Chapter 32

32

T he accommodations on the barge were barely adequate to provide shelter from the weather. The vessel was flat-bottomed and wide across the beam in order to pack as much cargo on board as she could hold. There was a single mast fitted with a large, square sail that could only be employed when the level of crates and barrels were depleted in the trading ports they passed. This particular barge carried barrels of herring, bales of cloth and wool, casks of wine that could be traded for oil and olives and flax.

A box-like structure in the stern contained the cabins, which were even smaller than those on the Folentyne , more likened to short, narrow tunnels with bags of straw inside for pallets. There was no room to spare on either side of the pallet and with the ceiling beams so low overhead, barely enough room to stand. There were no creature comforts for passengers aside from a covered bucket in the corner of each cabin, which they were expected to empty overboard themselves. Privacy was a strip of canvas hung across the doorways. Fresh water was in a barrel on deck; meals consisted mainly of bread, wine, and whatever fish they caught during the day.

The captain advised them that if there were no unexpected delays, the trip to Langres would take roughly twelve days travelling by day and tying up to shore at night. Speed would depend on the wind and the currents and the skill of his boatmen. They were big men, with solid muscles across their shoulders and arms as well as between their ears. They appeared to care more for playing dice and knucklebones than making haste along the river.

The captain also informed them they would be passing by Rouen and Paris and Troyes, where he would be docking to make deliveries. They were discouraged from disembarking at any of the stops and strongly advised not to even show themselves on deck during daylight hours. Everyone saw the sense in both suggestions except Baldor, who had taken one look at the cramped accommodations and hollowed out a comfortable sleeping niche between the bales of cargo. From there he was able to observe the crew and share those observations with Roger and Rennwick.

Three days into the journey Renn was strong enough to emerge from his cabin after dusk and seek some fresh air on deck. His wounds were healing, there were no signs of excess redness, no spidery veins to indicate poison, no stench of pus where the edges of flesh had been sewn together. Ellyn inspected, sniffed, prodded and kept the wound on his arm covered with clean poultices every morning.

By the end of the eighth day, he was complaining more about the pinching tightness of the threads the Folentyne's sailmaker had used to sew the wound closed than he was about the injury itself.

Ellyn promised to snip the knots the next morning if the bandaging showed no more signs of leakage.

She was on deck, enjoying the crisp, cool night air when she heard the rattle of dice and the sound of laughter on the other side of a small mountain of wooden crates. The four boatmen and the captain were sitting around a makeshift table as they were wont to do every evening after they tied up to shore.

One of them was complaining that another had taken all of his coins, a point of contention they seemed to have every night.

Neither she nor Bethy made a habit of venturing on deck alone. Their fake codpieces may not have earned a second glance from anyone on shore watching for two women, but each time Ellyn walked past a member of the barge crew, she could feel their eyes undressing her.

Another exchange followed by a bout of coarse laughter sent her back into her airless little cabin. Passing by, she noticed a light glowing through Rennwick's curtain door and snuck a curious peek through a gap in the canvas.

What she saw made her gasp and push the cloth aside.

Renn was sitting cross-legged and bare-chested on his pallet, knife in hand attempting to cut through the threads on his wound by himself.

"Did I not tell you I would do it in the morning? In daylight? When I can see what I am cutting?"

"I would sooner hack the arm off than endure another night of this demonic itching."

He raised the dagger again and twisted his arm to better see the dark line of knotted threads. Ellyn noted where he had tried twice to catch the knot on the steel tip, but missed and drew fresh beads of blood instead.

"For pity's sake, give me the knife," she said, "before you slice the wound open again."

She knelt down beside him and plucked the blade out of his hand. She gave him the candle to hold close to his arm, then gently stretched the skin with thumb and forefinger so she could slip the point of the dagger under the thread. It popped apart with little pressure, after which she repeated the stretching and snipping down the length of the wound until all the knots had been cut. She then pulled out each cut piece of thread until there was only a puckered red line with tiny dots of blood marking where each knot had been.

She set the blade aside and wrapped the arm in the bandaging he had discarded, her frosty blue glare conveying a dire warning should he do anything foolish to jeopardize the healing process again.

When she was done, he lifted the arm and flexed his muscles, then in the same motion, reached over and slid his hand around the nape of her neck, drawing her forward into a breath-stripping kiss. Her momentary beat of resistance ended on the first flick of his tongue and she melted into the embrace. He pulled her closer until she was lying across his lap, cradled in his arms, her mouth being thoroughly ravished. He kissed her until he had his fill then kissed her some more, smiling against her lips when she started to make little mewling sounds.

"Thank you," he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose.

"You are welcome." She smiled. "Should I check the wound on your thigh?"

His gaze lingered on her mouth. "I think not, Ellyn the Fletcher. Touch my thigh and I may not be able to settle for simple kiss to show my gratitude; the space is far too confining."

She sat upright and smoothed her hair, then licked her lips to catch the last taste of him. It was the truth; if she stretched her arms wide she could touch both walls.

"How much space do you need?" she asked in a murmur.

His smile turned into a grin. "You will find out, my bold little minx, as soon as we are off this floating rat trap."

Someone else saw the glow behind the curtain and poked his head into the cabin without troubling to peek first.

"Did someone say trap? If so, I fear you may be close to the mark."

Roger came all the way into the cabin. With two, the space was cramped; with three it was almost impossible and he had to step past Ellyn to press himself into the corner. He crouched over, with some difficulty, and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.

"Baldor has been keeping his eyes on the crew and his ears open to their griping. Tonight he heard one of them say they should have been in Troyes by now, with whores sucking them dry, er, beg pardon Ellyn, but they were told not to put their backs into their work."

"Told by who?"

Roger gestured with his hands. "By the captain, I presume, and he by someone who did not want us to reach Langres in a timely manner."

Renn looked down at the tiny bits of cut thread that were on the blanket. "How long would it take to ride from Le Havre to Langres on fast horses?"

"I have been wondering the same thing. Seven days, possibly six if they changed animals and rode through the night."

Renn cursed under his breath. "Rousseau." He leaned over and reached for his shirt. "Is Baldor still on deck?"

"Aye."

"Terrowin?"

"Snoring."

"Bethy?"

"In my cabin."

Renn glanced up. "You do know how thin these walls are, do you not?"

Roger shrugged. "The straw from two pallets combine to make one that is almost passable."

"Ah. You always were the practical one, my friend. In any case, bring Bethy in here, she can stay with Ellyn. Wake Terrowin and arm yourselves."

"What are you going to do?" Ellyn asked.

He pulled his shirt over his head, grunting softly as he moved his arm awkwardly. "I think it is time we have a friendly chat with the captain."

The barge captain was a thin, feral-looking man named Poitou. He had black, sunken cheeks and an eyelid that blinked independent of its mate, like an owl. He wore a pair of throwing axes in his belt and a shortsword at his hip. The four boatmen under his command wore wickedly sharp knives in their belts and knew how to use them along with the spears and tridents they wielded for catching fish.

As was their custom after a long day of working the poles and the rudder, the men were seated on deck, using crates for chairs and a large oak barrel for a table top. They were hunched in concentration, their faces lit dull yellow by the horn-sided lantern that sat in the middle of their game of knucklebones. Only one glanced up as Roger strolled casually out of the shadows and leaned against the stack of crates to gaze out over the dark landscape.

The boatman who had looked up, nudged the fellow beside him, grinned, and made a slicing motion across his throat with a forefinger. Seconds later, his finger was replaced with cold, hard steel as Terrowin stepped up behind him, dagger in hand. Three more figures appeared out of the shadows, swords drawn, and held to vulnerable points on the boatmen before they could react. Knives and any other weapons were removed from belts and tossed away on the deck.

Renn nodded at the empty crate where a fifth man should have been sitting. "Where is the captain?"

When no one answered, Terrowin increased the pressure on the surly boatman's throat, causing him to grunt as the edge slivered through his skin.

"In the bow. He had to piss!"

Renn glanced at Baldor, who melted back into the shadows. A few moments later they heard a shouted curse, a sharp clash of steel on steel, then a loud splash.

After a tense silence, Baldor returned, shaking blood off his hand. "Bastard must have heard us. Jumped me with a fishing spear."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not as much as him."

"Dead?"

"Aye. Current caught him before I could haul him back in. There was something else. He had a lantern with him. He was about to wave it, like he was trying to signal someone on shore. "

Renn looked at each of the boatmen in turn. "Who was he trying to signal?"

When none of the four answered, his gaze settled on the man bleeding over Terrowin's dagger. "You. Who was he signalling?"

"I do not know."

"And if you did, would you tell us?"

The man, whose name was Big Maul, just smirked.

"Very well. One at a time Baldor is going to take you into the bow and, after a little persuasion, if you are still unwilling to tell us what we want to know, you will be joining your captain in the river."

"I cannot swim!" one of them protested.

"Then he will take you first."

Baldor sheathed his sword and drew his foot-long poniard instead, digging the needle-sharp point beneath the man's ear to encourage him to stand and walk toward the bow. The remaining three boatmen heard the low growl of voices, then sounds of a scuffle followed by a heavy thud and the splash of something hitting the water.

Baldor came back into the light, wiping the blade of his poniard on his sleeve. He shook his head to answer Renn's questioning look, then moved forward as Roger graciously stepped aside to let him drag the second man to his feet. He struggled briefly, trying to resist, but Baldor hauled him away into the shadows by the scruff of his neck.

"Kill us all and who will guide the barge?" Big Maul asked, his teeth bared, his neck stretched and streaked with blood.

"I have no doubt we can manage," Renn said, "or hire another crew in exchange for whatever is in these crates and bales. A more experienced crew who knows the river well enough to get us to Langres without any further, unnecessary delays."

"We could have been there days ago but for—"

"Raoul! Witless oaf! Shut your mouth!"

Terrowin lifted the blade from Big Maul's throat and swung hard, striking his temple with the solid iron hilt. There was a resounding crack of metal on bone and the boatman's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell sideways off the crate and sprawled on the deck.

Renn glanced casually at Raoul. "You were about to say?"

He stared wide-eyed at his unconscious comrade then swallowed hard. "We only did what Capitan Poitou told us to do."

"Exactly what was that?"

He looked at Renn. "Keep to the shallows so the barge moves slower. Tie up early, leave late. He… he said we had to stay close to shore so the others could find us."

"What others?"

"I know not, m'sieur. But the man in Le Havre paid him in silver coin."

"What man? Rousseau?"

The boatman shook his head. "No, that was not the name he used."

"Tall, thin Frenchman," Roger said. "Black hair and eyes, big gap in his teeth, scars on each cheek like this." He ran his forefingers from his ears to the corners of his mouth in the shape of a wide curve.

Raoul nodded. "Oui, that was him. But his name is not Rousseau, and he is not French. The captain called him by another name."

Renn's blood had gone cold. "Was that name… Carac?"

Raoul's eyes widened and he nodded, eager to be helpful. " Aye. Aye, that was the name the captain called him by. Carac."

Rennwick turned and stared hard at Roger. "Carac Falconard."

Roger frowned. "Falconard?"

"Harold's brother. I carved those scars on his face when I caught him raping one of the maids at Nottingham. He thought it was funny that I cared, so I gave him a permanent grin."

"You did not recognize him earlier?"

"If you recall, I was asleep most of the time we were docked in Calais. Afterward, in Le Havre, he was careful to keep out of my sight so that I never saw his face."

Roger nodded slowly. He remembered thinking it odd, with all the confusion in plans, that Rousseau had never once asked to see or speak to Rennwick. He also remembered how Rousseau had pulled the curtains shut on the chair after they carried Renn off the ship.

Renn turned to the hunched, shivering Raoul. "Is that who your captain was trying to signal? Speak up, man! Did the captain order you to move slowly in order to meet up with Carac Falconard?"

The boatman clasped his hands together in a plea. "M'sieur, I know only that Captain Poitou kept a keen eye on the shoreline day and night. And he swung his lantern every night at the same hour."

"As if he was expecting someone," Roger said. "It would make sense that Carac was following the river in order to intercept us before we reached Langres."

"How long would that take us from here?" Terrowin asked.

Raoul stared at the blade in Terrowin's hand. "Th-three days, m'sieur. No more than four, if you know how to work the river."

"How difficult can it be," Terrowin asked with a shrug. "We have been watching them for a sennight."

"Begging pardon, m'sieur, but I think you do not look like men who work on a barge."

Baldor spat over the side. "Easy enough to fix that."

He strode behind the wall of crates again and returned dragging the bodies of two boatmen, both of whom he threw onto a heap with Big Maul.

Terrowin arched an eyebrow. "What were you throwing overboard?"

"Barrels. Thought better of throwing the bodies in case someone was looking for them."

"I trust it was not the wine barrels you threw?"

Baldor snorted and made another trip forward, returning with the corpse of the captain. "If we take their clothes, we can make ourselves look like men who work on the river."

"Clothes will not get you past the shallows," Raoul said quickly. "And beyond that, after you pass Troyes, there is a treacherous bend where the river narrows and the current can push you into the bank. River pirates like to lurk there. If you look like you do not know what you are doing, they will be on you like rats on a dead pig."

Baldor growled and took a step forward, his fist clenched as if it wanted a jaw to break. Instead, his fingers opened and he tossed a small pouch onto the makeshift table. The string was loose and a river of silver coins spilled out into the lanternlight. "Found this on the captain."

Renn pushed a finger through the coins, then glanced at Raoul. "Twenty silver marks. For that much, can you get us to Langres? "

"No, m'sieur." He threw up his hands right away to ward off another of Baldor's growls. "Only because the river is too narrow. If you promise to pay me and not kill me, I can take you to within half a day's ride; that is as far as any vessel this size can go."

"I will strike a bargain with you," Rennwick said. "For every day we are on this barge, I will take away one coin. The faster you get us to a safe place where we can disembark, the more coins you will have for your purse."

"Capitan Poitou was only going to give us two marks apiece. Batard putain !" Raoul muttered, his eyes drawn to the glitter of silver. "He said it was an equal share of what he was paid in Le Havre."

Terrowin nodded at the three bodies. "We will have to hide them on shore. Or weigh them down so they sink."

"There are enough chains on board," Baldor said. "They can feed the fish."

"Hold up, hold up," Roger said slowly. "If it was Carac Falconard and he was sent by his brother to meet us in Calais… how the devil did he get there ahead of us? Even taking into account the Folentyne was fighting headwinds coming south, he had to have been there already, waiting."

"I had heard he married the daughter of a ship owner and moved to France," Renn said.

"That might explain his presence in Calais," Roger said, "but how did he know the man Sabinius had arranged to have meet us was named Rousseau?"

Each man looked at the other, but no one had any answers.

The silence stretched out until it became a living thing, so tight and stifling with suspicion that all four men reached for their swords when they heard the sound of a whispered word behind them .

"Pigeons."

Bethy stepped out from behind the wall of crates, one fist wrapped tightly around a crush of Ellyn's hair, the other holding a dagger to the underside of Ellyn's breast.

"Messages were sent using courier pigeons."