“Duels?”
“Aye, this man of whom we speak has several swordsmen who are in his pay or who owe him service. One of these is a Captain Charles Tankard. He has killed five men in duels in England, another one or two in France and Italy. He is a skilled swordsman.”
“Better than Leckenbie?”
“Who knows? They have not fought, nor met each other, I think, although they serve the same master.”
He changed the subject suddenly. “You spoke once of wishing to make a small venture in trade. Are you still of such a mind?”
“I am.”
“There is a vessel being prepared for a trading voyage to the north coast of America. They are not looking for gold but for something more simple. They seek to trade for furs and will bring back a few ship’s timbers, also. The master is a solid man, the vessel a good one.”
“I have only a few pounds.”
“It is a start.”
“Very well. Whom do I see?”
He wrote a name on a slip of paper. “This woman.”
“Woman?”
“Aye, lad, and a shrewd one she is. Her husband was a ship’s captain who set himself up in trade, and when he passed on, becoming ill after a surfeit of pickled herring and Rhenish wine, she took up the trade herself. Go to her. She has a number of small ventures and will take yours. I have spoken to her.”
“Her name?”
“Delahay. Emma Delahay.”
It was not until after I left that I realized I had not learned the name of the white-haired man.
Emma Delahay lived in Southwark and had a place of business there. She was a handsome woman of perhaps forty years, with large dark eyes and a lovely skin.
At a desk near her sat a man whom she presented as Mr. Digby, who was her keeper of accounts, runner, and general helper. He was a small man with a dry, wrinkled skin and bright, birdlike eyes.
She gave me a receipt for my money, and when I commented that two pounds was very little, she shrugged. “I know some who are now rich who began with less.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “You are young. Would you consider going upon a venture yourself?”
“Not at present, but I have given thought to it.”
“Give more,” she said. She was studying me as we talked. “You did the piece on Leckenbie, did you not?”
“And some others.”
“It was good. We have had no trouble of him yet, but it will come.”
“Delahay,” I said. “It is an uncommon name.”
Her features bore no expression, but her eyes were cool. “So is Chantry.” She frowned suddenly. “I have heard the name but once…it was something told me by my husband.” She continued to frown, trying to remember. “Ah, yes! I do recall! It was something about a man lost at sea, some inquiries about him. But,” she gestured, “that was long ago.”
When I returned to the inn, I learned that Jacob Binns had gone. In the months that followed I saw no more of him, nor of Rafe Leckenbie, although his name was spoken abroad now and again. All went quietly with me. I wrote several small pieces and attempted a play, which came to nothing.
Discreetly, I made inquiries of Fergus MacAskill, but could learn nothing. If he had been lost in the Hebrides I did not know, or killed in battle.
My first small venture at sea was a success and my money was tripled. Adding two pounds more I then divided my investment between two ventures to lessen the risk.
I was quite sure Emma Delahay was Irish, but she spoke not of that, nor did I, for to be Irish in England at the time was to be suspect. No good could come of it being bruited about.
Certainly, I was making my way, yet what I had put by was so little that life was ever from hand to mouth. My clothes were neat but not rich. I ate with some regularity and had a bit over for the theater from time to time. My second attempt at a play was also a failure. Nonetheless, I sold a ballad on the hanging of a highwayman, and another about a pirate.
In all this time I had altered much from the boy who left Ireland behind, for I had grown several inches and was close on to six feet high, tall for my time. My hair was dark, almost to black, and my eyes of a gray kind. But my skin was darker than many, for I was of the Black Irish on one side of the family.
I maintained my skill by fencing two or three times each week with any man I could find who wished to cross a blade. Often on the greens I would have at Tosti Padget with the quarterstaff, for I found him uncommonly good. And also with another man, a burly fellow who was an apprenticed bricklayer named Jonson. Many a good bout we had, and all to keep my skills sharpened, for I had no doubt the time would come when I would have need of them.
Knowing that someday I must test my strength against Rafe Leckenbie, I worked constantly to increase my skill and agility. Once after leaving the warehouse of Emma Delahay I was set upon by thieves and used them quite roughly, breaking the jaw of one with my fist and ripping up the second with a dagger.
Whether Leckenbie was warned by the white-haired man to have no dealings with me, I knew not, but I saw no more of him.
By lingering along the river front I soon became familiar with various mariners, men of the sea and those who dealt with them. And with some of the members of the Muscovie Company.
Of these I made inquiry to discover what manner of goods would fare best in trade with foreign lands, for it was here I hoped to make my fortune, if such I was to have. All talk was of piratical raids, the taking of treasure galleons and such-like, but it seemed to me too chancy to warrant the effort and the risk.
Trade with America, I learned, was best. Listening to the talk of the savages that lurked in the forests of America, I deemed it wise to acquire a stock of edged tools, needles, copper bells, and brightly colored cloth.
At that time I also chanced a small venture of my own, exclusive of Emma Delahay. It was a ship to the Baltic lands and I spent a little on gloves of knit and leather, linens, and spectacles of the common kind.
From these loiterings along the river and talk with mariners I obtained material for a short piece entitled A True Relation of a Voyage Along the Shores of Muscovie, And What Took Place There. It was only a few years since the return of Anthony Jenkinson from Muscovie and there was much interest in those lands. A paper paid me a few shillings, and the trade after a few months returned fourfold. I had done well. Carefully, I put by such small sums garnered here and there.
I could never be sure of what would transpire in London. Being Irish, I might be at any time found out and forced to flee. Jacob Binns had vanished as mysteriously as he had come, and I was not surprised. I suspected he was a Freemason, although I knew naught of them, only that theirs was a secret society.
Unusual sightings, miracles, and prodigies of all kinds were exciting to me and I listened avidly for news of them. There had been extraordinary appearances in October of 1580 and again in the spring of 1583. Strange apparitions were seen in the air and evil things appeared in storms. I thought much on these happenings, believing little yet willing to speculate.
Several times I turned these happenings into items that could be published, and from each made a few shillings. From a seafaring man in the White Hart I obtained a story which I soon published. A True Relation of the Frightful Experience of Shipwreck by Hans Goderik, And the Results Thereof. Then from a Spanish prisoner I obtained a hint of a story which I pursued for some time, resulting in two pamphlets, one after the other, entitled A Recital of Events Following Cruel Murder of Inca King and Vast Treasures Then Buried.
Only a day after this last publication I was leaving the house of Emma Delahay in company with Mr. Digby when a young girl ran past us, pursued by two rough-looking men. They caught her only a few yards on and commenced to beat her, but before they could strike more than a pair of blows, I was upon them. Seizing the first by the shoulder, I jerked him away and flung him against the side of the house. The other then dropped his hold of the girl and turned on me. He had a sword in his hand in an instant, and he h
ad at me. In no mood to trifle, I parried his blade and ran him through the sword arm.
He dropped his blade, cursing me with vile words while the first man straightened up. “Ah, what a fool you are to interfere with us! We have those above us who brook no such trifling.”
“Are you Leckenbie’s men?”
They were suddenly wary. “And if we are?” said the second.
“Tell him he would be better attacking men than girls. As for you…if you bother her again, I’ll slit your gullets.”
“Hah! It is your throat that will be slit. I know you now, and I will speak to those who will have a care for you.”
“Get on with you!” I replied shortly.
They walked away, the one trying to bind up his arm, which was bleeding badly.
Mr. Digby shook his head. “Lad, you’ve but one choice. Be off from London within the hour. The girl was a bawd, one of those forced to pay monies to Leckenbie and his like. They will permit no interference.”
“If they wish to find me, they know where I am,” I replied quietly. “But what I meant to ask Emma Delahay I can ask you. What news of the Good Catherine?”
“She was sighted not long since, and should be coming up the Thames within the day.”
Arriving back at the tavern, I ordered a slice or two of beef, a bit of cheese and bread with a glass of wine, and waited for Tosti Padget. He had scarcely come when another man entered. A tall man, lean and strong. He looked sharply around, then crossed to me.
“You are Chantry?” His tone was a challenge.
“I am.”
“I have read your paltry tales of shipwreck and treasure. They are trash, and they are lies, and you yourself are a liar!”
Suddenly my initial surprise was gone. Strangely, I was cool. “And your name?”
“Tankard,” he replied, “Captain Charles Tankard.”
“Of course,” I said, “I have been expecting you. What took you so long? Or were you afraid?”
“I? Afraid?” He was both astonished and angry. “I am Charles Tankard!”
“Indeed? If I were you I should be ashamed to speak the name. I know of you as a paid murderer, as a creature in the employ of Rafe Leckenbie…and perhaps of others.
“They tell me also,” I stood up, “that you are a swordsman. Now I have no doubt that you came here to kill me, sent by the masters for whom you run your foul errands. Is not that true?”
He was angry—coldly, furiously angry. I wanted him so. He was reputed to be dangerous, and no doubt he was. His rage would do him no good, and might make him rash.
He started to reply, but I was before him. “Please!” I interrupted. “If we must fight, let us do so! Your breath is as foul as your manners, and the sooner we have done the better!”
I gestured. “There is an inn yard close by. It will be convenient. Be hasty now, for your masters will be awaiting the report from the dog they sent to do their bidding!”
Oh, it reached him! He rushed at the door. “Come then,” he said. “This is one fight I shall enjoy!”
“Briefly, perhaps,” I replied.
Tosti whispered, aghast, “That man is Charles Tankard! He’s killed a dozen men!”
“Then perhaps thirteen will be unlucky for him,” I said.
This was what I had trained for. This was the moment I had known would come. And now, would my hours of fence be enough? Or would I die by the blade that had bled so many others?
Now was the moment.
The light in the inn yard was ill. There was night upon us, with only the stars above and some light from windows close about. But enough, enough.
The footing would be bad. There were paving blocks about, roughly squared before being set, yet an easy means of tripping a man. I must be careful.
Charles Tankard walked past me and turned, sword in hand. He was a handsome man in a dissolute way, a hardy rogue no doubt, and experienced at this sort of thing.
No matter. I had chosen the moment.
CHAPTER 22
THE AIR WAS cool. The inn yard smelled of fresh hay and manure. There was a cart at one side loaded with several casks. A few of the people in the common room trooped out, drinks in hand, to stand as spectators.
Tankard slashed the air, whipping his blade this way and that, perhaps to overawe me. He was an inch or two taller than I, hence longer in the arm. There was no measuring of blades; we fought with what we had. At least three of those who came from the common room to watch were henchmen of Leckenbie’s, a thought I knew I must keep in mind so as not to present my back to them.
Yet Tosti, too, was there, and suddenly possessed of a stout staff. “I will stand at your back,” he suggested, “but have a care!”
Surprisingly, I was not nervous. Several times I had fought in actual combat, but never in such a duel as this was to be. Yet it was for skill at such moments that I had trained. Tankard knew naught of me, or little enough. My one strategy should be to lead him to believe me less than I was, hence to make him grow careless.
We crossed blades and he looked at me, sneering slightly. “What a pity! To die so young!”
“Young? I did not consider you so young, Tankard, but it is certainly a pity. Still, better the sword than the gibbet!”
He moved in, feinting a thrust. I made as if to parry, deliberately clumsy, then retreated a step as if puzzled by him. He moved in with confidence, and in an instant I knew I was facing a strong fencer with exceptional skill. His point circled and he stepped in with a quick thrust low down and for the groin. That I parried—and almost too late. He came on swiftly and I was hard put to keep his point away.
He drew back after one swift exchange, his point high. “I shall kill you,” he said coolly. “It is almost too easy!”
There was little sound from those who watched. They stood about in a loose circle, stepping back occasionally to remove themselves from our way.
Then Tankard lunged suddenly. But his boot slipped on a bit of mud or some such and for a moment he was exposed. My point could easily have had his throat but I stepped back swiftly, permitting him to recover.
“You are gallant,” he said, surprised.
“I am a gentleman, Captain. I will kill you, but I do not indulge in murder.”
“Hah! You make me almost regret what I must do!”
“If you wish to withdraw, Captain, the choice is yours!”
He laughed. “And leave London? I’ll not do it. I respect you, Chantry, but I also respect the dead!”
He came at me swiftly again, thinking to end it so, but I parried his best attacks. I was learning the true man now, studying him as Fergus MacAskill had taught me to do. His style of fence was English, with some touches picked up on the Continent, but I felt he had grown careless from easy victories. He was sure of himself, a little arrogant.
He intended to kill me, and quickly. He moved in skillfully and attempted a classic cut at the chest, sometimes called a banderole, a flowing, slicing movement. It was a pretty move, spectacular to see. But it held a risk, for it exposed the forearm.
In a duel with anyone taught by Kory or MacAskill, it was a wrong move. My reply was instantaneous, needing no thought—a reply rehearsed so often as to be automatic. My point pierced his arm, slicing through the tendons and driving into his chest.
He staggered back and I quickly withdrew to an on-guard position. Blood streamed from his arm and there was a darkening stain on his chest. My point had not penetrated deeply, but enough for a serious wound.
He caught himself by grasping the cart wheel with his left hand. He clung there, his sword down—although still gripped tightly. Blood ran down his arm and over the blade.
I lowered my point, a part of my attention on his followers. Tosti stood hard by, and ready.
“Damn it!” Tankard said. “I was a fool to try that with you!”
“A lovely move, Captain, but a foolish one. Shall we call it quits?”
“I meant to kill you.”
“Of course.” I wiped my blade. “Another time, perhaps?”
Turning, I started toward the inn door. A movement took my eye. It was John, the servant of the white-haired man. His eyes met mine and he smiled a little, not a friendly smile, but an acknowledging one. “I was well warned,” he said quietly. “You are very good.”
“Have you a message for me?” I asked, wondering at his presence.
He did not smile this time. “I came to carry the report of your death,” he said.
“I will stand you a drink,” I said, “for you’ll have a dry welcome on your return.”
“I’m obliged,” he said, “but another time.”
He turned away, then paused. “You fought well,” he said, “but be warned. This was thought to end it. Now it will be murder. You must flee, or die.”
He walked away and I went inside with Padget. It had been hot work, and the ale tasted good to a thirsty man, yet I liked none of it. My skill had been proven to me, but I had not wished it so.
My thoughts went to the Good Catherine. Had she come in? How had my venture fared?
I thought back to my victory. My blade had gone through the forearm, the force of the lunge driving it back against Tankard’s body. The point had gone in, but not far. He should recover.
Alone in my room I wiped my blade yet again and dropped into a chair. In a severe test of skill, I had won, yet I liked it not. My room seemed suddenly to be an empty place—only a place to sleep and keep those few small belongings I had.
What had I accomplished since coming to London? I had lived. I had earned a few pounds, I had acquired a little knowledge. But aside from Tosti, I had no friends. Emma Delahay and Mr. Digby were merely business associates, and neither cared for me nor had any personal interest in me. I was alone as I had ever been since my father died.
My life was empty. The warmth of a home, the love of a girl, these I had not—nor any chance of them, it seemed. Fergus had been a strong, easygoing friend, but where was he? I could go back, but to what? There was nothing for me in Ireland, nor was there here in London.
Fair Blows the Wind (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 18
