easily have had his throat but I stepped back swiftly, permitting him to recover.

  “You are gallant,” he said, surprised.

  “I am a gentleman, Captain. I will kill you, but I do not indulge in murder.”

  “Hah! You make me almost regret what I must do!”

  “If you wish to withdraw, Captain, the choice is yours!”

  He laughed. “And leave London? I’ll not do it. I respect you, Chantry, but I also respect the dead!”

  He came at me swiftly again, thinking to end it so, but I parried his best attacks. I was learning the true man now, studying him as Fergus MacAskill had taught me to do. His style of fence was English, with some touches picked up on the Continent, but I felt he had grown careless from easy victories. He was sure of himself, a little arrogant.

  He intended to kill me, and quickly. He moved in skillfully and attempted a classic cut at the chest, sometimes called abanderole, a flowing, slicing movement. It was a pretty move, spectacular to see. But it held a risk, for it exposed the forearm.

  In a duel with anyone taught by Kory or MacAskill, it was a wrong move. My reply was instantaneous, needing no thought—a reply rehearsed so often as to be automatic. My point pierced his arm, slicing through the tendons and driving into his chest.

  He staggered back and I quickly withdrew to an on-guard position. Blood streamed from his arm and there was a darkening stain on his chest. My point had not penetrated deeply, but enough for a serious wound.

  He caught himself by grasping the car wheel with his left hand. He clung there, his sword down although still gripped tightly. Blood ran down his arm and over the blade.

  I lowered my point, a part of my attention on his followers. Tosti stood hard by, and ready.

  “Damn it!” Tankard said, “I was a fool to try that with you!”

  “A lovely move, Captain, but a foolish one. Shall we call it quits?”

  “I meant to kill you.”

  “Of course.” I wiped my blade. “Another time, perhaps?”

  Turning, I started toward the inn door. A movement took my eye. It was John, the servant of the white-haired man. His eyes met mine and he smiled a little, not a friendly smile, but an acknowledging one. “I was well warned,” he said quietly. “You are very good.”

  “Have you a message for me?” I asked, wondering at his presence.

  He did not smile this time. “I came to carry the report of your death,” he said.

  “I will stand you a drink,” I said, “for you’ll have a dry welcome on your return.”

  “I’m obliged,” he said, “but another time.”

  He turned away, then paused. “You fought well,” he said, “but be warned. This was thought to end it. Now it will be murder. You must flee, or die.”

  He walked away and I went inside with Padget. It had been hot work, and the ale tasted good to a thirsty man, yet I liked none of it. My skill had been proven to me, but I had not wished it so.

  My thoughts went to theGood Catherine. Had she come in? How had my venture fared?

  I thought back to my victory. My blade had gone through the forearm, the force of the lunge driving it back against Tankard’s body. The point had gone in, but not far. He should recover.

  Alone in my room I wiped my blade yet again and dropped into a chair. In a severe test of skill, I had won, yet I liked it not. My room seemed suddenly to be an empty place—only a place to sleep and keep those few small belongings I had.

  What had I accomplished since coming to London? I had lived. I had earned a few pounds, I had acquired a little knowledge. But aside from Tosti, I had no friends. Emma Delahay and Mr. Digby were merely business associates, and neither cared for me nor had any personal interest in me. I was alone as I had ever been since my father died.

  My life was empty. The warmth of a home, the love of a girl, these I had not—nor any chance of them, it seemed. Fergus had been a strong, easy-going friend, but where was he? I could go back, but to what? There was nothing for me in Ireland, nor was there here in London.

  I wanted my own Irish home. I wanted that coast again, and I wanted a love. I was lonely. Now I must go out with a ship, accompany my venture, do my own trading. If I could return with some small wealth I would go back to my own country and find an Irish girl.

  So I thought, and so I planned.

  London had given me time in which to grow. It had enabled me to learn. Now there was nothing for me here any longer. Fear did not drive me, for my victory over Tankard gave me added confidence, yet why remain where there would be endless attempts to kill me? And I knew they feared me for I had written of them once, and might do so again. I was not their creature, and what next I might do they could not know. But suddenly I knew one last thing I could accomplish.

  I would write a piece that would destroy Rafe Leckenbie, and then I would go.

  Yet, I asked myself, why did I wish him destroyed? Was it because he had bested me in our long-ago duel? Was it because the man was my announced enemy, and had warned me that he intended to kill me?

  Reason enough, I told myself, but mine was not that. The man was evil, wholly committed to evil, and although I doubted that he would achieve what he had set out to do … he might.

  So far as I knew, I alone knew his plans. So far as I was aware, I alone could stop him—or could at least make an attempt. I had the necessary information, I possessed the weapon. Oddly enough, I did not believe that it was he who had set Charles Tankard upon me. Rather I believed it was that white-haired man, the master of John. Rafe Leckenbie would wish to have the pleasure of killing me himself.

  Yet I recalled the girl I had helped just a few hours past. How many such girls were brutalized, beaten and held in virtual bondage by him or those he protected?

  If men of goodwill would not step forward to war against evil, then who would? The spotlight I had put upon Leckenbie had aided him, he said. Indeed, it had. Yet it must have left disquiet in many minds, some of them official. From such a man, who was safe? Where was security when thieves and outlaws could run at large, doing their will of the populace?

  For a long time I lay on my back upon the bed, my hands clasped behind my head, thinking of what I might do, and how the last piece must be
written.

  To indict Leckenbie was not enough. I must support my claims with arguments, with facts, with names, dates, and places. I knew this sort of thing was little done, but it must be done in this case. I doubted I would have more than one chance, so all must be done at once.

  Also, I must be about my business. Already I had been over long in London, my progress only adequate. Many men of my age were already captains of ships, commanders of regiments, and active in political life. Charles Danvers, at eighteen, had been elected to Parliament, and many another had done as well. I had no preferment, so must make my own way. But this was a time of change, when many yeomen and less were coming to high place through their energies alone.

  Mentally, I began to calculate. My little ventures had all but one returned me a small profit. The major investment was aboard theGood Catherine, now due into port. Item by item I calculated what I possessed, and it came to a tidy sum. I had succeeded in saving something in excess of twenty-five pounds, and this at a time when a hard-working playwright might earn thirty pounds in a year. And this counted nothing of my current venture on theGood Catherine.

  Carefully, I studied my situation and decided what I must buy. Now I knew the sources of the stuff of trade. I knew where to buy the brightly colored cloths, the copper bells and the edged tools, and where to obtain them at the least cost.

  At last I slept, restless with thoughts of all that must be done, but eager for the morrow. Awakening suddenly, with the first light, it was in my thoughts that I must no longer live so solitary, but must make friends. For if trouble came I had none to speak for me, while Rafe Leckenbie could call his friends by the dozen.

  No sooner did I come on the street than Padget was there. “You are famous,” he said, “the talk of London.”

  “I?”

  “Your victory over Captain Tankard. He was a man much feared, and one with many enemies. There is much talk of your gallant conduct against him:”