The Prince of Poison

by Pamela Kaufman

  Our fishermen spoke in agitated whispers. Someone produced an oil lamp. They were looking at some object on the shore side; one voice rang out followed by hushing. I started to tremble. Had the queen betrayed us?

  Bonel bumped into me. “Why are you standing? Go back to sleep!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “One of the nets caught a snag, that’s all. They have to untangle it.”

  “What sort of snag? Won’t they need this rope?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll ask.”

  “It has something to do with Theo, hasn’t it?”

  “Absolutely not!” He put his arms around my trembling body. “You have my word, Alix.”

  My teeth chattered.

  “Try to relax—I’ll be right back.”

  The peasant girl still waved.

  Another boat approached from the Rouen side; it, also, had an oil lamp.

  The dark, the disembodied voices, the mystery, the girl in the fire, all made Rouen eerie.

  Bonel returned. “Did you see anything?”

  “Yes, those other fishermen took something from our net.”

  “We snagged a dead body, Alix, a suicide. A fisherman tied himself to a stone.”

  I trembled, an omen. “Maybe it was a murder!”

  “Gaston recognized the man, a fisherman despondent because his wife betrayed him. We’re turning him over to other fishermen for burial.”

  I shook even harder. Had Enoch committed suicide because I’d betrayed him? Or was it Theo? That peasant girl had waved . . .

  “Don’t protect me, Bonel. Lady Matilda did it, didn’t she?”

  “Who? Did what?”

  “That woman the queen used, that Matilda de Braose! She killed Theo—just what the queen wanted!”

  “Alix, control yourself. A fisherman tried to commit suicide . . .”

  I didn’t believe him. I don’t always know the truth, but I know a lie when I hear it!

  “You control yourself! First you say he did it, then that he tried to do it! Which is it? I won’t be lied to!”

  “I sometimes forget the brain behind that face.”

  “Richard once wrote a poem about me—want to hear it?

  “Then there are those who pretend to be infants. But

  “Are as smart as the lawyer Trebellius,

  “Who’ve the verbal talents of a logician combined

  “With all the good will of a wolf.”

  “Enough! Are you a wolf?” He laughed sofly.

  Finally, our fishing smack continued toward the Channel. In the distance, the other boat moved slowly, dragging the weight of something under the surface.

  Bonel and I sank to our coil of rope again. “You must sleep. You have a long day tomorrow.”

  But Bonel’s hands trembled—something was terribly amiss. Yet I believed him when he said it wasn’t Theo, which should have been enough, but wasn’t. Not Theo personally, but related somehow. Hadn’t I been warned? A fire?

  A brilliant sun shone directly into my eyes. I squinted, then screamed!

  Our boat was being sucked toward a turbulent wall of foam! We circled like a dead leaf in the tide, round and round, down and down, pulled into a maelstrom. Our fishermen beat with their oars—I could see them now—four small dark Normans. A torn sail swung back and forth! Helpless! Helpless! Oh Deus juva me, what would happen to Theo? Or was he at the bottom of the sea waiting for me!

  Where was Bonel?

  “Here, Alix!” He must have seen me looking for him—he was beating an oar beside the other fishermen—hopeless, frail little men against nature. The water sucked and roared and—miracle of miracles—we turned slightly! Aye, we were turning! Oh God, not the water wall, not the sun, a low bank of land.

  Bonel jumped into the water with a rope in his hand. He pulled with his body—once he slipped and recovered—he had a second rope. The fishermen, now standing, beat the water, then Peir jumped directly into the river to help Bonel. The two men pulled us to the muddy shore.

  “Jump, Sister Marie-Claudine!” Bonel held out his arms.

  I jumped.

  When I turned, the boat was already bobbing in the middle of the river.

  “Where are we?”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Of course!”

  The wall of water had turned bright gold from the sun. The roar retreated. Bonel wrung water from his habit; I wrung mine as well. A cold wind from the Channel chilled both of us.

  Bonel pushed me to the ground behind a low wall with flowers growing on top. “Shelter from the wind; I’ll be back,” he said. Then he was gone. A rooster crowed on the other side of the wall; sheep and goats bleated. The rising sun dried my habit somewhat. I checked Theo’s document in my sack; the oiled silk had protected it. Bonel was back.

  “I have to find another boat; yours has left.”

  “Left?” I tried to kill him!

  He held me at arms’ length. “It was that snag—all the boats have left!”

  “I’m sorry, Bonel, I understand, I’m just so . . .” My teeth chattered. “You can’t know.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “Not as I do.” I wept so I could hardly speak. “Of course you’re concerned because . . .”

  “Because what? Can’t say it, can you?”

  “Yes, I can; I know you love Theo, too.”

  His good eye filled. “Yes, I love Theo, and I’m going to lose him. He’s my son, too.”

  His son? Richard’s? No, Enoch’s!

  “But you and Esther . . .”

  “When I write my own poem, Alix, it won’t be about your intelligence.” He regained control.

  “Where are we?” I asked humbly.

  “Outskirts of Calais. Come, let me hide you better while I . . .”

  This time he put me inside an empty cow byre.

  He returned with a jug of milk and brown bread. We ate silently. “Alix, you can’t sail from Calais.”

  “I know, the boats have all left.”

  “Today, but I mean never. The piers are closely guarded. You just can’t.”

  “But it’s the closest to England—only twenty miles!”

  “A little farther, I think, but that’s not the point. The king’s guards are checking every passenger, especially young women with babies.”

  “I’m garbed as a nun and I don’t have Theo! I’m not afraid!”

  “I am. We should both be grateful for the queen’s quick thinking. At least Theo’s safe. And you will be, too—can you wait again?”

  This time he returned with two mules. Silently, we mounted them.

  “Stay close. I’m taking the back path to Boulogne, my favorite port when I sail.”

  Wissant, the port of Boulogne, was also guarded.

  Bonel checked his religious papers to be sure they were in order when he had to show them at the border into Flanders. He brushed dry mud from my skirts, tucked one of my braids into my wimple, then asked me to make him presentable. We entered Flanders without incident. Though I knew it was foolish to think that the weather respected national borders, the fact was that the instant we were in Flanders we suffered a steady rainfall. Paths were inundated, cottages closed tight, people or animals nowhere to be seen. Bonel kept us inland from the Channel, where, he claimed, the weather was even nastier. At dusk, he passed up sanctuary in a church as too risky; he paid an innkeeper for places on his mat behind a tavern. I was the only woman among drunken louts; Bonel placed me against a wall and lay next to me so no one could mount me.

  “If we fail at Ostend, we’ll head south again,” he said. “It’s too early to brave the North Sea.”

  “Os—where?”

  “A fishing village in northern Flanders, joined by a canal to Brugge, a jewel of a city. Ostend now has regular transport to England.” He squeezed my arm. “And King John doesn’t guard it.”

  “Do you smell sardines?” I asked the following morning.

  “Sardines, eels, oysters, that’s Ostend. I buy in
Brugge. The pearls are small and they tend to be gray in color, but I’ve purchased a few.”

  “Have you ever sailed to England from here?”

  “I go to England as little as possible. However, I did sail once from Ostend in the other direction, to the Jutland Peninsula. Those Viking boats can withstand any sea.”

  “Vikings? Vikings are long gone.”

  He smiled. “No one is gone if you look. Coastal shipping in the north is dominated by Vikings. They’ve stopped ravaging the countryside, that’s all.”

  “What’s in the Jutland Peninsula?”

  “Remember those fine jewels you polished from Russia? That’s where I get them.”

  Lapis, amber, diamonds. How little I knew Bonel.

  Ostend was in a full-blown sleet storm. Nevertheless, fish stands were open on the beach, and ships for England lay at anchor. Bonel purchased fresh-fried oysters, sardines, and bits of salmon, which we ate under a shed.

  “Hold these while I secure your passage.”

  “Surely they won’t sail in such a storm, Bonel.”

  “You don’t know these Vikings—they relish this.”

  Vikings had invaded England’s rivers in their long blue boats, silent and deadly as snakes. Indeed, their boats often carried the sign of snakes or dragons. My father (who was descended from a Viking) claimed that our ancestors were clever people and brave as well. Mother said that be as that may, their real talent lay in their viciousness. Was I vicious? I had the silver eyes of my Viking ancestor.

  Bonel returned. “I’ve bought you passage on the Drage. It doesn’t sail till late afternoon.”

  “You mean I’ll be on the water at night?”

  “Better a short night and a long day tomorrow than the reverse. This way, you’ll reach Dover just in time to find an inn. And we must talk.” He opened his saddlebag. “The following morning you’ll go overland on a donkey you’ll purchase. Or, with luck, you may be able to ride on to London before dark tomorrow.”

  “You mean, I can pick up Theo tomorrow?”

  “Even if you reach London, you’ll have to stay in an inn one night before you go to Baynard Castle. Do you remember your instructions?”

  “Of course, I’m Lady Angela from the north; Baynard Castle is on the Thames and has a dock. It’s owned by Lord Robert fitzWalter, but I’m to ask for Lady Matilda de Braose.”

  “Lord Robert fitzWalter is also the head of the London Commune and . . .”

  “Is he Jewish?”

  “No, commune means that London is an independent city, not under John’s rule.”

  “Good for London!”

  “To ride to Wanthwaite, you’ll need a horse, not a donkey. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He heard my uncertainty. “You need money.” He took a small heavy bag from his saddlebag. “This is coin enough for your journey, both from Dover and from London. Use only pence on the road, for the English won’t give you change.” He smiled. “Not even if you were king.”

  I opened the bag; several coppers lay on top of silver and gold. “This is too much, Bonel!”

  “Pretend the queen gave it, which she did in part. She owes that much to you and Theo.”

  “Yes, except that you gave it, Bonel. You owe us nothing.”

  Two red spots burned on his cheeks. “You forget that I love Theo, too.”

  But Theo wasn’t the only person getting the money.

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  He smiled. “You already have. I instructed Israel to sell Sea Mew.”

  A royal horse of great worth. I felt better.

  “I have another matter to speak of, Alix. Ely tells me you’re ready to go into the jewelry market.”

  “At Wanthwaite?”

  Again the red spots glowed. “No, in London.” He produced another heavy bag, this one filled with gems that I could sell in London while I sought a position. He had written the names and notes to two men who set gems on Jewelry Lane where I might use Bonel’s name.

  He placed his saddlebag between us. “You take this; I’ll take yours. Mine is lined with leather under oiled silk, proof against seawater.”

  “You think I’ll get wet? You said the Vikings were . . .”

  “Skilled? The very best. But yes, though the Drage will get you there safely, you will be heavily doused, no doubt.”

  He seemed to be finished.

  “Bonel, I’m glad you’re selling Sea Mew, but nothing can repay you for your kindness beyond money—everything.” My voice was tight.

  “I’m glad if I can help you, Alix.” His throat beat under his jaw. “I try to follow the teachings of our great philosopher, Maimonides: ‘Assist your reduced fellowman either by giving considerable gifts or sums of money or by teaching him a trade, or putting him in way of business, so that he might at least earn a livelihood.’”

  “He sounds Christian.”

  He laughed. “Not the kind of Christian I’ve known. They’ve not been Christian to Jews.”

  “Bonel, what I’m about to say isn’t much, except it may relieve you about your commune, about the Jews there. I know who betrayed me. A Christian.”

  He jumped slightly.

  “I told you I was intelligent, though in this case I admit I may have been a little slow. A guard recognized me when I entered Rouen. I thought I’d evaded him, but apparently I hadn’t.”

  He was silent a long time. “His name?”

  “Sir Alain, a guard at the arched bridge. He’s King John’s man and he . . .”

  “Wanted you?”

  “Perhaps. I think so. King Richard used that bridge often and Sir Alain . . .”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  There was another long silence. I was getting nervous. “When are you and Esther getting married?”

  He raised his eyes. “Did she speak to you about it?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t either.” He reached for my hands. “You still have Enoch to care for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “A mirage, but you’ll find out yourself.”

  “He’s my husband. You don’t know what . . .”

  “I know men; I know the law.”

  “And I know human feeling. It doesn’t change.”

  He laughed. “God, you’re naive! You note that I didn’t say stupid! You’re right, I haven’t met Enoch, and maybe he’s different from all other mankind.”

  “Enoch loves me.”

  “Loved. Enoch loved you.”

  “You’re cruel!”

  “Just trying to make you face reality. Didn’t you tell me that Enoch fought with France just so he could get a good shot at you?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “No buts, Alix. Just remember that you have jewels.” He stood. “And remember that being intelligent begins with being realistic. Forget wishes, accept what you actually find. Time to go.”

  I stood.

  His face changed. “Maybe . . .”

  I didn’t want to argue in the few heartbeats we had left.

  “You say you owe me something for my care. Would it be too much to ask for a farewell kiss?”

  I offered my face.

  “Not out in the open like this. This is no kiss between a priest and a nun.”

  And it wasn’t.

  “This isn’t goodbye, Alix. You’ll see.”

  4

  The Drage lurched so violently that I fell twice before I could reach the only other female passenger, who gestured frantically that she was saving my place. When I finally stumbled to the prow, she pulled me to a “seat” before a huge projecting pole with a dragon head on top.

  “’Tis a lakly day,” she cried.

  I thrilled to hear the English tongue, e’en though she lied; the sleet stung like needles.

  “Them brutes mighta helped ye.”

  She pointed at fifteen pairs of giant oarsmen who seemed too busy placing their own seats at their rowing stations to bother with me. I liked their appe
arance: pale hair and beards, savage silver eyes, bearskins around their middles and huge bare feet; not handsome, exactly, but reassuring. My new friend pushed my head low or I would have been struck when a long oar swung close.

  “They’re s’posed to warn ye!” she cried.

  When the oar was safely past, I stood to search for Bonel on the shore. There he was; I waved, but he didn’t see me.

  Now the Vikings swung their long oars dangerously close to other passengers’ heads. Two sailors at the stern lifted decorative shields from the seaside of the ship, shields that had concealed oarlocks. Seawater immediately sloshed onto the deck through the oarlock holes. At the helm, the captain—called Sven, according to my new friend—studied a needle floating on a plate. The male passengers sat in the hold on boxes of merchandise they’d dragged aboard.

  Now Bonel waved. When I stood to wave back, something nipped my calf.

  “What the . . . !” I clutched my leg.

  “Sorry, dear, dinna worry, it be anely my duck, not dangerous, ye understand, but he resents yer blocking his view.”

  The duck, in a slatted crate, was big as a small sheep. White with yellow beak and feet, he frowned with beady black eyes. He struck again—I moved forward.

  “Tch! Henry!” She looked up at me proudly. “A Saxony duck, he’ll bring a guid price tomorry, you’ll see.”

  “You’re going to sell him?”

  “Aye, at the Smithfield Market just outside London Town.”

  My skin crawled; Smithfield! I was on my way home!

  “I hope they doona eat him. He be a great breeder.”

  She then introduced his mate in a matching crate as Clmence and herself as Madame Eglantine. “Married to a Flamand called Soren, a turrible mistake. Still, my da had no coin fer a dowry and when Soren got me in a family way . . .”

  The anchor was raised, the ship heaved.

  “Ahoy!” cried the woman. “The tide be ebbin’, richt fer sailin’!”

  Bonel stepped into the water. Was he going to swim?