Chapter 31

31

R ousseau was tall and thin. He had dark hair and a dark beard that only partially concealed scars that ran from each ear to the corners of his mouth giving him a perpetual grin. He spoke French with a slight whistling sound caused by a wide gap in his front teeth, and spat curses out the side of his mouth whenever someone used a word in English. He may have had two eyebrows, but his face always bore such a scowl, they were constantly crushed together over his nose to form a single thick black line. He looked about as trustworthy as a boot with no sole, but he had known the correct greeting when Terrowin approached him in the Red Fox tavern.

He was not pleased to have to abandon the arrangements he had made and even less delighted at the prospect of scrambling to make new ones. But the weight of coins in the purse Terrowin gave him soon silenced his grumbling and he agreed to accompany them as far as Le Havre where he would find reliable boatmen to take them down the Seine. Captain Giddings had cargo to pick up in Le Havre anyway, so he had no qualms about keeping them aboard until then.

The ship docked in Le Havre a day after leaving Calais. Like most port cities, it was crowded and noisy and stank of fish. Rousseau went ashore first and was swallowed into the crowd of hawkers and fishmongers that worked along the docks. At a signal from Roger, Baldor followed him.

"You have reason not to trust him?" Renn asked as they were helping him to stand and dress. The extra day's rest had certainly helped, but he was still weak and slept more than he was awake, no thanks to Ellyn's strong possets, one of which was making him think he had four arms that had to be put into four sleeves.

"I do not know Rousseau. You do not know Rousseau. Therefore I sent Baldor, who trusts no one, to see if he talks to anyone or meets with anyone he should not be meeting or talking to."

"You say he knew where to meet us and he knew the proper greeting."

"Two things a man could easily have screamed as his skin was being flayed off in strips."

When Rousseau returned to the Folentyne , he had two porters and a chair in tow. Baldor walked up the gangway minutes later carrying a sack full of roasted chicken legs, one of which he was gnawing on as nodded discreetly to Roger.

Renn was less than half awake as Baldor gently carried him from his cabin to the chair. By the time he was settled inside, his face was shiny with sweat and his face was the color of old candle wax.

Rousseau seemed shaken to see his condition and made a point of drawing the privacy curtains shut before he turned to assess the rest of the motley crew. He had supplied the knights with plain, drab clothing of humble Christians on a pilgrimage to Rome. Ellyn and Bethy were in leggings and short, hooded tunics, but as a precaution, Bethy rubbed lampblack into Ellyn's hair to darken it. Neither girl was particularly buxom, but they bound their breasts with bands of linen and tucked little nests of woven straw into the front of their leggings.

Terrowin's red hair also received a rub of lampblack and his face was stained with a tincture Ellyn made by steeping burnt walnut shells in ale. It did not hide the freckles completely, but they were far less noticeable with a darkened complexion.

There was very little they could do to alter Baldor's appearance. He stood well over six feet tall, was as big as a tree trunk, with a magnificent full beard that seemed to be an extension of the thick, smooth hair on his head. Terrowin's suggestion that he shave off the beard was met with a suggestion of where he could shove a well-chewed chicken bone.

Rousseau led them through the bustling streets of Le Havre to an inlet nearly a mile down the river, where a hundred or more barges and river rafts were having cargo loaded or unloaded in a welter of dockside chaos. The barge he had hired was in the middle of the chaos, which meant that the chances were slim they would draw any special attention. Within the hour, they were on the water again, with four muscular boatmen on the poles weaving them through the floating congestion.

Rousseau watched from shore until he could no longer distinguish their vessel from the scores of others on the river. He strode back along the waterfront, smirking to himself over Baldor's failed efforts not to be seen following him earlier. He ducked inside a crowded, noisy tavern and searched the shadows until he spied a familiar face.

No greetings were exchanged, no coded words were necessary. Nor did the man look up from his mug of ale.

"Is the girl with them?"

"Aye, she and another wench, both disguised as lads," Rousseau said in perfect English.

"Destination?"

"Langres."

"How long?"

"I know the captain; he is a lazy bastard and his crew is made up of drunkards. I have paid them well to ensure none will strain a muscle to travel down the river with any good speed."

"You have done well."

"I would have done better had you let me kill Rennwick de Beauvoir."

The king's envoy looked up. "Circumstances have changed. Had you killed him, they might have realized we were now as interested in knowing where they were taking the girl as we were in the girl herself. Have patience. You will get your chance."

Rousseau nodded. He picked up the pouch of coins the man slid across the table and fingered his crotch as he looked around for a comely whore.