“Did you say you are going to Southampton?” asked Widow Baker, returning across the room. “You should catch the carter, Roger. He’s my son-in-law. He’ll take you.”
“There’s your carriage,” said Rebecca. “Who are these women at the Two Swans?”
“Prostitutes.”
“Really? That is not like you.”
Clarenceux went a little red. “They are sisters called Amy and Ursula and a woman called Alice. All were friends of Raw Carew’s. I promised I would pass on his farewell message to them. Alice he had known for years. Amy was his sweetheart. Although so was Ursula, I gather. His personal life seems to have been a little confused. They both held him in a special regard.”
“Lucky man.”
Clarenceux thought about this. He was at first inclined to agree; but then he thought of the long days and nights at sea, the poor food, the fear, the alienation, and the not being accepted anywhere. Then he thought of the man limping off into the sea, still bleeding from his guts. “No. Everything he had, he had to fight for. And the women weren’t his, as such, like wives. In fact, he had to share them with any man who paid-and many men did. Including John Prouze, the man who took you to Calshot.”
“Ah-that Amy. Now I remember. The men at the fort mentioned her. They suggested I be taken to the Two Swans ‘for safekeeping, like Amy.’ Is she pretty?”
“Yes. But probably not for long. Her sister Ursula has a large scar across her face. Sooner or later it will happen to Amy too.”
“Sooner or later it happens to all of us. It doesn’t always show though.”
Clarenceux looked at her. “You are not the only one who feels it, you know. I carry scars too-some because of you, some because of what you have suffered, and some because of what my wife has suffered on account of me.”
“Scars that can be concealed are easily overlooked.”
Clarenceux stayed only an hour and a half longer at Widow Baker’s house. While he was still in the bath, Rebecca shaved off his beard to make him less noticeable in the streets. Afterward he waited in a towel while both women worked on drying his clothes with hot stones. While he dressed, Widow Baker heated some pottage that she had cooked the previous evening, adding a small portion of mutton that she had put by for her Sunday dinner, and shared it with them. Then she led Clarenceux and Rebecca through the back paths to the carter’s house, avoiding the lanes as far as possible. The carter agreed to take Clarenceux into town and lent him a hat and cloak for the journey. In the yard, standing beside the cart, Clarenceux gave his thanks to the old lady and then turned to Rebecca.
“I don’t know how to say good-bye to you,” he said.
“You don’t have to. Maybe when people part for the last time it is better that they do not say anything.”
“Especially if they love each other.”
“Yes, especially,” she said. A tear ran down the side of her face.
“My dear, you shouldn’t be letting him go, if he feels so tenderly about you,” the Widow Baker said kindly. “It’s a marked rare thing in a man. And he doesn’t look so bad when he’s cleaned up.”
“Thank you for your kind words, Margaret,” said Clarenceux, wiping away his own tears. “Look after her. I find it very hard to leave her. She once told me it was best for both of us if we never met again. And now I know it, in my mind.” He stepped forward, put his arms around Rebecca, and kissed her on the lips. “Not good-bye but thank you,” he said as their lips parted.
“Be brave, be careful,” she replied in a whisper.
He climbed onto the cart and turned, waving once. He could not smile; it hurt too much. Instead he faced forward, along the lane. He did not look back again. He wanted to preserve the thought that he could turn around and look at her just once more for as long as he could, even after the cart had passed out of sight of the village.
74
Clarenceux was in a melancholy state when he arrived in Southampton. He walked through the alleys to the Two Swans trying not to think of Rebecca. He tried to think of Carew instead, and of what he was going to say to Sir William Cecil, but his thoughts inevitably swung back to her. There was a pain in his chest at the thought that he would never see her again.
When he walked into the Two Swans there was the familiar smell of old wine and woodsmoke in the air. Four men were discussing their business at one table, two merchants were sitting at another. Clarenceux recognized no one except Marie Gervys, serving a plate of cold beef and bread to the merchants. At first she didn’t recognize him but looked at his clothes, realizing they had belonged to her husband.
“It’s William Harley, the Clarenceux herald.”
“Ah.” Marie gestured to his face. “The beard.”
“Yes, I cut it off. Tell me, is either Amy or Ursula here? I have news for them.”
Marie beckoned Clarenceux closer. “Amy has gone with a man who owns a skiff she borrowed. Really she is looking for Carew, though. Ursula has paying company.”
For a moment the incongruity of Ursula’s position hit Clarenceux. No doubt she had to be all smiles and soft and loving, despite the fear of what might have happened at Calshot. “Where is Alice?”
“In the hall at the back. Go through the door over there,” she said, pointing.
Clarenceux thanked her and went over to the door.
Alice was kneeling beside a large tub of hot water, singing a tune as she washed sheets. Steam rose into the air. She hauled out a length of material and started rubbing it on the scrubbing board. Clarenceux could smell the potash of the soap. He watched her for a few moments, her upper arms wobbling as she scrubbed, her ample breasts bouncing with the movement of her body. There was a child near her, Amy’s son, dressed in a linen smock, playing in the dirt of the floor with a stick.
Clarenceux coughed. Alice turned around.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Clarenceux,” she said amiably. Then she stopped and let the sheet slip into the water. “Where is he?”
Clarenceux walked closer and crouched down beside her. “I have to say, it does not look good. He asked me to say good-bye to you, and to Ursula and Amy.”
“What happened?” She remained kneeling, her hands now on the edge of the tub.
“He came to my rescue at Calshot. He freed me from the room where I was held and then helped me escape. But he was badly wounded. He is probably still out at sea, or at best lying wounded on a beach somewhere.”
Clarenceux stood up and walked across the hall to where there were two small benches side by side. The child laughed, playing with his stick, smiling up at Alice. Clarenceux picked both benches up and carried them back to the tub. He placed one down for Alice and sat on the other himself. He began to tell her everything, from the moment that Carew had set him down on the beach away from the jetty. He told her about his meeting with Parkinson and about being imprisoned. He talked about listening to Carew as, one by one, he picked off the soldiers, and about their desperate bid for freedom.
“So,” said Alice grimly. “The Robin Hood of the High Seas is floating out there on the waves somewhere. Possibly forever more.”
The child threw his stick out of reach and started crawling toward it.
“I presume that’s Amy’s son? Is he better now?”
“He’s Amy’s. Raw’s too-or so Amy says. That’s why he’s called Ralph.”
“Raw’s? But…he never said anything about a son.”
Alice shrugged. “If Raw had acknowledged all the children he’d fathered, he’d soon forget which ones he’d acknowledged and which weren’t his. As he saw it, he’d never really know if this boy was his or not, unless he grew up to look like him. He loved all children dearly-he went out of his way to help a girl we found aboard the Davy-but he would never take responsibility for one of his own. He thought looking after children was a woman’s job. He thought quite a lot of things were women’s work. It’s what comes of him being brought up in a whorehouse.”
Clarenceux felt guilty, having left Carew out
at sea, not having gone to search for him-having practically abandoned him.
Alice sighed. “I feel very sad. When all is said and done, he was my oldest friend and the man who did more to help me than any other man I ever met in my life. He gave me shelter, he gave me purpose and friends, he gave me money, and he protected me. I know he killed people, stole, blackmailed, murdered, seduced-I know all that. But he loved, cherished, protected, helped, and gave hope too. When we sailed with him, we knew who we were and that we were in the hands of a good commander. I am going to miss him terribly.”
“I am sorry,” said Clarenceux. “But he did think of the three of you when he knew he was facing death. And who knows? He may still be alive, on a beach somewhere, recovering his strength. Maybe in a few days he will walk through the door of this inn.”
Alice dried her hands on a towel at her side and stood up, steadying her large frame on the edge of the tub. “You don’t believe that, Mr. Clarenceux, and you saw him last. Your coming here has been a brave thing. If I thought for one moment you had betrayed him, I would have torn you to pieces with my bare hands. But you would not have come here to tell me of his loss unless you felt that you had to. I know it is your conscience that moves you.”
Clarenceux leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands together. “In that case, if you trust me, I need your help. Raw made me promise something else too. To help the other prisoners-Skinner, Francis, Stars, and the other men that Sir Peter Carew is taking to London. Sir Peter sailed three days ago; maybe they are already there. Maybe Sir Peter is sailing up the Thames with one man hanging dead from each of the yards of his ship-I don’t know. But yesterday, as we sailed to Calshot, Carew said the wind would be holding him up. If I can borrow a horse strong and swift enough, I could get to see Sir William Cecil and ask him to pardon the men.”
“Why would Sir William Cecil agree to pardon our friends-even though they be your friends and you a gentleman? He thinks they are pirates.”
“Because I will go to him and tell him that I know what he has done. I will tell him what he is guilty of. I will show him that his immortal soul is in danger.”
Alice looked down at him. Putting two fingers under his chin she lifted his face, making him rise to his feet. “You are going to have to do better than that. Sir William Cecil is a man of power. You understand power, don’t you? It is a sort of religion. It demands total obedience. It requires men to make the ultimate sacrifice. It makes a man think differently about his soul-and gives him the authority to kill. I doubt Sir William Cecil will take kindly to your request.”
“But we have to do something!” Clarenceux exclaimed.
“Indeed, we do. I will find you a horse, and you will set off as soon as you can. But damn it, Clarenceux, when you go to see Cecil, make sure you have something stronger on him than telling him to his face what he has done. He already knows that-and if he feels guilty about it, the easiest way to stop you reminding him is to add one more name to the list of those to be hanged.”
“You will find me a horse?”
“You are talking to Alice Prudhomme,” she said, pinching his jowl between her thumb and forefinger. “And I can make anything happen. If I wanted you to do something, believe me, sooner or later you would do it.”
Clarenceux tried to smile.
She looked at him and suddenly laughed. “You don’t like subtlety, do you, Mr. Clarenceux? You’re afraid of it. Think it smacks too much of deceit. Take some advice from a woman, if you can. When you go to see Cecil, be subtle. Not deceitful-subtle.”
Clarenceux nodded. “If Carew comes back here, I want to know. If he does, will you send me word?”
“You know that he does not write any more than I do. It was his mother’s greatest wish that he should learn, and also of the women who looked after him after she died, but, you know…”
“You knew him back then, didn’t you?”
“What-in Calais? Of course. I’ve known him all my life. I worked in the same whorehouse. Too fat to do the fucking, they said; I got to do the laundry.”
“Why was he so keen to destroy Denisot? I mean, he told me it was because Denisot betrayed Calais, but there was more to his hatred than that. He also said it was because of religion-but Carew did not really care about anyone’s religion.”
Alice heard Ralph splashing his stick in her tub of soapy water. A moment later she saw him trying to tip himself forward into the tub. She went and picked him up, kissed him, and set him down further away from the water. She then came back to Clarenceux.
“He hated religion, hated it because of what happened in Calais. Denisot was a fervent believer in the old religion, a Catholic among Catholics. No doubt that was why Mary appointed him to survey the walls and defenses of the town. He did so, in great detail. But while he was making his survey, something happened. It was in the whorehouse-not that I saw it. I was washing sheets at the time. Denisot had an argument with a Huguenot gentleman customer who denied the primacy of the pope and a number of other things that provoked Denisot. There was a fight. The women, who knew and liked the Protestant gentleman, threw Denisot out in a state of partial undress. He left angrily, accusing them of favoring Protestants. A few days later he had handed a copy of his survey of the town to the duke of Guise, by which the duke learned all the weak points of the town. The town fell easily as a result. What should have been a measure to preserve Calais ended up with the town falling to the French. The young men had to leave-and so did most of the women. Raw and I lost all our friends, our protectors, and our home. Raw also lost all the women who had looked after him after his mother had died and who had tried to help him with his lessons. Denisot led the French troops to the whorehouse and told them to set it alight. The house was old and made of wood. The walls were covered with painted cloths and every bench and bed had cushions on it. The place went up so fast it almost exploded. Only two women escaped. Raw returned to see it on fire. In his dreams, he said, he still heard their screams; they were like the waves of a sea on which his life floated. And when he felt like crying he did not shed tears but the blood of his enemies.”
“I remember him saying that about tears.” Clarenceux turned to the boy, once more splashing his stick in the water. “I see now. I could not have turned the other cheek either, even though Christ would have wanted me to.”
“We are all human, Mr. Clarenceux. Whatever the Bible says about forgiveness.”
Clarenceux put his arm around her shoulder: “Find me a horse, Alice Prudhomme-the fastest one you can.”
75
Wednesday, May 24
Francis Walsingham watched as Sir William Cecil sat down at the table in his study and signed a paper, which he thrust into the hand of the nearest clerk. “See to it that he receives it today. Is there anything else pressing, may I ask?” Neither of the clerks accompanying him said a word. Cecil clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. “Good. If you will all now leave me in peace, I would like to attend to some business of my own.”
He watched them leave, then picked up the sealed letter that had been delivered to him twenty minutes earlier. “There it is,” he said, tossing it across the table. Walsingham walked over, picked it up, and inspected it. One side was marked: Sir William Cecil, her majesty’s Secretary. On the other side it bore Clarenceux’s seal, in red wax.
“He is back in London then,” said Walsingham.
“That’s not the point. Read it.”
Walsingham picked up the paper, unfolded it, and began to read.
Right worshipful friend and kinsman, I respectfully recommend myself to you and to the majesty to whom you and I both owe allegiance. I will not deceive you; I have been much vexed and threatened lately by the manner in which I have been treated by certain men who deem themselves loyal servants of the Crown. First, a document was stolen from my house which, apart from its intrinsic historical value, cast the legitimacy of her majesty the queen in a new light. Second, unless that document has now been presente
d to her majesty, I can only suppose that the perpetrator is harboring it for treasonable-as opposed to historical-purposes. Third, despite being a herald and a member of her majesty’s household, I was detained without trial contrary to the terms of Magna Carta by two royal servants, namely yourself and Mr. Walsingham. Fourth, letters were issued in your name to Sir Peter Carew to destroy a royal ship on which I was known to be sailing, the Davy, in order to inhibit my investigation of the theft of the said historical document. Fifth, every crew member of that vessel who was not killed was incarcerated by Sir Peter Carew-even though each had undertaken to help me in my quest for the document. Sixth, you know well that the widow of Henry Machyn of London, merchant tailor, was detained recently, contrary to the terms of Magna Carta without trial at Calshot Fort in the county of Southampton, which lies under the command of a royal officer, Captain Parkinson, who received his orders to detain the woman directly from you. As Widow Machyn had undertaken to steal the document in question, there will be a public infamy that her detention is a consequence of your desire to obtain the document for your own ends and, unless it has been presented to her majesty, this calls into question the integrity of your loyalty to the Crown.
In the hope that I can yet ascertain the further truths connected with this matter, and identify the true protagonists, and thereby clear your name of the terrible slander that will pertain to it should these six facts become more widely known and notorious, I desire that you come to my house at precisely four of the clock this twenty-fourth day of May. Come alone, and you will be met kindly, in friendship and reconciliation.
Your obedient and willing servant,
Clarenceux
“Arrest him,” said Walsingham, replacing the paper on the table. “Hang him. Wash your hands of him. You know where to find him.”
Cecil rose to his feet. “Yes, well, Francis, you will forgive me if I do not follow your advice. I will go alone.”
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