by Hilary Green
Ranuph took the proffered hand. 'I am Ranulph. They call me Ironhand.'
'Indeed? I can understand why. You are a soldier?'
'I .. I was.'
'In whose service? One of the d'Hautevilles'? If so you are taking a risk. The Normans are not popular here.'
'I'm not a Norman.'
'No? What then?'
'I am English.'
'English? Then I imagine you have no more love for the Normans than we have.'
'I hate them!'
'So what brings an Englishman to Amalfi?'
Amalfi! So that was where he was. He vaguely remembered someone mentioning it in his wanderings. He struggled to formulate an answer but Beppo saved him the trouble.
'What am thinking of? I should be offering you the hospitality of my home, not cross-questioning you in the street. But first I think I should find out what damage those miscreants have done. Please, step inside.'
He opened the door and Ranulph followed him into a spacious hallway. Immediately they heard a frantic knocking coming from a door to one side. Beppo crossed swiftly and unlocked it and two women almost fell through it. One was middle aged and plump and dressed in the sober style of a senior servant, the other a young girl whose cap and apron placed her, at a guess, in the kitchen. Both were white faced with terror. The elder of the two fell on her knees and seizing Beppo's hand covered it with kisses.
'Oh master, thank God! Thank God! We feared they were going to kill you. A man, a scurvy little rat of a fellow, burst in and held a knife to Maria's throat and forced us down into the cellar. We could hear the fight going on and we feared you were dead!'
'So I might have been, if it were not for the help of this young gentleman. But as you see, I am not harmed.' He raised the woman to her feet. 'This is my housekeeper, Angelina. This gentleman's name is Ranulph and I have invited him to supper. I know you have both had a terrible shock, but do you think you can manage to find something for us to eat?'
The woman turned her gaze to Ranulph, and he read in her expression how he must look to her – nearly as filthy and unkempt as the two robbers they had just seen off. He drew back towards the door.
'Please, that is not necessary. You have matters of your own to attend to. I will not intrude. And truth to tell, I am no fit company for respectable people.'
'Nonsense!' Beppo responded. 'You probably saved my life. The least I can do is offer you a meal and a bed for the night – unless you have somewhere else to go...?'
Ranulph met his eyes and knew that it was useless to pretend. Besides, common sense posed the question of where was his next meal coming from, if not here. He felt himself flush, embarrassed to find himself in need of charity.
'No, nowhere else. Thank you. I accept.'
'Excellent! Angelina, our guest has travelled far and fought well. Take him to the guest room and bring some warm water so he can wash.' He smiled at Ranulph. 'I will be in the courtyard when you are ready. Angelina will show you where.'
A short time later, having washed his face and hands and tried, ineffectually, to brush some of the dust and mud from his clothes, Ranulph was conducted to where his host was waiting. He was seated at a table under an arbour covered in vines. The night air was warm and perfumed with a scent he did not recognise. The sight, however, was enough to remind him so powerfully of evenings spent with Alessandro the previous summer that for a moment he almost turned tail and left the house, but some remnant of good manners made him walk forward and take the seat to which Beppo invited him with a wave of the hand.
'So, sit, my friend, and eat. Angelina performs small miracles every day and tonight is no different.'
He was right. The table was spread with potted meats and cheese and fresh bread. Ranulph restrained himself with difficulty from falling upon the food like a hungry dog.
Beppo poured wine and handed the goblet to Ranulph. 'Try some of this. I think we both deserve another cup. Your good health!'
'And yours,' Ranulph responded automatically, with his mouth full. He swallowed and sniffed. 'Forgive me. What is the perfume I can smell?'
'Perfume? Ah! It is from those lemon trees over there. You have not come across it before?'
'Lemon? No. Is it a fruit?'
'Yes, though a rather strange one, to my taste. The juice is very sharp, but useful in certain dishes. The trees were introduced here by the Arabs, several centuries ago. Here, take some more of this cheese.' He cut a portion and passed it to Ranulph, then went on, 'Now, tell me how you came to be on hand just when I needed your help. I saw you in the inn. I thought you were drunk.'
'I wasn't – not this time.' Ranulph said, then added with a sudden impulse of honesty, 'But only because I didn't have the money.' He paused. 'You weren't, either.'
Beppo laughed. 'Not as drunk as I made out. I spotted those two, and I guessed what they were planning. I thought if I pretended to be more or less incapable I might take them by surprise. I didn't reckon on being attacked from behind like that. If you had not been there I should probably be dead in the gutter by now. What made you follow me?'
'I overheard those two talking. They made me angry. And I didn't want to see you robbed. You reminded me of someone.'
'Indeed? Who, if I may ask?'
'His name was Piet. He was a Fleming, a sea captain and a merchant, like yourself. I sailed under him for about four years.'
'I see you have correctly divined my profession. How did you know? Am I so like your friend?'
'Not at all, except there is something about the eyes.'
'So, you are a sailor as well as a soldier.'
'I was.'
'Tell me, how does an Englishman come to be sailing under a Flemish captain?'
Ranulph hesitated, but the wine was strong. This man, he reasoned, trusted him enough to take him into his house. The least he owed him in return was honesty. Once more he told the story of his childhood, as always glossing over Osric's treatment of him and the consequences, and moving quickly to Piet's offer to take him on board the Waverider.
'He was a good captain. He taught me a lot.'
'Such as?'
'How to sail a cog. About winds and tides; how to navigate by the sun and the stars,...' with a fleeting grin..., 'How to drive a good bargain when we were trading.'
'All useful skills,' Beppo remarked and Ranulph felt that he was being studied. 'And I suppose, having been educated by the monks, you can read and write?'
'Of course.'
'And know Latin?'
'Yes. And a little Greek – but I learned that later.'
'But you tired of the sea?'
'Not exactly. There was … a problem. I decided it would be better if I left. I met some of my countrymen who had formed a mercenary band and were going south to fight for the Emperor. They agreed to take me with them.'
'And it was from them that you learned to wield a sword to such good effect. You are a formidable fighter.'
Ranulph was transported for a moment to the tilt yard at Monteferato. He pushed the memory aside. 'I had good teachers.'
'So now you have decided to move on again? I presume it was the Emperor's decision to relinquish Rome to the Normans that prompted you.'
'To relinquish …?' Ranulph stared at him.
'But surely you knew? Robert Guiscard stormed the gates and the Emperor withdrew his forces.'
'Then Rome is in the hands of the Normans?'
'Not any longer. They behaved so badly that the citizens revolted and set the city on fire. The Normans were forced to withdraw in their turn. Now the Emperor has returned and Pope Gregory has had to seek refuge with the Normans. But you knew none of this?'
'No. When I left we had just won a battle.' He looked up and added fiercely, 'I did not run away.'
'I believe you. But where have you been? How is it you did not hear what was going on?'
The wine and the food were making him sleepy. He suppressed a yawn. 'I … I was travelling. I didn't pay much attention to gossip.'
>
'I see.' Beppo studied him in silence for a moment. Then he rose to his feet. 'Come. It is late and we are both tired. Let us say goodnight and talk again in the morning.'
In the room he had been given Ranulph pulled off his boots and stripped to his braies and flopped onto the bed. But sleep, which had seemed so close a few minutes earlier, now deserted him. Denied the drunken oblivion which had kept them at bay until now, he was forced to confront his memories. Hildred and Rosa, and before them Dirk and Osric. There were four deaths now laid at his door, and God only knew how many others killed in battle. The church sanctioned killing in a just cause, or for self defence; but he had killed because he was paid to. What mercy could he expect for that? He had seen men kneel before the priests after a battle and confess and receive absolution. That way might have been open to him; but what would it have availed him to be pardoned for those deaths, when he could never speak of that first murder? From the moment he had loosed the moorings of the Seagull and sent Osric to his death he had put himself beyond the mercy of God. He felt no contrition for the men he had slain in battle. They would have killed him with equal lack of compunction. It was the betrayal of his friends that tortured his conscience. Hildred and Rosa had loved him, and had died because of it. Oh yes, he had tried to save them, but it was his neglect, his selfish blindness, that had driven them into the hands of the enemy. And they were not the only ones. He could not forget the expression on Alessandro's face.' 'Go, ingrate!' Alessandro had loved him, and he had been too wrapped up in his own concerns to understand it. And Piet. Piet had loved him, too, like an adopted son, and he had repaid him with the death of his real son.
At length, out of his misery, came a conclusion. Whatever punishment awaited him in the after life, this was his punishment here – that he was destined to wound and betray all those who offered him kindness. And on that thought he finally fell asleep.
He woke next morning with a blinding headache and was hard put to it to respond to Beppo's cheery greeting. The sea captain kept a tactful silence until a draught of watered wine and some fresh bread spread with honey had eased the pain. Then he said, 'What plans do you have now?'
'Plans? None. I suppose I must look for employment somewhere.'
'Have you thought of going back to sea?'
Ranulph stopped eating. To be at sea again! The wind on his face, the sky above, the sense of freedom …
'How? Who would take me on board?'
'I would. What happened last night was not the first time. A man with money in his purse is always liable to be attacked. I have thought before now that I need someone at my side, someone who can wield a sword when necessary – and if that man can also make himself useful on board ship, so much the better. What do you say?'
Ranulph stared at him. 'But you hardly know me.'
'I flatter myself that I am a good judge of men. It is a necessary skill for a merchant, to be able to sum someone up in a few minutes. I think you are just the man I have been looking for.'
Ranulph shook his head. 'You are mistaken this time. I am not to be trusted.'
Beppo looked at him in silence for a moment. Then he said quietly, 'I think you have recently suffered some great sorrow. A rejection in love perhaps? Or the death of a dear friend? I will not pry into your secrets. You are young, at the beginning of your life, and whatever mistakes you have made, whatever sins you think you have committed, there is time for you to redeem them. You must not allow despair to overcome you, for that, you know, is the greatest sin of all.'
Ranulph raised his head and met compassionate brown eyes. 'You are very kind. But I am afraid that if you employ me you will one day come to regret it.'
'I will take that risk. That, too, is part of the life I have chosen. I see an opportunity, but there is always a certain amount of risk involved. It is in balancing one against the other that success lies. There are great opportunities out there across the sea for someone who is prepared to risk time and money – and perhaps life itself. Will you join me in that risk?'
For the first time in many days, Ranulph felt his pulse quicken at the thought of what the future might hold. He said slowly, 'Tell me a little more about your trading ventures, and about your ship. Is it a cog?'
'No, a galley.'
'I know nothing about galleys.'
Beppo rose. 'Then come with me and I will show you the finest galley in Amalfi. I have matters to attend to anyway, so let us walk down to the harbour and on the way I will answer your questions.'
Some time later Ranulph stood beside Beppo on the quay and looked out across a harbour crowded with boats of all shapes and sizes. In pride of place, moored a few yards from where they stood, was the Santa Christina, Beppo's galley. She bore the scars of exposure to wind and weather, but already carpenters and painters were at work and the carved figure of the saint on her prow gleamed with fresh blue paint and a newly gilded halo. Ranulph admired her sleek lines, so different from the rotund cog he had once sailed in. She was, he thought, like a pure-bred mare compared with a cart horse.
At Beppo's invitation he went aboard and explored her from prow to stern, asking questions. Looking at the rows of benches arranged like the bones of a fish along the hull, he said, 'How many men does it take to row her?'
'Twenty-five benches on each side, two men to a bench, work it out.'
'One hundred.'
'Plus men to handle her when she is under sail, and we carry twenty archers to deter pirate attacks. Add in the sailing master, the cook, a couple of boys. Close on one hundred and fifty altogether.'
'And the rowers are …' Ranulph hesitated.
'Free men, serving voluntarily and well paid. The Moors may use slaves but not us.'
'You have just come back from … where?'
'From Antioch. It is a port on the eastern coast.'
Ranulph continued to ply him with questions, about draft, manoeuvrability, cargo capacity, behaviour in rough weather and a dozen other things. Beppo answered him cheerfully, offering more detail as he came to appreciate his grasp of sea-faring lore and practice. Then they moved on to the warehouse, where the products of the voyage were awaiting the merchants who would take them on, overland, to the eager markets of France and Germany.
'What is in the bales,' he asked.
'Silk.'
'I saw some once in Bruges. Where does it come from?'
'From somewhere far to the east. How it is produced is a secret known only to a very few. It is thought the Byzantines have discovered it, but they guard the knowledge jealously.'
'And in those casks over there?'
'Spices – ginger, cinnamon, pepper – the most precious of all. It's not a big market at the moment, but demand is growing. They come out of the desert on the backs of camels and the men who bring them will not tell anyone how they obtain them.'
'Camels?' Ranulph queried. 'What are camels?'
Beppo laughed. 'Very strange creatures which can travel long distances without food or water. You will see them, if you decide to join me.'
On the opposite side of the warehouse there were more bales.
'What are these?' Ranulph asked.
'Goods ready for shipping in the opposite direction. It makes no sense to sail empty. Woollens from Flanders, linen from Champagne – all in demand in the east.'
'Woollens from Flanders?' Ranulph repeated. 'It's extraordinary.'
'Why so?'
'The very first commodity I learned to trade was wool from my own country to feed the looms of Flanders.'
'From where the finished cloth came over the Alps to Lucca and then to me, and others like me. That is what fascinates me about the merchant's trade. It's so much more than a matter of profit and loss. But if you decide to join me, you will have your chance to make a profit, too. Everyone who signs on is allowed to trade on his own account, up to a certain weight limit.'
Ranulph's head was spinning was all this new information as they stood on the quayside. Beppo asked, 'Have you made a dec
ision?'
Ranulph glanced at him and then away.'You are not married, signor?'
Beppo looked surprised at the question, but sighed deeply. 'I was. My wife died in childbirth three years ago. I have not felt any desire to take a new one, in spite of the blandishments of friends with marriageable daughters.' He cocked an eyebrow. 'Does that make a difference?'
'Perhaps.' Ranulph gazed out across the harbour. The setting sun laid a path of gold across the waves. It seemed as though, whenever he was at a loss, without hope for the future, a new way was opened for him. Was it possible, he asked himself, that there was a guardian angel watching over him? If so, that would mean that God had not abandoned him, that there was still hope of redemption. He turned to Beppo. 'If you will take me on trust, then I promise I will repay you as well as I am able.'
17.
'I don't like the look of the weather.' Beppo was scanning the horizon, where a line of clouds had appeared.
Ranulph followed his gaze. 'If that's a storm coming in, I should say we had plenty of time yet.'
Beppo shook his head. 'You don't know these waters. A squall can blow up quite suddenly, out of nowhere.' He turned to Francesco, his sailing master. 'Bring the sail down and tell the men to take their oars.'
Orders were given and bare feet thudded across the deck. Even as the men caught hold of the halliards to lower the sail a sudden gust caught it and the Santa Christina heeled sharply to starboard. The canvas cracked like thunder as the men fought to reef it in, but the gust passed and the galley righted herself. Ranulph heard the creak and thud as the oars were run out, and then the regular beat of the drum that gave the stroke. The galley surged forward as fifty oars dipped and pulled.
Beppo was scanning the coastline off to their left. 'With luck we can make Modon before the weather gets too bad. There's a safe harbour there.'
Ranulph studied the inhospitable outline of the Greek coast and hoped Beppo was right; but he had no reason to doubt him. He had brought them into and out of Palermo and Syracuse and a dozen other ports since they left Amalfi. It was obvious that he knew every inch of coastline along the shores of the Mediterranean as well as he knew his home port. Now, it was becoming increasingly apparent that he also knew the ways of the weather. With surprising rapidity the clouds covered the sky and the wind increased.
