The Roots of Betrayal c-2

by James Forrester

  Clarenceux remained calm. “So you will stop me in my quest to find this document.”

  “Don’t I have to? Especially as that Calais pirate bastard bane of my existence has escaped-and I will lay a pile of gold on the fact he has not drowned-he has Carew blood in him. And so, if I were to lose you too, I would have nothing to show for sinking the Davy. You ask too much.”

  “A pile of gold, you say?” Clarenceux paused, tapping his fingers on the table, thinking. “You will wager a pile of gold?”

  Sir Peter cleared his throat. “It is a metaphorical pile.”

  “Would you be prepared to bet a real pile?”

  “On his not drowning?”

  “No. On the Davy having got away.”

  Sir Peter laughed, a deep fruity sound. “I have little doubt that the Davy sank. I saw her go down with my own eyes. So did hundreds of others. So did you. Why, if you wish to bet that she is still floating, then I will take your money now.”

  Clarenceux took a deep breath. “I know that she sank-but Mr. Walsingham doesn’t. He need not know that this engagement ever took place. Or that Raw Carew escaped. Remember, whatever you say, Walsingham will suspect you of complicity in his escape. But the important thing from your point of view is that I am not betting with my money; I am betting with yours.”

  Sir Peter frowned. “Mine? What do you mean?”

  “You could sail your fleet out further into the Channel for a few days. Only those aboard your ships know that you found the Davy and sank her. Only those aboard this ship know that Raw Carew escaped. If you set me and the remainder of his men ashore quietly in Southampton, no one is going to know that it was your doing-except your own men. And they will not inform Walsingham…”

  Sir Peter held up a hand. “Why do you say you are betting with my money? That is what I want to know.”

  “Have you ever heard of the barony of Idrone, in the west of County Carlow, in Ireland?”

  “Perhaps. What of it?”

  “It is rightly your inheritance. So too are various estates in Meath and County Cork, bringing a total annual income of more than four thousand pounds. It belonged to your ancestors and, after the death of your brother without a legitimate child, is rightfully yours-and could be yours again. All it takes is for you to prove your claim in a court of law.”

  Sir Peter looked Clarenceux in the eye. “Go on.”

  “Your family lost those estates in the reign of Richard the Second. They were taken by force, by the Kavanaghs. Now the English government supports their descendants in enjoyment of that possession, illegally. I know where the documents are that can prove your claim.”

  Sir Peter shifted uneasily on his stool. He stood up and walked to the window at the rear of the cabin. “And in return for the information about how I might prove my claim to this land and title, you want me to release you all and pretend the Davy is somewhere out at sea, still afloat, and still commanded by that…by my illegitimate nephew.”

  “Yes. Obviously you will need to find a lawyer. But it will be a straightforward case. You need to see two men, one who has the documents that prove your family’s entitlement to that land, and another who can prove your unbroken line of descent from the grantee.”

  “You are merely offering me what is mine by right.”

  “No. I am offering you the means to remedy a great wrong-to you and your family.”

  “Damn you, Clarenceux! I suspected that you would be trouble the moment I received that writ. I should hang you now, you and all your fellow scoundrels, but you first-for consorting with pirates, for attempted bribery, for evading arrest, for sinking one of her majesty’s ships, and for being just too clever for anyone’s good.”

  “Then you will be much the poorer.”

  Sir Peter walked to the other side of the cabin. “I cannot agree with your offer. I cannot. It goes against everything I stand for.”

  “When I said four thousand a year, I was not exaggerating. It is at least that much. It could be much more.”

  “Damn you,” said Sir Peter, walking across the cabin again. “No, I sank the Davy. That is a fact and I will not deny it. People will have seen the ship go down from the shore. And there are prisoners-they will hang. I have done my duty, and my men have paid with their lives. I will send you to Sir William.”

  “Is that your final decision?”

  “God’s wounds, yes!” Sir Peter glared at him. “I care for my name-and that is worth more than four thousand a year!”

  Clarenceux responded with silence. He let Sir Peter think about what he had just said. Then he rose to his feet, looked at the other man, walked across to the door, and undid the bolt.

  “Your freedom. Yours alone,” said Sir Peter behind him.

  Clarenceux stopped. “And the others?”

  “They will hang. I will not lie about the Davy. I will have to admit that the pirate captain who claims my family name escaped. But I will show Sir William and Walsingham that I did my duty. I will take the prisoners to London and hang them at London Dock. I need them to show that I did not come away empty-handed.”

  “The women too,” said Clarenceux, turning and looking at Sir Peter. “Your men have foully abused them. They have acted in a most ungodly manner, worse than the pirates.”

  Sir Peter raised his hands and let them fall, despondently. The proud portrait-like figure was now round shouldered. He rapped his knuckles on the table and looked up. “What is this? I receive orders to capture a man aboard a boat, and to sink it if necessary. I sink the boat, capture the man and the pirate captain, and rid the world of most of his crew. And what happens? The captain escapes, I am asked to deny the ship ever sank, the captured man walks free, and my men are accused of acting in a vile manner. How in God’s name am I supposed to accept this? And who are you to preach at me in this way? Are you telling me you did not take up arms? Do you expect me to believe you did not fight and kill my men?”

  The words hit home. The memory of the skiff supplanted all other thoughts in Clarenceux’s mind.

  Thou shalt not kill.

  He was guilty. Sir Peter was right, and nothing could remove that stain from his soul. No absolution would be enough. He tried to think of other things. He thought of Luke being shot in the head and how he himself had killed Nick Laver. He thought of Charity’s burnt torso. He thought of Skinner lying in the hold, and Stars Johnson, Francis Bidder, John Dunbar, and the others. All of them were waiting in the darkness, expecting Raw Carew to rescue them, not knowing that they were going to be taken to London and hanged. Clarenceux had seen the bodies of pirates on the dockside gallows himself. They left them there to rot-until their decomposing necks gave way. Or they fastened them just below the high-water mark, so that the water washed over them and made them stink more. Showing them putrefying was a way of showing others the stench of their sins.

  “The women too,” Clarenceux repeated. “They deserve better. They only followed their men.”

  “I am not as soft as you. I have made my inquiries. I hear that the Spanish whore who jumped in the sea would as soon cut your throat as kiss you. And the other woman, Alice-she is not a follower of men as women should be. Made of iron, she is. But you may have your whores. Now, you need to fulfill your side of the bargain. And I want it all in writing.”

  Clarenceux nodded. “First, you take the three of us to Southampton. When we are ashore, I will give you letters of introduction to the men you need to see, with details of what you need to prove your case.”

  “What if these men refuse to help me?”

  “They will help you, Sir Peter. I know that for certain. One of the men in question is an antiquary and a friend from Devon. He knows you; I have no doubt he will assist.”

  “And the other?”

  “The other man is me.”

  62

  It was late evening when Clarenceux, Juanita, and Alice walked along the quay at Southampton. Four men had rowed them and Sir Peter Carew into the harbor from where his ship had
moored in Southampton Water, and all of them had gone to the harbormaster’s house for Clarenceux to draw up the letter of introduction and instructions for John Hooker, antiquary and Recorder of Exeter. In addition, he supplied the indenture by which he asserted that Sir Peter Carew was a direct descendant of Sir William Carew and his wife Avice, daughter and sole heiress of the lord of Idrone, who had inherited the estate in the time of King John, as well as a signed letter in which Clarenceux declared his wholehearted faith in the veracity of the descent and listed the various pedigrees he had consulted to confirm the same.

  When all was done and agreed, Sir Peter shook Clarenceux’s hand and promised to come to London for the pedigrees when the time arose; and to disembowel the herald personally if it emerged that he had lied in so delicate a matter or revealed any part of these dealings to another person. With this threat ringing in his ears, Clarenceux watched the four oarsmen take Sir Peter back toward his ship.

  No one spoke as the three of them walked toward the Two Swans. Juanita and Alice did not need to be told that a deal had been agreed between Clarenceux and Sir Peter Carew. As far as they could see, Clarenceux had not saved them so much as betrayed the others. It went without saying that he had no obligation toward any of the pirates, but equally it went without saying that a man who had fought alongside them should not have abandoned them to the justice of the gallows. Clarenceux, having agreed not to tell a soul about the deal made with Sir Peter, could say nothing on the matter.

  He followed the women into the front hall of the Two Swans. There were about twenty men inside, sitting at tables drinking and talking. His first impression was that it was a respectable wine tavern, even though he knew that it was much more than that. Alice told him to wait by the door while she made inquiries. Juanita left him with a brief word of farewell shortly after. Clarenceux sat on a bench and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of all the conversations, inhaling the welcome and familiar odors of a good tavern: the herbs scattered in the rushes, the smell of dogs, the stale scent of spilled wine, and the savory lingering aroma of roasted pork. For a moment he almost relaxed, letting go of a tension that had twisted his mind and bound him physically since that terrible moment on the morning of Rogation Sunday, when he had found that the marriage agreement had been stolen. Almost-but not quite. He was in a strange place surrounded by people he did not know and without any money. The authorities had issued instructions for his arrest or death-and he had not yet found the document or Rebecca Machyn.

  Alice returned, her large figure coming toward him in a slow gait as if there was no reason in the world to hurry. She nudged him along the bench, so she could sit down beside him. “Amy is not here. Pieter, the landlord, says he will provide us with a meal. Where’s Juanita?”

  “I do not know. She just said good-bye and walked off.”

  “Ungrateful cow. Probably hightailed her way to sleep with the nearest merchant heading back to Castile.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “We’re the lucky ones. Think of the men still in the hold of that ship.”

  “There was nothing I could do. I tried.”

  “It is not right for us to be sitting here and them being taken off to their deaths. I never really liked Skinner, and Stars was a bit delicate, but Francis was a good man. The best of them are dead.”

  She fell quiet. Then she said under her breath, “Raw is upstairs.”

  “Here? He made it back?” Clarenceux was astonished. “He made it back here faster than we did.”

  “I don’t suppose he was keen to stay too long in the water.”

  A young woman with a scar on her face walked between the tables toward them. “Alice,” she said.

  Alice looked up. “Ursula,” she breathed, struggling to her feet. She embraced the woman and held her a long time. Clarenceux reflected that he had seen almost no sign of emotion from Alice since he had met her, and only now was it seeping through, like a flood just beginning to break through the cracks in a dam.

  “So many,” said the bond woman, tears on her cheek.

  Alice said nothing. She simply held on to Ursula. Eventually they broke away. Alice turned to Clarenceux who had remained seated. “Come on,” she said. “Let us go and see the Robin Hood of the High Seas.”

  Clarenceux followed Ursula and Alice up to the attic chamber. There was a large bed and very little else. A baby boy, aged about twelve months old and dressed only in a shirt, was sitting in the corner of the room, playing with some wooden blocks. Raw Carew was lying on the bed, sweating, with his legs naked, attended by a red-haired young woman with a pair of tongs. There was blood all over his right thigh.

  “It’s not coming,” she said, concentrating on the gash and dabbing at the fresh blood.

  Carew shook his head. “It hurts-I can’t believe it.” He started laughing. “It’s funny, it hurts so much.” He turned to Alice and held out a hand toward her. “I’m glad to see you,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly.

  Clarenceux looked at the mess of Carew’s leg. The musket ball had not broken the thigh bone-Skinner had been wrong on that point.

  “How did you escape?” Carew asked, looking at Alice, still holding her hand.

  “He hasn’t actually said so, but I think Mr. Clarenceux here did me and Juanita a good turn,” she replied.

  “Just you and Juanita?” Carew looked at Clarenceux. “Not the others?”

  “There was nothing I could do,” Clarenceux said quietly. “Your uncle intends to take them to London.”

  “And hang them there, on the pirates’ dock at Wapping, no doubt.” Carew suddenly winced and then cried out, panting through gritted teeth. He started whooping and then laughing again. “They call me the bastard but he deserves the title far more.” He gasped at the pain from the operation. “You should have saved them too.”

  “Hold on; this is going to hurt,” said the woman, gritting her teeth as she sponged the blood away and delved deeper with the tongs.

  “It damn well hurts already!” shouted Carew, laughing more with his eyes closed, pulling himself up by his stomach muscles. He bent his forefinger and bit it to try to control the pain. “Damn Peter Carew! Damn the lot of them.” Another howl of laughter escaped his finger biting.

  Amy pulled the tongs out of the wound, clutching the musket ball. It was large-three quarters of an inch in diameter. “There’s your friend.”

  “Friend?” exclaimed Carew, lying back, breathless. “I think not.”

  Clarenceux felt he was not wanted. He was disappointed to see Carew in this position, making jokes even though he had so recently lost so many men. Saying that he, Clarenceux, should have rescued the other prisoners. He turned and went downstairs, found the landlord, and asked for some food. Provided with a bowl of ham and pea broth and a large hunk of dark bread, he took himself off to an empty bench and sat there eating in silence.

  After a while his indignation began to subside and he began to take more of an interest in the tavern. This was where Rebecca had been seen; perhaps she was still in the vicinity? He looked among the men in their shirts, jerkins, and doublets; they all looked like mariners or ship owners. She could have sailed on from here to anywhere in the world. Perhaps that was why Denisot had sent her here, so she could be taken on to France.

  Just then, Alice appeared. “He wants to talk to you,” she said.

  “What sort of mood is he in?”

  She gave a little laugh. “He’ll claim he walked here on water, if he thinks that will impress you. But we love him nonetheless.”

  “He shows so little…regret.”

  Alice shrugged. “He cannot afford to be regretful. Not when he’s seen so much and lost so much. You have to regard people as liable to leave you-whether through betrayal or through death. He is not as thoughtless as you think.”

  Clarenceux stood. “I’ll go up and see him.”

  “Where did you disappear to?” Carew asked as Clarenceux entered. Amy had finished bandaging his thigh a
nd was leaving the room with a bucket of bloody water.

  “I went to have some food. And to think about those still aboard that boat.”

  Amy stepped past Clarenceux and closed the door behind her. The two men were alone.

  “Who is still aboard?”

  “Stars Johnson. Francis Bidder. Skinner. A few others.”

  Carew closed his eyes. “Harry? Luke? Swift?”

  “Dead. Kahlu too.”

  “Kahlu will show up yet. There’s no one who can get the better of him.”

  Clarenceux shook his head solemnly. “I saw him cut down, with my own eyes. I saw him killed.”

  “So have many men, Mr. Clarenceux.”

  Clarenceux walked across the room to the window. He looked out, bending his head to avoid the angle of the roof. The quay was as busy as ever.

  Carew shifted on the bed. “Come, are you not glad to be alive? We cheated them. We cheated death. Does that not give you a thrill?”

  Clarenceux turned. “A thrill? We did not cheat anyone, least of all Death. Death picked off whom he wanted, laughing all the way. We offered to send Death men by the whole boatload-and Death gladly accepted. You are a godless man and I despise that in you. Whatever has taken the place of God in your heart is cold and evil. Every single one of those corpses now rotting in the sea has more good in it, even now, than you!”

  Carew raised himself onto one elbow. “Every man who fought for us knew he was risking death. The women too. None were pressed men aboard my ship. Not one.”

  Clarenceux looked Carew in the eye. “There you lie.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  Carew raised a finger, pointing at Clarenceux. “We had an agreement. I would bring you here to Southampton and help you find that damned woman and you would tell me where Denisot is. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. You have not.”