[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak (4 page)

'Paolo wondered if Your Grace wished him to go with the advance party this afternoon, or to wait and follow with the rest of the baggage wagons tomorrow.'
 

Duke Richard smiled affectionately at the little man. 'Wait, Paolo. You would find it too tiring to come with us today.' He nodded dismissal and turned once more to me, holding out his hand. 'I shall not be here when you return, Roger Chapman, but you have my grateful thanks now and always. Once again, God be with you. I must go now. I am promised to dine with Bishop Bothe at eleven o'clock, so I shall leave you and Master Underdown to get better acquainted.'
 

CHAPTER 3

John Kendall followed his master out of the room, the dwarf hard on his heels. Philip Underdown and I were left facing one another, like two wary animals unsure of their ground.

Each was resentful at being saddled with the other, but we had no option in the matter and were forced to make the best of things.

Philip Underdown expressed what I was thinking. 'I can't pretend I'm pleased to have you with me. You're likely to prove more a hindrance than a help as far as I can see. I'd do a damn sight better on my own. God alone knows what maggot has got into the Duke's head, but he's foisted you on to me and there's nothing I can do about it; although I don't mind telling you I tried while I was alone with him in there.' His head jerked towards the inner room. 'But he insists you come with me to Plymouth, so I'll have to put up with you for the next two days. Are you ready to eat again? According to His Grace, that was the remains of your breakfast I saw on the table.'

'I'm always ready to eat,' I answered with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling. I was no more looking forward to Philip Underdown's company than he was to mine.' According Io His Grace, they're expecting us in the Bishop's kitchen. Shall we go and find it?'

When we were finally seated at a comer of one of the long tables in the outer scullery, surrounded by all the hubbub and uproar attendant upon the King's brother dining with the Bishop, I determined to take the Duke's advice and get to know my companion better. Knowing more about his past might possibly be of assistance later. As two large bowlfuls of beef stew were placed before us, I said: 'The dwarf, Paolo, didn't seem to like you very much, from which I gather you two have met before.'

Philip Underdown laughed, a sound without any warmth in it, and dipped a hunk of bread in the steaming broth. 'Oh, we've met all right. He's the reason I was recruited into this employment in the first place.' He saw my look of incomprehension and laughed again. 'My brother and I were traders. We bought and sold anything that could be got cheap and disposed of it at a profit. We fought our way up from small beginnings until we had our own ship. Then our horizons widened; Ireland, Italy, France, Brittany. I've made a small fortune in my time - and lost it. Drink. Gambling. And of course women.' His teeth showed momentarily in a predatory grin. 'Then, on that last trip home from Italy, two years ago, we were attacked by pirates off the Corsican coast. My brother was killed and the vessel badly damaged. I managed to make it back to these shores and up the Channel to London, but I knew the old Speedwell would never go to sea again, so I paid off the crew and set about selling the cargo as quickly and as profitably as I could, with the prospect of having to start from scratch once more.'

A scullion, detailed to wait on us, and only too pleased to have a brief respite from washing his greasy pots and pans, placed two mazers of ale in front of us, managing to slop most of the liquid on the table. He withdrew hurriedly before we could complain. I stared after his retreating back without really seeing it. 'But what's all that got to do with the dwarf?' I queried.

Philip Underdown sucked his teeth. 'He was part of the cargo.'

It was a moment or two before his words sank in, then I exclaimed in horror: 'You were a slaver!' I knew also why his accent was familiar to me. He came from Bristol, and the people of that city have been involved in slavery for centuries, trading mostly with their neighbours in southern Ireland.

There is a story, often repeated in my part of the world, that long, long ago, King John complained that there were more Bristolians to be found in Dublin than Irishmen; people sold by their own families as servants.

My companion looked at me with cold amusement. 'I bought and sold unfortunates like Paolo. Parents and relatives of these creatures are only too willing to be rid of them, and most of them are very poor. A few shillings can make all the difference between starvation and survival. As for the midgets themselves, they often end up well clothed and fed in some noble household. What do you think Paolo's life would have been if I'd left him in Italy? Laughed at, derided, an outcast from his own kind. When I came across him, he was living with his father's pigs in their sty.'

I felt confused by this argument. Instinct told me that trading in human flesh was evil, but at the same time I could see that its results might sometimes be beneficial. I mustered the only counter-argument I could think of on the spur of the moment. 'But Paolo hates you.'

Philip Underdown smiled scornfully and said thickly, through a mouthful of stew: 'Of course he hates me. They all hated me and my brother. These creatures were our merchandise. We had no time to wet-nurse them through all the hazards of a journey, either to or from these shores. A certain amount of - what shall I say? - harshness was inevitable.'

I stared at him, fascinated by a callousness which could admit so much; by his complete indifference to what anyone thought of him. Nothing I could say or do, however, would awaken in him a sense of wrongdoing, so it was pointless to try. I asked: 'But why was a sea journey necessary? As you have just indicated, these mannikins exist in every country.'

He shrugged and finished the remaining stew in his bowl.

'Common sense. It's better to sell them in a foreign land, where they are unable to run away and return home whenever the fancy takes them. So we sold English dwarfs in Italy and France, and French and Italian dwarfs over here. At one time, there was a great demand for English dwarfs in Italy. No noble household was complete without one.' 'I wonder you could find so many.'

Again Philip Underdown shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'There are always ways and means if one knows them. Paolo I was lucky enough to sell into the Duke of Gloucester's household. By some means or another the Duke came to hear of my history and circumstances, and suggested me to King Edward as a possible Royal Messenger.

Someone who had travelled a great deal abroad and who could take care of himself. Which makes it all the more galling to have you foisted on to me for a mere two-day trip from Exeter to Plymouth. What does he think I am? An incompetent child?'

'He's taking no chances. This letter you're carrying seems to be important.'

'They're all important,' he retorted huffily. 'Why should this one be any different?'

I wondered whether or not to broach the subject of the Duke of Clarence, but in the end decided against it. I felt I would probably get an evasive answer, and that I had asked enough questions for the time being. We had two days and nights before us, during which I might well be able to discover more. I swung both legs over the bench and stood up. 'I'm ready to go if you are.'

He nodded, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and rose to his feet. 'Our horses are waiting for us in the Bishop's stables. I'll show you the way.'

'I must get my stick first. It's with my pack in the entrance hallway.'

I duly collected it, along with my razor and a short, black handled knife which I used for eating, knotting the two latter inside a square of stout, closely-woven woollen cloth that I happened to be carrying. Then I followed my companion out of the Palace and across the hundred or so yards to the stables.

Philip Underdown's mount was a large, fiea-bitten grey, a showy animal who rolled an intelligent eye in my direction, it gave, I noticed, no whinny of pleasure at the approach of his master. I was to ride a sturdy chestnut cob, to use its modem name; although in my youth those placid, good-natured creatures were known as rounceys. My few belongings went into the saddle-bag, but, as I had foreseen, the cudgel presented something of a problem. In the end I was persuaded, very reluctantly, to shorten it by several inches so that I could carry it across my saddle-bow.

'Easier to use, I should think,' Philip Underdown commented. 'You can take more of a swing with it. Not so unwieldy. Anyone could handle something of that size.' 'You obviously know nothing of the art of cudgel-sticks,' I answered tersely, restoring a little of the self-esteem which had been eroded by my clumsy mounting of the cob; an effort that had afforded much amusement to both my charge and the spotty-faced stable-boy who was assisting us. 'Shall we be on our way? We want to reach Buckfast before dusk.'

In fact, we had cleared the busy streets of Exeter and were moving south at a steady pace before the sun was much lower in the sky. The haze of early autumn clouded the valleys and hung over the hills like gauze. The track along which we rode was almost deserted, studded here and there with gorse bushes, the golden flowers embattled behind sharp black spikes. Mossy cushions of emerald-green indicated where rain had collected in dents and hollows of the underlying granite. The sudden bark of a raven was all that disturbed the quiet.

Mid-afternoon, we left the track, dismounted and turned the horses loose to crop the stunted grass. Philip Underdown and I sat, the sun on our faces, our backs against a convenient boulder, letting the last of the day's warmth seep into our bones. I badly needed the rest, although I would have suffered torture rather than admit it. But the truth was that every muscle and sinew of my thighs and buttocks felt as if it were being tom apart by red-hot pincers. My arms and shoulders ached with the effort of controlling even so placid a mount as mine. I leaned my head against the rock and briefly closed my eyes watching red and orange suns roll up under my lids, thankful that my companion seemed preoccupied with thoughts of his own and disinclined to mock at my discomfort.

I have no idea what suddenly jerked me out of my doze, propelling me forward, my spine stiff with tension, my hands pressed hard down beside me on the ground; some interaction of the senses, perhaps, as when an animal scents danger. My eyes flicked swiftly from left to right, trying to locate the source of my fear. On the skyline, where the moor shelved steeply upwards, were two enormous outcrops of granite, common to that part of the world. And standing between them, clearly outlined against the rays of the dying sun, was the figure of a man...

I must have let out an oath because Philip Underdown, lounging beside me, his eyes half closed, sprang to his feet, his fingers already clasped about the handle of the dagger in his belt. 'What is it?' he demanded.

'A man,' I whispered. 'Up there! Between those two piles of rocks.'

I raised my hand, but when we both looked there was nothing to be seen, only the blurred distances and the sunlight striking against the granite, and the empty, silent path o f tuff.

Philip laughed harshly. 'You're imagining things.' 'There was somebody there,' I protested. 'I saw him as plainly as I see you.' I reached for my cudgel and stood up.

'Wait here. I'm going to investigate.'

'And leave me all alone?' he mocked. 'Is this how you obey the Duke's instructions? I might be spirited away by the fairies while you're gone.'

Two could play at that game. 'If you're afraid,' I answered coolly, 'stand with your back against the boulder, then no one can surprise you from behind. If you need me, shout. I shan't be far away.'

He swore at me. 'I'm coming too.'

'By all means, if you're nervous at being left alone.' I did not wait for his reply, but set off across the intervening ground, taking the steep slope at a run, my aches and pains temporarily forgotten. At the top, between the two rock formations, I paused, looking cautiously around me, but there was nothing to be seen. I prowled around both outcrops, expecting at any moment to come face to face with some hired assassin, but there was no one. I glanced back to where Philip Underdown was still standing beside the horses. He shrugged and spread his arms, indicating that he, too, could see nothing. I began to wonder if the incident had indeed been a figment of my imagination.

Then, in the distance, I heard the thud of a horse's hoofs, hardly more than a faint vibration of the ground. I spun round, screwing up my eyes against the light as I peered in the opposite direction. It was difficult to see, but I thought I could just make out some movement. Then, for a few seconds, a small cloud obscured the face of the sun and a horseman was plainly visible, galloping southwards in the direction of Buckfast Abbey. I cursed under my breath, blaming myself for a tardiness of action which had allowed the man to get away. I returned to Philip Underdown.

'There was somebody there all right. I saw him riding away in the distance. I should have been quicker.' Philip shrugged. 'He would have seen you coming. You wouldn't have caught him. And there's nothing to say he wasn't a perfectly innocent traveller, taking his rest as we were.'

'In that case, why would he climb the tot? He would hardly have put himself to so much trouble and effort simply to take his ease. No; he was spying on us. No doubt he had been following us at a distance ever since we left Exeter.'

'How did he pass us without us noticing?'

'There must be dozens of tracks on every part of this moor, which, if you know them, can be taken without detection. He was probably able to overtake us at any moment he pleased. I think we had better be moving on.