[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak (6 page)

It was already dark and the bells were ringing from the Abbey church for the last office of the day. I should have liked to share in the brothers' worship, but I dared not leave my companion's side, and instinct told me that Philip Underdown was not a religious man. Of course, he believed in Heaven and Hell like the rest of us, but I guessed that he would have to be in extremis before he seriously considered the state of his soul.

'Do you know where the Infirmary is?' I inquired.

He shook his head. 'No, but we can always ask.' One of the brothers, late for Compline, flapped towards us out of the gloom. In answer to our query, he pointed towards a building which stood a little apart from the others and confirmed that, at present, all the beds were empty, the aches and chills and agues of autumn not yet having begun to take their toll of the community. We thanked him, and I led the way across the courtyard. The door of the Infirmary creaked slightly as I opened it and edged inside.

The interior was very dark, and the only thing I could make out immediately was the cruciform window at the farther end. But as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I could just discern the shape of a trestle, set back against the wall to the right of the doorway; and it was only a matter of moments before my groping fingers encountered what they were seeking, a rush-light in its holder and, nearby, a tinderbox. I managed to strike the flint against the steel and the tinder burst into flame. I lit the rush-light and held it aloft, its flickering, uncertain beam faintly illuminating the two rows of beds which faced each other down the length of the room.

As I knew only too well, the single concession religious houses made to ill health was a thin palliasse fitted inside the wooden frame.

Philip Underdown advanced and began prodding one of these straw-filled mattresses with an air of disdain. He made no comment, however, probably reflecting that we at least had our privacy, and that the Infirmary cots were better than the floor of the Abbey guest-house, surrounded by the smells and sounds of our fellow diners. He removed his doublet and shoes, relieved himself in a comer of the room, checked the contents of the leather pouch attached to his belt and flung himself down on one of the beds, all without saying a word.

I followed suit, but before lying down checked that my knife and cudgel were both to hand, and dragged the trestle across the door, which opened inwards.

My companion snorted derisively. 'You're not afraid of that windbag, Silas Bywater, are you? He's all bluff and always has been. He'll do me no harm. I'll see to that. But in fact, he won't even try.'

'It's not a chance I'm prepared to take,' I answered, trying to adapt my bulk to the narrow frame of the bed. 'The Duke trusts me to see you safely to Plymouth, and I have no intention of betraying that trust if I can help it.' I had blown out the rush-light, but I did not need its pallid rays to see the sneer on Philip Underdown's face. I understood him well enough by now to know that he despised feelings such as loyalty and friendship. What he did, he did for money and for no other reason. I went on quickly: 'You're familiar with these parts, then. Plymouth and its neighbourhood.'
 

'What makes you say that?'

'Silas Bywater. You recruited him and the rest of the Speedwell's crew from here. Or did I misunderstand him?' There was a slight pause before he replied: 'No. My brother and I traded out of Plymouth as well as Bristol and London. We took on a fresh crew each time, because months, perhaps even a year or more, could elapse between voyages while we assembled a full cargo. Dwarfs were the items that fetched most money, and, as you surmised, they were not always easy to find. Sometimes it meant scouring the country as far north as the Scottish Border. It would have been impractical to keep a regular crew kicking their heels all that while.'

'And when you were in France or Italy? You had to keep your men idle then.'

'Those trips were necessarily shorter. A matter of weeks only. We sold what we'd brought and used the money to restock the ship'. If we found someone like Paolo, as we did that last time, we considered ourselves in luck, but the demand for dwarfs has never been so great in this country as it is abroad, particularly in Italy. But I've told you all this before, although God knows why! You're here to protect me, not pry into my affairs. So I suggest you hold your tongue and go to sleep.'

He hunched himself sideways on his pallet, turning his back towards me. I linked my hands behind my head and stared up at the dimly-seen ceiling. I did not like Philip Underdown and there was something about him which made me uneasy. But I was tired. It had been a long day since I awoke in the shelter of someone's barn, just outside Exeter, early that morning; a day which had not gone as expected, but which had set me instead on the road to Plymouth in the company of this unpleasant man. I dropped one arm over the side of the cot and my fingers closed comfortingly around the handle of my knife, where it lay on the floor beside my cudgel. My senses were swimming and I, too, turned on my side, disposing my long limbs as best I could and nestling my shoulder into the mattress. I was almost across the borderline of sleep when my eyes, flicking open for a brief moment, informed me that there was another door at the opposite end of the Infirmary from which we had entered. There was quite likely a trestle there also, with a rush-light and tinder-box on it, and I knew I should get up and investigate, barring that door as well, if possible. But my body refused to respond when I willed it to rise. My arms and legs were still aching in every sinew and craved rest. If I were to mount that rouncey, now fed and watered and asleep in the Abbot's stables, tomorrow morning, with anything approaching cheerfulness, I had to sleep. My eyes shut obediently, and once again I headed towards the brink of unconsciousness. Philip Underdown was already snoring...

I have no idea what woke me, but suddenly my eyes were wide open. It was impossible to tell how long I had been asleep; long enough, fortunately, to turn on to my other side, facing in Philip Underdown's direction. Someone, a man, was standing over his sleeping form, the right arm raised, the hand holding a knife. Even in the darkness, I could see the pallid gleam of the blade.

I was out of bed before I was even conscious of what I was doing, my right arm locked about the assailant's throat, my left knee in the small of his back. He gave a kind of choking cry and dropped his knife with a clatter on to the stone floor, waking Philip, who immediately sat up, reaching for his dagger. Before he could come to my assistance, however, the man I was holding gave a sudden kick backwards with his right foot, catching me, more by luck than judgement, full in the genitals and causing me to loosen my grip. While I was doubled up in pain, he wrenched free, eluded Philip Underdown's lunging arm and fled for the open doorway at the far end of the Infirmary. A moment later the heavy door slammed to behind him and we were alone.

CHAPTER 5
 

Philip Underdown would have given chase, but I restrained him. It was still dark outside and there could be little hope of finding anyone with such a head start. All it would achieve would be to disturb the monks and rouse the other sleepers, drawing attention to ourselves and what had happened. He agreed reluctantly, relit the rush-light, placed it on the floor between our beds and sat down on the edge of his own cot, facing me. After a moment, he stooped and picked up the fallen knife, turning it over and over in his hands. Not once did he ask how I was, although he must have realized the pain I was suffering.

'Who was it?' he asked. 'That creeping plague-spot, Silas Bywater?'

I eased myself full-length on to the mattress, propping myself up on my elbows. 'I didn't get a proper look at him, but somehow I don't think so. He was too tall and too slender. More the build of that man who was watching us at supper yesterday evening. I think perhaps the Duke was right and you're in danger from.., from people anxious to prevent this letter you're carrying reaching Duke Francis, in Brittany.' I hesitated, then added: 'And there maybe others, for different reasons, who.., who wish to see you dead.' He shrugged with every appearance of indifference, but conceded gruffly: 'It seems the King's tame pet of a brother was right to appoint you my guardian, after all.' He stretched and yawned. 'I'm tired. I'll see if I can bar the other door and then we'll be able to sleep soundly until morning.' It was the nearest a man like him would ever come to thanking me for saving his life.

There was indeed another trestle at the opposite end of the room and Philip Underdown dragged it across the doorway.

Both entrances to the Infirmary were now barred, and we slept, if a trifle fitfully on my part, until the first pale shreds of daylight filtered through the slits of the window. Wearily I forced my aching limbs from bed, roused my companion, gathered our things together and went in search of the Abbey lavatorium. Here, we washed and scraped the stubble from our chins as best we could in the icy water before standing in line yet again for a bowl of thin gruel, a hunk of the previous day's bread and two oatcakes. Thanks to our cleanly habits, we were almost the last to arrive in the refectory, the only person later than ourselves being the well-dressed stranger.

That he was well-dressed, I now had a chance to observe; a polite, quiet man with a long, thin face and a rather lugubrious expression, who gave the impression of being unable to say boo to a goose. But I knew from experience that such an appearance could be deceptive. I invited him to sit with us, wondering what his reaction might be, but he accepted with every indication of pleasure, I did my best to engage him in conversation, but found him unforthcoming. Apart from learning that he had spent the night in the seclusion of the Abbot's parlour, he told me little else.

Sitting opposite us were the two friars, one of whom was having trouble tearing his hunk of bread into manageable pieces. Glancing up, he asked the stranger, who was sitting immediately facing him, if he could borrow his knife. 'For, as you know, my son, we are forbidden to carry them.'

My new acquaintance fumbled at his belt, hesitated and looked flustered. 'I'm sorry. I seem to have mislaid it. I must inquire if it has been discovered before I leave.' Philip Underdown's head turned sharply at this. 'Lost your knife, have you? We found one, didn't we, Roger? Show it to the gentleman. It could be his.'

I stooped down and untied the bundle at my feet, producing the knife, its blade wound round for protection with a scrap of woollen cloth torn from the square. 'As you see,' I said, pushing it towards the stranger, 'it's a good one. It has a silver handle.'

He hesitated, and I could almost feel the itch in his palm as he restrained the impulse to claim it. But: 'No,' he said resolutely, shaking his head, 'that doesn't belong to me.

Mine has a handle inlaid with enamel. You should place that in the keeping of one of the brothers. It's valuable.'
 

'So you can reclaim it later,' I thought to myself, satisfied that he was indeed the owner. I surreptitiously pressed Philip's foot with mine, and he returned the pressure with interest. 'We'll see it's properly bestowed before we leave.' I said aloud. 'Which reminds me, we should be on our way.' I swallowed the last of my ale and glanced pointedly at my companion's still full cup, then turned again to the other man. 'Are you travelling south? If so, would you care to join us? Three are always greater protection than two against misfortune.' I added mentally: 'And we can keep you under our eye.'

'Er - thank you, no. I shall be riding north-west to Tavistock. I have business there. But God be with you both. Have a safe journey.'

Philip had swilled down his ale in almost one gulp, and now rose to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'We intend to,' he answered shortly, 'make no mistake about that.' He inclined his head towards the two friars, who raised their hands in blessing. 'I'm ready,' he said to me. 'Let's be going.'

We made our way to the Abbot's stables, where we found our horses already fed and watered and only waiting to be saddled. When this was done, we led them into the courtyard and mounted, Philip springing up easily, myself hauling one leg painfully after the other, the injury of the past night adding itself to my other woes of stiffened thews and sinews.

Philip watched impatiently, suddenly anxious to be gone and put as many miles as possible between us and the man we were both now convinced was his attacker. If we could reach Plymouth well ahead of time - for neither of us had any real doubt that he would follow us - we might be able to go to ground until tomorrow, when the
Falcon
should arrive in Sutton Pool to take Philip on board and carry him safely to Brittany.

As I settled myself as comfortably as I could in the saddle, I reflected that today must be the first of October and tomorrow was therefore my birthday. The Duke of Gloucester's also. We would both be twenty-one years old, but there the similarity ended. He was Constable and Admiral of England, Warden of the West Marches towards Scotland, Great Chamberlain and Steward of the Duchy of Lancaster beyond Trent. He was the King's strong fight arm, a husband and a father. Whereas I was a humble chapman, a failed monk with no kith nor kin to call my own. Yet our paths had already crossed twice. Perhaps our lives were destined to intertwine.

My reverie was interrupted. 'Are you going to sit there all day, like a stuffed chicken?' my companion demanded rudely. 'For God's sake, let's be off.'

I nodded and dug my heels into the rouneey's sides, but just at that moment the gate into the stableyard burst open and Silas Bywater appeared. He reached up and grabbed Philip's bridle.