Dying Trade

by David Donachie

Guistiani smiled, immediately picking up the drift of the remark.

  ‘It adds to the price, yes. But the count wasn’t exaggerating. It is the most excellent vessel. There’s not a sailor in Genoa who would not confirm that.’

  ‘How long has it been for sale?’ asked Harry as they made their way down the stone staircase.

  ‘He has pondered on it for at least a month. The count informed me that he’d finally decided to sell it this very morning. Not that he was pleased at the prospect.’

  ‘I felt that,’ said Harry, who understood how a man could come to love a ship.

  Guistiani shook his head sadly. ‘What choice does he have? He is a very sick man. I believe he delayed in the hope of a recovery.’

  ‘What ails him?’ asked James.

  The banker, walking across the vaulted hallway, glanced at his busy clerks before replying. ‘Who knows, for we are sadly ignorant where the human body is concerned.’

  He turned to Harry, so much broader than James. ‘Two years ago, he was a match for you, Signor. Then he was struck down. It is a wonder he didn’t die. Only the strength of his constitution saved him. But he lost his sight, and over the last two years he has shrunk to the frail specimen you see today. If it wasn’t for the devotion of his wife, he would not still be with us. She alone keeps him alive.’

  They stopped in the courtyard. Pender still sat, guarding the rest of their possessions. Doria and the coach, along with Tilly’s escort, had disappeared.

  ‘It is unusual for a banker to say this, but I would beg you to be gentle with him. Do not try to drive too harsh a bargain, for you will cause him great distress.’

  ‘A tragedy,’ said James, shaking his head. ‘Especially with such a young and beautiful wife.’

  ‘And how she has stood by him. She is a prize, Signori. Half of Genoa is waiting for him to die to claim it.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GUISTIANI provided them with two servants and a litter for their sea-chests, plus a pair of armed retainers as escort, overriding Harry’s protests by pointing out that they were still carrying substantial sums of money. James showed more appreciation of the dangers.

  ‘If Monsieur Tilly feels he needs a file of marines every time he steps ashore, Harry, we would do well to emulate him. I think a refusal would be stupid.’

  Harry had to concede the point. They were soon enmeshed in the old city again, leaving behind the open vistas where the rich had built their palaces. The crowds seemed to increase in contrary proportion to the available space as they made their way down through the teeming city to the harbour. One of their escorts obviously spoke some English, for he grunted unhappily as James made a less than flattering reference to Admiral Doria.

  ‘An extremely careful man,’ said Harry.

  James stopped suddenly, his attention seemingly taken by a gaudy fresco on the wall of a church. But his words demonstrated that his attention hadn’t wandered. ‘Not only careful, Harry, rapacious too!’

  Harry suppressed his impatience, and didn’t speak until they had begun to continue their journey. ‘I admire him for one thing, James. His caution. He saw us, and fed us, alone, without even the presence of a servant. Mind, that could mean his position is more tenuous than he would like us to think.’

  ‘Do I detect a desire to test that theory?’

  ‘No.’

  James stopped again, his head back looking at a carved portico. It showed a knight, plainly St George by the cross on his buckler, rescuing a maiden from a dragon. Given the narrow thoroughfare, it was difficult to distinguish all the detail. In Genoa, hemmed in by mountains and with land at a premium, people build upwards not outwards, making dark and dangerous caverns of the streets. James spotted the odd building, fresco, or heraldic carving that engaged his interest, and, despite the crowds, he would insist on stopping for a closer look. That this annoyed their porters and guards and engendered signs of increasing impatience in his brother bothered him not one jot. These frequent halts were interspersed with their continuing speculations about the character of Doria. ‘It still feels like robbery. Do you think he will investigate our attackers?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘He might.’

  James frowned. ‘I don’t trust him.’

  Harry took his arm to hurry him along. ‘I hope that I didn’t imply that I do.’

  As they walked downhill to the port, the powerful smells of the city seemed to come together in one all-pervasive odour. The stench was now such that they had difficulty in breathing. James, gagging slightly, whipped out his handkerchief and covered his nose. They came to a junction where the alleyway they were using traversed one of the mule tracks that led from the mountains which surrounded Genoa down to the harbour. Being barred from the interior by this range meant that normal carriage by ox carts was impossible. Even the most sturdy oxen could not manage the gradients and the magnates of Genoa, for all their private wealth, could not agree to combine in order to pay for a proper road over the mountains.

  As a result nearly everything that came in and out of the port had to be transported on the back of thousands of mules. To avoid their filth filling the whole town, they were confined to special routes. Needless to say the sheer quantity of mules made such lanes extremely noxious. The stench, on a warm day, especially in the dry season, was almost too oppressive to bear. Great clouds of flying insects buzzed around and the smell diffused through the town, filling the narrow streets and alleyways. The only relief was provided by a substantial fall of rain which washed the filth down into the port. This in turn made conditions in the harbour unbearable, since with the Mediterranean’s very small tidal rise and fall, it could be days before the sludge drifted out to sea. All ports had their odours, but Genoa was truly special.

  They passed over the mule track at a point where it had been swept, furiously brushing aside the hundreds of flies that investigated them. The sweeper, sitting on a stool, oblivious of the insects that covered his body, accepted his small coin from their guard without acknowledgement. Even through the cloud of insects Harry noticed the number of people who took advantage of their crossing to rush through the gap on the strength of their payment.

  They emerged on tothe narrow causeway which fronted the great warehouses that lined the inside of the harbour. The wharves contained a bustling mass of bodies going in all directions and they had to force their way through the throng, around mules, donkeys, carts and people. When the signal gun went off from the port all eyes turned seawards.

  ‘Keep yer hand on yer purse,’ snapped Pender, who’d been silent since they left the banking house. ‘This is a dip’s paradise.’

  The signal gun went off from the fort again, and looking up Harry saw a succession of flags rising on the staff set at the highest point of the tower. People on the quayside craned forward, though there was little to see. But their action at least provided the Ludlows and their party with a clear route to the inn.

  Few tables were occupied in Ma Thomas’s and little curiosity was shown as they entered. The exception was Joe Crosby, who had been sitting in a far corner. As soon as he spied them he rushed over to talk, his voice carrying a hurt tone, like a child afraid of abandonment, which matched the wounded look on his face. ‘Captain Ludlow, wherever have you been?’

  ‘About my own business, Crosby.’ The sharp note in Harry’s voice did nothing to dent the man’s servile demeanour. ‘I’m looking for Captain Broadbridge.’

  ‘Not here, yer honour. He’s on some private business.’ Crosby aimed a sly look at Harry. ‘And that on such a hot day, Captain Ludlow.’

  ‘I take it that you know what he’s about, Crosby?’ asked Harry, trying to contain his distaste as he slipped him a coin.

  ‘Indeed I do, Captain.’ Crosby grinned and tweaked his bent nose, his voice rising to an insincere tone of surprise.

  ‘Weeks he’s been waiting. Weeks. There’s a ship that he’s had his eye on for an age. You might’ve spied her as you came ashore. She’s moored in the outer roads.
Broadbridge is afire to have her. Dare say he’s not alone in that, mind, for she’s a beauty, and handles as well as she looks, I hear. Try as he might, he hasn’t been able to find out who owns the barky. Lo and behold, not more than half a glass ago, a messenger arrives from some local nob, just as we’re settlin’ down to a nice drink, to tell him that if he truly wants it, to come and have a look at it right off.’

  ‘This ship,’ said James, unhappily sensing the coincidence. ‘Does it have a name?’

  ‘It do,’ said Crosby, tweaking his nose again. ‘Principessa she’s called.’

  There was a long pause. In the silence Crosby looked from James to Harry, trying to decipher their thoughts. He might be the lowest form of human life, but he was a survivor, and far from stupid. A slow smile spread across his face, and grabbing his bent nose, he began to nod slowly.

  ‘Broadbridge couldn’t have known,’ said James, aware that his dilatory pace, and constant halts, had probably caused them to miss him.

  ‘I can’t see how,’ said Harry, looking angrily at the ceiling. ‘They must have sent a messenger before they ever spoke to us. As a way of doing business, it leaves something to be desired.’

  ‘That’s a trifle prudish, Harry. Two potential purchasers can only push up the price.’

  Pender came in through the door at the back, having checked on their gear, trying to make sense of the expressions on their faces.

  ‘God knows where he plans to get the money,’ said Crosby, with a knowing air.

  Harry spoke absent-mindedly. ‘He struck a deal with Bartholomew.’

  ‘He never!’ said Crosby, genuinely amazed. ‘He had money to stand a round, mind, an’ that’s not normal. Bart must be softer’n I thought. Don’t suppose you know how much?’

  They both wanted to get away from him. He seemed to exist on trading the scraps of information he gleaned from eavesdropping. Harry said nothing till they were on the quayside. ‘It seems we have been humbugged, brother. And to think that I was going to ask Broadbridge if I could borrow some of his crew to put the damn thing through its paces.’

  ‘It would have been some recompense for our loan. He may decide against it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know how,’ snapped Harry.

  ‘There must be other ships in the harbour,’ said James.

  ‘I dare say,’ said Harry glumly. Then his voice crackled with anger. ‘I’ve a good mind to have a look at the damn thing anyway.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Curiosity,’ Harry replied. ‘Besides, I’d like to know if it’s as fine a ship as we’ve been led to believe.’

  James looked at him closely, knowing it was more than that. Harry had not entirely given up hope. ‘I don’t think Broadbridge would appreciate it.’

  Harry smiled. ‘I shall, of course, have the decency to wait until he’s finished his business.’

  They passed the time as best they could, waiting for Broadbridge to return. James had Pender set up his easel on the quayside, and, under the protection of a hastily purchased straw hat, he sat down to do some sketches of the harbour and the waterfront buildings. Harry, sitting on a bollard, merely fretted at the inactivity, and tried to stay out of Crosby’s orbit, though, for the price of another drink, he had him point out where the ship was anchored. What he saw pleased him, though he would not have called the Principessa a barque. He was well aware of the Mediterranean habit of applying that name to anything that had three masts and floated.

  But this ship was different. Judging by the bare poles it had little of the fore and aft rig normally associated with the name, though it did have a boom for a lateen sail abaft the mizzen. The masts themselves seemed out of true. With a telescope to aid him, he could see more of the lines of the ship: about eighty feet long, with a poop deck above the cabin and elaborate decoration around the sternlights and side casements; she showed six gunports on her side, which gleamed with fresh black paint. The Principessa was certainly sleek enough in appearance, with a low freeboard and graceful lines. He lifted his telescope and looked at the masts, which were raked slightly towards the stern. It was a matter of opinion whether such a disposition was an advantage or not. Any increase in speed might be offset by less stability in a blow.

  Signal guns had been firing regularly from the Customs Fort, and the harbour had become a busier place because of it. Raising his glass once more Harry could make out the sails of a whole host of ships beating up towards the anchorage. Those who sailed best on a bowline were already making their way between the twin moles of the harbour mouth in ones and twos. But the rest of this fleet was strung out over miles of sea. Some of them might not be at anchor before nightfall. And being latecomers they’d probably have to anchor outside and wait for a berth. They wouldn’t want to spend the night aboard. That could occupy every boat in the port, leaving him none with which to make his way out to the Principessa.

  The sun had started to dip in the sky, and still nothing had happened when Harry’s patience finally ran out. He stood up suddenly and called to Pender to organise a boat. His servant dashed off along the quay, and Harry made his way to where his brother sat, oblivious of the sun on his back, entirely engrossed in his drawings.

  ‘We can’t wait any longer.’

  James didn’t look away from his work as he replied. ‘We?’

  ‘You, of all people, know the limits of my patience. I’m going out to have a look. You may remain here if you wish.’

  A quick look at something then a flick with his charcoal. ‘And Captain Broadbridge …?’

  ‘Will, I’m sure, be heartily glad to see us.’

  James adopted an air of mock seriousness, his voice deepening theatrically. ‘You can take nothing for granted at sea, Harry.’

  Harry smiled for the first time in an hour. ‘Do I sound as pompous when I am using those words?’

  James finally looked at him, returning the smile. ‘Certainly, brother. So pompous as to be positively sepulchral.’

  Pender approached and he nodded vigorously to Harry’s enquiring look. ‘Come on, James, we have a boat.’

  ‘Do I have time to put my things away?’

  That wiped the smile off Harry’s face. He looked angrily at the setting sun. ‘Bear a hand, Pender.’

  His servant set to and had the easel and the drawing materials together in a flash, carrying them up the side alley so that he could deposit them in Broadbridge’s room. Harry stood impatiently, occasionally raising his telescope to look at the ships now actually beating up into the harbour, then again at the sun, his foot tapping on the cobblestones as he waited for Pender to return.

  ‘What is he about, for God’s sake?’

  Just then Pender emerged. He was festooned with weapons. Three swords, three knives, and a brace of pistols. Harry, wholly out of character, positively snarled at him. ‘What’s all this, Pender? We’re only going to look at a blasted ship.’

  His servant was not a man to be cowed. Pender looked at him defiantly, and his words matched his mood. ‘We’ve been here less than a whole day, Captain, and we was no sooner ashore than we was attacked. Then we was had up by that lot acting like pirates this mornin’. And if’n this is the sort of place that you can’t walk across the town without an armed escort, then I for one don’t feel safe going anywhere without these.’

  Harry was quite taken aback at the depth of his feeling. Instead of being angry at being addressed so, he sought a gentler response, gesturing towards the armaments. ‘Armed is one thing. This is an embarrassment. We really don’t require them all.’

  Pender was not about to be deflected. ‘Well, they’re here now, so we might as well take them along. And anyhow, we’ll be returnin’ in the dark.’

  They made their way along the quayside. Pender indicated one of the slime-covered ladders on the harbour wall. Harry looked over. A jolly-boat swung empty at its mooring.

  ‘I rented the boat, Captain, but not the oars. I thought we could row ourselves. Safer, like.’


  Harry decided that there was no use in trying to calm his servant’s fears. So he abdicated with as much grace as he could muster. They climbed down the slippery ladder, James coming last, and being much helped by his brother. Once settled they set off across the harbour, with Harry and Pender pulling powerfully. Harry kept glancing over his shoulder. Yet more of the lead ships in the convoy had entered the harbour, while the others filled the outer roads close to where the Principessa lay. They were busying themselves, making the journey more hazardous, as they backed and filled to avoid each other as they anchored. James looked up at the sky. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, and night came quickly in the Mediterranean.

  ‘If you’re planning a look at the ship, Harry, the sun’s setting mighty fast.’

  ‘I only need daylight to examine the hull and the upper decks. Once we’re below, I’d need a lantern anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t fetch one,’ said Pender.

  ‘They’ll give us one aboard.’

  ‘That is, if they make us welcome,’ said James.

  Harry was frustrated by such carping. First Pender with his ridiculous armoury, and now James, still hinting that the whole thing was a mistake, or worse, a waste of time. The fact that he was pulling the oars made him sound even more impatient with his companions.

  ‘Well, they must have made Broadbridge more than welcome. He’s been there all afternoon. He was at the bottle at breakfast. If they’ve been plying him with a drink, as like as not we’ll have to lower him down on a line from the yard, and fetch him back in the bottom of the boat.’

  There was still no activity on deck, and even when he rowed quite close to, under the sweep of cabin windows that ran round the stern, there was no reaction. His inspection of the hull complete, they rowed alongside, and Harry deliberately, and noisily, bumped the boat into the hull by the ship’s ladder, normally the cause of much abuse from anyone who cared for their ship. Still nothing, and Harry gazed up at the bare poles, stark and black against the darkening sky, a frown on his face.