you?"
Before three words were out, Isolde was up and facing him, eye to
eye.
Bard's comforting hand thrown aside.
"No, in God's name, I shall do no such thing, sir! I do not need you
to make any plans for me, nor do I need your assistance to reach York.
I am quite aware that your first concern is for Dame Elizabeth and that
you are using Mistress Cecily's fatigue to pull the wool over my eyes.
You care no more about her than you do about me, so don't take me for a
fool, either of you. And if Alderman Fryde should come to Scarborough
to search for me it'll be a miracle worth two of St. William's,
because he doesn't have the wit to look beyond his own pockets. The
first thing he'll do is send home to see if I'm there."
Her eyes were wide open and, this time, furiously unflinching.
Fascinated, Silas stuck his thumbs into the girdle that belted his
hips.
"There now, wench, you've been wanting to let fly at me ever since you
got here, haven't you? Feeling better now?"
"You mistake the matter, sir. I haven't given you a moment's
thought."
She swung away from him and stalked towards the door, but in two
strides he was there before her, his head up, presenting her with the
clearest challenge she had ever faced. The look that passed between
them, so unlike the enigmatic exchange at suppertime, was of unbridled
hostility on her part and total resolution on his, but, having no
notion of the form this might take, and not willing to try it out there
and then, she appealed to Bard for help.
"Well? Don't sit there grinning! Tell him to move."
Bard went to her, having difficulty with his grin.
"Nay, he's bigger than me, sweetheart. Come, you haven't heard the
whole argument yet, and what you say is not correct, you know. We both
care greatly for your safety, and that's why Silas's plan is a sound
one. I can reach York much faster than the three of us, without a
chance of you being seen by anyone. Silas can smuggle you ashore at
York and I'll meet you there and then you can make up your mind what to
do, whether to stay or go on. And Mistress Cecily won't have to suffer
another day in the saddle."
"No, she'd be seasick instead. She'd prefer that, I'm sure."
"No, she won't," Silas said.
"We're only going down the coast and the sea's as calm as a millpond.
The river doesn't make anyone seasick."
"And what about the horses? You can't make good speed leading
three."
"Silas is lending me a lad."
"Then what, when you've got them to York? You take them back to
Fryde's, do you, and apologise?"
"Isolde!" Bard's tone was gently scolding.
"Course not. I leave them where his men will find them, tied up
outside the Merchant Adventurers' Hall, most likely. He'll not know
where they've been or how they were returned, will he?"
On the face of it, the plan seemed to be reasonable enough, but nagging
doubts showed in her eyes and in the uneasy twitch of her brows. These
two were La Vallons. Silas must know of Felicia's abduction by now,
for surely Bard had told him, unless he had been informed of it
beforehand, as he had been about her own arrival in York. What he had
not known, apparently, was that Bard would bring her to Scarborough,
and that had unnerved him more than anything else, otherwise he would
by this time have made some remark about her father's wickedness and
his own sister's welfare. Since they had not thought fit to brandish
this latest Medwin villainy before her, nor even to hint at her own
vulnerability, she could only assume that her association with Bard was
protecting her from reprisals. The elder brother was clearly the
dominant of the two but, judging from the conversation they'd had last
night on the quay, there was no enmity between them. Silas was willing
to help his brother since this also relieved his own concerns for his
cousin, whatever they were. She could hardly blame him, though the
thought kept alive a flame of pique which she could put no name to.
Her silence was watched carefully and, when Bard opened his mouth ready
to hurry her decision, a frown from Silas quelled the opening word.
"You are La Vallons," she said at last.
"And I am a Medwin. I would be a fool to trust you, would I not?"
It was Silas who answered her.
"My brother is prejudiced and would deny any foolishness as a matter of
course. For myself, I think you may not have been offered too many
options these last few weeks, but that doesn't make you a fool. A few
days at sea, a change of air, would give you some time to make a better
decision. I can recommend it, mistress."
"The company is not what I would have chosen."
"There are books to read on board. Your maid will be with you. Plenty
to see. We shall be there before you notice the company."
"You'll be there at York, Bard?"
"I'll be there, sweetheart. Trust me. I promise I'll be there
waiting."
She sighed heavily, turning her head.
"My panniers are packed. You intend sailing today, sir?" she said to
the bowl of apples, taking one to caress its waxy skin.
"We sail immediately. The tide will be at its height in half an hour
and the captain is waiting. Bard is packed and ready to be away."
"I see. So it was already decided."
Neither of the brothers denied it. She was right, of course.
Having seen nothing of Scarborough in the daylight, Isolde was almost
on the point of changing her mind about leaving so soon, and the
surprise at what lay beyond the windows and doors of the merchant's
large house turned to a sadness that Bard took, typically, to be for
his farewell. It had not been so difficult to see him go, only to
believe, with regard to his reputation, that he was trustworthy. Now
that she was alone with Cecily, she could think of few reasons why she
had agreed to place a similar kind of trust in his disagreeable
brother, who saw no need to keep up any pretence of liking her.
Despite the sadness and doubting, her spirits were buoyed up by the
nearness of Dame Elizabeth's house to the harbour, the vast expanse of
sparkling sea beyond, the swaying masts of ships and the brown water
that reflected every shape and threw it crazily askew. Houses lined
the quay in an arc on one side, enclosing the harbour on the other side
by a wall of stone and timber that extended from the base of a massive
natural mound at one side of the town. It was on top of this mound
that the Norman castle perched, which they'd seen against the evening
sky. Now it was being mobbed by screaming seagulls, some of which came
in to land at Isolde's feet with beady, enquiring eyes and bold,
flat-footed advances.
"I'm going," she told them, on the brink of tears.
"I'm going and I've only just arrived."
The breeze that had brought a welcome coolness into her bedchamber
overnight had now lifted the sea into more than Silas La Vallon's
hypothetical millpond, causing Cecily to clutch at her skirts, her
head-dress a
nd shawl all at the same time.
"I hope you know what you're doing, love," she said.
No, dear Cecily. I have not the slightest idea what I'm doing.
Silas La Vallon's ship was also a surprise to her, for she had thought
he meant one of the squat northern cogs that piled cargo up and down
the rivers, one- masted, cramped, and serviceably plain. She had seen
them at York, loaded with bales of cloth and smelly commodities, and it
had been a measure of her temporary madness that she had agreed to sail
with him even in one of those. But this was not a cog; it was a
four-hundred-ton carrack, a three-masted beauty that sat proudly on the
high tide outside Dame Elizabeth's door almost, a towering thing with
rope maker shop.
The men grinned and nudged and pulled in their stomachs, then got on
with their swarming as she and Cecily were led aboard and introduced to
the master, whose aquamarine eyes sparkled with intrigue in a skin of
creased and burnished leather. And she looked hard | and with genuine
regret at the three who stood waving and calling last-minute
instructions on the quay side ;
The two boys watched in fascination the men who hauled in unison, the
sails that squeaked upwards, cracking and billowing, the majestic swing
of the bow, and it was only Dame Elizabeth who noticed the quick brush
of fingers across one cheek as it received her wind-blown kiss.
Or perhaps there was another who saw, who came to lean on the bulwark
by her side to wave, then to point out the Brakespeares' house and its
adjacent warehouse, King Richard's House over there, the old Roman
lighthouse, and there, over to the left, the town gate through which
Bard would already have passed.
"Yes, I see," she said, straining her eyes to scan the road.
The town nestled closer on to the hillside as they passed beyond the
harbour entrance and out into the open sea, holding itself steady as
the ship took its first pulling lunges into the swell like a swimmer
lengthening his stroke. She felt the lurch as the sails cracked open
and the corresponding rush of exhilaration in the pit of her stomach,
as though she stood on a live beast, and found ever more to see as the
distance between them and the land increased, the prominent headland at
one side with never-ending cliffs on the other. Below the cliffs were
beaches where white-edged surf broke and mended again, then raced in
upon the rocks further along, determined to smash uninterrupted.
"We didn't see any of this on our way here," she said.
"You'd not have seen the cliffs or the rocks because you were above
them," Silas told her. He turned round and pointed across the deck.
"That's what you'd have seen."
The water was a pure shimmering blue, bouncing sunlight and seagulls
into the clear morning air, and Isolde was spellbound.
"You can eat your apple now," he said.
It was still there, in her hand, and so she did, but was unable to hear
her own crunching for the multitude of creaks and groans underfoot and
the crashing roar of waves hurtling past. Nor did she taste a thing.
He left her alone after that, as if, having made sure she would not
jump overboard, he could relax his guard. That was the cynical view
she took of things, which was, perhaps, an inefficient tool to guard
against the wayward thoughts to do with his nearness as he had leaned
across her to point; the tiny red mark on his chin where he had cut
himself shaving, the way the cuffs of his white cotton shirt clung to
his beautiful hands. Silly, inconsequential things. Irritably, she
brushed back the memory of his intimidating manner, despite her own
defence, but it returned with masochistic glee to taunt her with every
detail of their argument.
Finally, she went aft towards the shallow stairway, where a cabin was
built high on to the stern of the ship, its sloping roof decorated with
gold-painted finials and cut-work edgings. It was large enough only
for a wide bed built above a cupboard, a shelf that served as a table
over their luggage, and two large boxes in a corner. Cecily was
sitting upon one of them, hugging a basin to her chest and groaning.
Her face was grey. Isolde took a blanket and wrapped it around her
maid's shoulders, helping her outside to the deck.
"Deep breaths, love," she said.
"Stay in the corner and go to sleep."
Food and wine were brought to them mid-morning cold meats and mussels,
delicious patties and cherries, none of which Cecily could look at but
which Isolde devoured to the last crumb. The wind was strengthening
and the sea bore dark patches, and the high headdress swathed with a
fine veiling was no longer an appropriate statement of restored
cabin, wondering why the crew needed to carry a supply of live chickens
and two piglets from Scarborough to York.
The glass-paned window that looked out directly over the ship's wake
began to streak with rain long before Isolde noticed it, for the
constant pitching and tossing had made Cecily's first voyage memorable
for all the wrong reasons, and Isolde was disinclined to leave her so
wretchedly helpless. When she did emerge from the cabin to replenish
her lungs with fresh air, the deluge of fine rain made her screw up her
face and draw her cloak more tightly across her shoulders as she made
her way across the slippery deck to the bulwarks.
"Where are we?" she asked one of the crew as he turned to watch,
holding out a hand to steady her.
"Where's the land?"
The man looked out into the bank of cloud as he pointed.
"Over there, lady. It'll be hidden for a bit until this lot clears."
She sat on a wet wooden crate for safety.
"I thought we'd be staying within sight of it, going south."
"Nay." He smiled.
"If we had a northerly, now that'd be different:
that'd blow us due south in record time. But we don't get norther lies
in summer, do we? So we have to fill our sails with whatever we can
catch, and then go from side to side, see? Like that. " He zigzagged
with his hand.
"Your old maid taken bad, is she?"
That sounded like a perfectly reasonable explanation, and it satisfied
Isolde, who knew little either of geography or navigation. Once again,
she settled herself against Cecily's unhappily sleeping bulk, covered
herself with blankets, and began an examination of the leather bound
books on the shelf above her. Silas La Vallon had an interesting
collection, though she had not thought his taste would run to stories
about King Arthur, La Belle Dame sans Merci, the Legend of Ladies, or a
Disputation between Hope and Despair, which proved to be not quite the
help she had expected. The possibility that these might have been
selected for her benefit flashed through her mind, but was dismissed.
Darkness came before supper that evening, and the bucking of the ship
and the consequent swinging of the lantern made reading
difficult. And
Silas La Vallon, to please her, kept well out of sight.
Sleeping had been a fitful and precarious business, noisy with shouts
and pounding feet, howling wind, clattering sails and the constant rush
of water all around them. Using the close-stool had in itself been an
unexpected peril, especially when trying to manoeuvre Cecily on and off
it, and, by first light, Isolde had realised that sleep and ships were
incompatible.
After watering her maid with some of their precious ration, then
suffering the inevitable consequences only moments later, Isolde
clutched a blanket tightly around herself and left the cabin in an
attempt to reassure herself that land did exist. A fine line of blue
stretched across the horizon below the clouds.
"There!" she called to the master.
"Look! Is that it?"
He came through the door beneath the forecastle where she understood
his cabin to be and joined her, cheerily.
"That's a bit o' blue sky, mistress. We might get a bit o' sun later,
and a good westerly, by the feel o' things."
"But that will blow us away from Hull, won't it? I thought we'd have
been within reach of Hull by now."
"Eh... no. We shan't be seeing Hull today." He laughed, not bothering
to explain.
"I'll send ye some food up, mistress, seeing as you're awake already.