Pillars of Avalon

by Catherine Pym

  They approached the river, now loud and rushing with great speed toward London. Water spurted into the grasses that lined the banks, splashed against the barge that sat at the dock.

  “I will take you home.” David helped Sara and her sister onto the lighter. “I must begin the victual procurement process for our voyage next spring.”

  Sara sank onto a bench next to her sister and regarded David, who seemed too filled with nervous energy to sit at a table and write letters to vendors, fill out bills of lading. On the bench opposite them, he crossed one leg over the other, then unwound and stood. He wandered to the mast and held on as the lighter sped in the rolling water toward London Pool. He rubbed the back of his neck then spun around and returned to the same bench.

  “You’ll fall in the drink and drown if you’re not careful,” Sara said with a small smile, for she did enjoy his company, restless or not.

  He grinned at her. “Oh, I believe I can handle a little water.”

  “’Tis roiling angry,” Frances said, her face filled with fear.

  “Nay it is not but full of zest for this bright day.” He waved a hand. “The tide will fly inland, gaze about to see what’s what in the world, turn sluggish, sleep, then heave up again and roar back to sea.” He leaned forward, his grey eyes full of mischief. “’Tis alive you see, this water, and all the waters of the world. They know when you’ve been ill to them, when to cry out with joy, and when to seek revenge.”

  “Let’s hope you will not gain its ire, then.” Sara grabbed the bench and held on as the river hurtled them toward London.

  She recognized landmarks from when they sailed to Deptford and knew they neared the city. Soon, the great bridge came into view then loomed over them like a tall wall where water rushed and pulsed through the arches. The lighter stopped at the custom house stairs not far from the Tower of London. “Everyone off, now, water’s too rough to go further,” the bargeman hollered.

  David helped Sara and Frances onto the quay. “I could take you for a meal, if you are hungry.” He smiled.

  “What of your victualing?” Sara wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The winds had gotten up and a chill whirled in the damp air.

  He frowned. “I can do that, later.”

  Sara regarded him, afraid if she spoke of her idea, he would laugh. He’d disregard her as a woman with no brains who could do nothing more than direct servants or fluff feather beds. And as they stood on the quay, they were amongst strangers who would hear him laugh at her.

  Water roared toward the bridge. It drowned out all noise but the bells clanging on the ships moored nearby.

  He gazed at her. “What’s on your mind, Twig?”

  With nothing to lose but her pride, she took a deep breath and blurted, “Let me do the fleet’s victualing whilst you attend to your ships.”

  Chapter Eight

  London, January 1629

  David walked into his father’s private office and stopped when he saw Sara. She’d been at it since last autumn when he’d been trapped into agreeing she could assist in the procurement of victuals and armaments. Since then, she’d done so well, he had been released from the mundane and had been able to devote most of his time to refitting his fleet.

  “You seem to immediately know what to do,” David had once commented, admiration strong within his heart.

  “Frances and I have worked alongside Father for quite a while now,” Sara had informed him. “We’ve learned how to manage wine suppliers.” She had shrugged. “How different could victualling vendors be?”

  His mother worked alongside Father and she did not do as well as Sara, who, every day proved she would be a good wife.

  Sara’s maid sat on a low stool with a basket of mending at her feet and plied needle and thread whilst Sara sat at Father’s table, writing a letter. She jabbed the quill into the inkpot then furiously scratched the nib across the paper. She seemed in high dudgeon and he grinned.

  He wondered what had caused this flare of spirit. Over the past months working with her, he’d learned when he could speak his mind and when he should run and hide. This was one of those times he thought to back away, mayhap go to a tavern. He would shore up strength for battle with a dish of mum beer.

  She must have sensed his presence for she looked up, her face in a deep scowl, the quill poised as if ready to throw it at him, sharpened end first. “What do you want?”

  David threw up his hands in surrender. “I’ve come to see how you fare, but think I shall tiptoe from whence I came.” He dramatically backed out of the chamber.

  Sara’s green eyes sparkled and David paused. Those eyes could be harsh one moment and soft the next. They drank in his soul, understood his needs, his hopes and desires. She never shamed him in front of others when her frustrations were high, even if he deserved it.

  They bundled, too. It was splendid to recline side-by-side on a bed, albeit with a board anchored between them. They would touch hands under it, and steal kisses over it, which made walking afterward difficult.

  She laughed. “You are too close to the stairs. One more step and you’ll tumble to the bottom breaking your skull.” She set down the quill. “I shouldn’t want that. Just think how much of my work would be lost. Your father and brothers do not trust my judgement as you do.” She looked away, her lips in a grim line. “They do not accept my ways of procuring goods and food for your fleet.”

  David walked into the chamber. “What can I say but they are base stupid fellows.”

  She did not look appeased.

  “I will talk to them. My father is pleased with your work,” he added to soothe her ruffled feathers.

  In truth, Father mightily missed Maman and her acuity. His sisters had forgotten her deep involvement with Father’s business. Their nurse, a stuffy, bone-faced harpy, had manipulated the girls into thinking Sara had no place in a man’s world. She should sit quietly in a corner until summoned by father, brother or husband. She should manage her household as the Lord hath sayeth. He scoffed.

  David was most impressed with Sara’s extraordinary brain. Her sister could do arithmetic with Roman numerals, an astonishing feat, but Father preferred Maman. His brothers found it difficult to work alongside a near stranger, let alone a woman.

  It did not matter how often David had tried to explain Sara released them from the drudgery of procurement, gadding about town with legal papers for the suppliers to sign, and if they reneged then threatened them with common court.

  Sara stood. “I will do this whether or not your family approves. Usually Frances is with me, helping with arithmetic whilst I draw up the formal documents for our lawyer to approve, then the vendors to sign.”

  She waved her hand over the table scattered with mounds of papers. “I found some astonishing errors that would have cost money to your company of merchants and the king.” She leaned toward him, her hands on the table. “His Majesty will still get his due which will come from your coffers. Do you want that? I have saved money for both our families, which I beg you not forget.”

  David frowned. He should run to the tavern for that beer but if he did, there would be hell to pay. So far when they bundled, her kisses showed him a passion he would not expect from a proper woman. He’d like to explore this more closely, but to do that, he must cosset her.

  He swallowed a sigh. “What’s afoot and how may I help?”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Well then, you remember Mister Braye?”

  “Aye, our primary brewer.”

  “Your brothers stated he was the best, who provided the beer in ironbound barrels at a reasonable cost. He uses the best hops and a great deal of malt to keep the beer from spoiling on long journeys.”

  David knew this very well. Of its own apparent will, a foot edged toward the door.

  She picked up a paper and waved it about. “Braye refuses to finish his contract.”

  He dragged his foot forward. “Why?”

  She glared at him.

  He raised
himself up and puckered his face into fury. “Will I be forced to seek him out and whip him? Give him a few blows to the head and nose?” He wrinkled his brow and lowered his voice to a low growl. “His nose is already greatly awry. He won’t be able to breathe if I do it again.”

  She would not relent and picked up another paper, this one with fold creases along the length and breadth of it. The seal had been broken; its ragged edges weighed down the top of the page.

  Sara read; “Someone poured out the boiling brew and stole our keelers, all of them. We have searched for the thief whom we think is a discontented apprentice. He is no longer in City.”

  “Oh dear, an unhappy brew, that is.” David bit down laughter at his keen sense of humour.

  She did not smile. “A bit weak, don’t you think? They are brewers. Copper kettles are important to their business. It must have taken several men to move them.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “How could Braye not have heard them being dragged along the flagstones?”

  David walked to the table. “How much are they contracted for?”

  Thomas entered the chamber. “All the beer we need for the fleet. We shall be greatly hindered if they do not supply what they promised.”

  “Greatly hindered?” David cried. “I’d say we are exceptionally hindered. The men will mutiny.”

  “We will need one hundred sixty-two tons of beer to be exact.” Sara started to pace. “To put all the shells in a single basket is folly. People sicken and die. A suppliers’ shipment of wood for barrels may go missing.”

  “We understand the way of it,” Thomas snarled.

  “One vendor fails and his suppliers upstream follow suit,” Sara persisted. “To give one vendor the full of it only breeds problems.”

  “Well it is done, isn’t it?” Thomas bit off angrily. “Now, we must find another way.”

  David hated this part of the business. He preferred to scrape barnacles off the hull of his ship. “What will you have us do? I believe there is a list of brewers somewhere.” He searched through the papers on Father’s table.

  Sara lightly slapped his hand away. “These piles are in order, sirrah.”

  David regarded so many scattered papers, open and folded, some with seals intact whilst others were cracked open. “I don’t see any order.” For a moment, he attempted to reckon how she could work thusly.

  She pulled a leaf from under several others. “This is a list of local beer suppliers, but thankfully we won’t be required to do more.” She smiled, her face smug.

  Thomas glared at her. “What have you done?”

  David’s shoulders tensed. He did not like his brother’s base manner toward Sara.

  “I’ve two other suppliers who are in the process of brewing beer, their contracts already signed. I will have them work with Braye. He should have several ironbound barrels on hand to share in case the other brewers do not have enough.”

  “Who are these other vendors?” Thomas took a threatening step toward Father’s table. He grabbed the list from her hand.

  David growled. His brother was a damned rascal.

  Sara’s eyes sparked with momentary fear. She raised her head and straightened her back. “Carson and Forester.”

  Thomas gazed at the list.

  Sara pointed at the paper. “Initially, they were only contracted to brew and deliver twenty tons each but now we shall increase the tonnage, mayhap look for a fourth supplier. Braye has already set out to replace his kettles.” She glowed with success.

  Still reading, Thomas ignored her.

  Father entered the chamber, his usual pallid cheeks flushed, his smile pleasant. “Yes, Thomas, as your namesake, do not doubt this woman’s good work.”

  Surprised, David coughed. He had not expected this from his father.

  Sara’s eyes widened as if astounded. She took a step backward.

  Thomas’ face filled with discontent. “What are you saying, Father? You didn’t agree a fortnight ago.”

  “That was afore this young lady procured one and a half tons of Suffolk cheese at a fraction of the cost compared to our last victualing.” He stabbed Thomas’ chest with his finger. “Which you were in charge of.” Gervase Kirke smiled fondly at Sara. “And here I thought my wife was the only woman who could have done this.”

  He turned to David, his smile never wavering. “I expect you to help this maid in all things. When she must send a letter, you will find a carrier. When she wants to visit our lawyer, you will take her.”

  Father regarded Thomas with an uplifted brow. “And you will speak gently to all who refit our fleet; man, woman or cur.” He clapped his hands. “We’ve much to do if we want to depart in March. Let us get to it.” He sauntered from the chamber and headed for the stairs.

  Thomas turned to Sara and hissed. “I shall never consider you better than Maman in this business.”

  David could not believe his brother displayed such brutish behaviour. “Oiy, what are you about insulting me betrothed? You will treat her with honour.”

  Thomas stared down his nose at Sara. “You are an interloper and a bold woman to think you can do better than our family, who have been at this business far longer than you.”

  Sara stood frozen. A dread chill filled Father’s gilded chamber.

  David had learned by now this boded ill and he suddenly wanted to protect his brother. He almost thrust his arm to block the flow of anger that would surely explode from Sara like a fired grenado, but he needn’t have bothered. Her shoulders softened and she smiled at Thomas. David heaved a breath of relief.

  She cocked her pretty head. Her lips quirked in a small smile. “I understand your reservations, Brother Thomas,” she softly said. “May I call you that?” She did not wait for his answer. “But I would never go against your father’s wishes, a man who will soon be my father, a man who looks ill and may be near his grave.”

  Thomas sucked in air. His eyes blazed.

  “You understand that, don’t you?” she gently intoned, her voice pitched angelic as if she hummed a Godly tune.

  David sighed. All were at peace, now.

  Thomas turned to leave the chamber.

  “Do wait a moment,” Sara sang.

  Thomas halted mid-stride. “Aye?”

  She strode to him, her smile bright, but David believed her stance was sinister.

  “What?” Thomas snarled.

  “Listen well.” She regarded him for a long moment. “You will give me all your correspondence and your ledgers. I shall take over your duties, whilst you work with David to repair the ships.” She smiled kindly yet her eyes remained frosty.

  At first David suppressed a grin that Sara could so easily crush his ill-tempered brother; then he frowned. Thomas stared at Sara as if he’d been given a blow to the gut. His eyes narrowed. His glower held cold death.

  Afraid Thomas might strike Sara, David grabbed his doublet and hauled him from the chamber, slamming him against the doorjamb. “God damn your soul, I shall shoot you with me Wheelock if you touch her in any way.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mid-March 1629

  Protected by two burly fellows adorned with cutlasses, Wheelock pistols and a cudgel, Sara felt squeezed. They smelled of sweat and tobacco as the world stank of rotten fish and gritty coal smoke. Rubbing her nose with the back of her gloved hand, she stepped away from them and studied her ledger.

  Cold rain splattered cobblestones as she and her sister stood under an eave at Billingsgate Quay. They directed the loading of the Abigail, the largest in the Merchant Adventurers’ fleet. They ticked off items as barrels of beer, smaller barrels of powder and shot were hoisted aboard. The ship’s quartermaster stood near the main mast and directed the goods below decks.

  They had already equipped the William and the George, Lewis and Thomas’ ships, which were now docked on the Southwark side of the river, their new sails furled, their pretty brass bells clanging in the heavy current. Captain Brewerton’s, the Gervase, and three pinnaces waited at
Gravesend.

  It had been difficult to load the first ship, the Gervase. The dockworkers and carters considered Sara and Frances bold to do a man’s work. At first, the workers ignored Sara’s directions, scoffed at Frances’ demands. Then David appeared, and Lewis. Sometimes, Sara’s father or Father Kirk stood stalwart beside them. They protected Sara and her sister from derision or lewd remarks and after loading several ships, the dockworkers’ distemper settled to grudging approval.

  In only a few days, David’s fleet would set sail for Newfoundland, Québec and Nova Scotia. Sara knew he would charge into danger against the French but she did not fear for him. Somehow, she knew he would return to her.

  Wooden cranes hauled crates of butter, cheese, barrels of salted beef and mutton aboard, the ropes creaking under their heavy loads. A bleating sheep, secured with stout hemp, swung high as men on the quay tied rope around a cow and a goat, making ready for their turn to be hauled aboard. Others carried caged chickens and a goose up the gangplank. Sara ticked two more items off the ledger whilst Frances added long rows of sums to hers.

  The Merchant Adventurers’ warehouse was now a cavernous chamber and Sara feared David’s ship would leave England not fully loaded. “Are you sure we’ve enough to fill her?” she asked Frances whose ledger ran in rows of Roman numerals.

  “Aye.” She dashed some numbers along another line. “The warehouse is large. It only seems empty.” She regarded Sara with a smile. “You’ve done very well provisioning the fleet. Do not think otherwise.” Something caught her eye. “Oiy, you there, where’s the other barrel of wine? I shall not have any thievery committed under our very noses.” Waving her ledger, she advanced sharply on a fellow carrying a cask upon his shoulder.

  “What does you want, young lass?” he snarled at her. “Shouldn’t you be home with thy mamma, eating mashed gruel?”

  Frances’ back stiffened and Sara knew the man would regret his impertinence. “I beg your pardon? Do you have an incontinent liver that needs correction? I shall call the Watch and have you carried away for rude and disorderly behaviour.” She leaned forward and hissed. “It will surely happen. Now, answer me truthfully. Where’s the other cask of wine?”