upon advisors, and they had their own loyalties.
Rupert Genester had such friends as I would never have, and others who were
loyal to him because of his birth and background. He was an aristocrat, a man
apart.
“All right,” I said at last, “the Low Countries, but we shall make one stop
first.”
At that moment, Corvino entered. With him was Peter Tallis.
“It is good to see you,” said Tallis. “And the charts? Were they of value?”
“Very much so. What I wish to know is where the Earl has been taken. Someone has
said that it was to the seashore.”
“Then my information may be correct,” Tallis said. He paused. “Do you know a
deep valley to the South of London?”
“No,” I said. “I think not …”
“I know the area well,” said Ring. “When I was a younger man I often visited
there.”
“There’s an old manor, a fortified place. It’s a couple of hundred years
old—belonged to a rich, doughty old warrior, but a part of it is in ruins now. I
hear Genester has taken the Earl there.”
“That could be,” Ring said thoughtfully, “I know the old place … fourteenth
century or earlier. Rupert Genester had relatives who once lived along the coast
there, and I know the George Inn.”
“I, too,” said Jublain. “I have been there.”
“My story is they have taken him there,” Tallis said, “along with two servants
in Genester’s hire, and several guards to ‘protect’ the Earl.”
“Is it near the coast?” I asked.
“A few miles, but there is a river that can be navigated … at least that far.
Below the Forelands. In fact, that may have been why the old place was built, to
stop invasion along the river in olden times,” Tallis said.
“We’ll do it then. Jublain, you know the gig and the manor. Down the river
within the hour, around the Forelands and up the river. Corvino will go with
you.”
“He was my friend, too,” Hasling said. “I must be one of you.”
“No,” I said. “Does the Earl have a trustworthy friend here? One who has no use
for Genester?”
“He does. I can take him to a most powerful man who will guard him well.”
“Then see this man, make the arrangements, and we will come, if God wills.”
“And you?” Hasling asked.
“I shall ride across country, with Ring to show the way.” I glanced over at
Tallis. “I will need horses. Can it be arranged?”
“It can. I shall be with you.”
“No. Do you stay and dispose of my goods. We shall need money and a ship to the
New World, for when this is over I fear there will be no place in England for me
for some time to come.
“However,” I added, “there will be consignments of furs. Brian Tempany and I
have talked of you, Peter. Are you with us?”
“We met, we talked, we agreed. I am with you indeed.”
A few more details and all was ready. I went to my room and buckled on sword and
pistols, gathering the well-filled saddlebags.
Mag came to the door. “There’s some’at to eat there,” she said. “You’ll be
needing it.”
“If they find this place, Mag,” I said, “you know nothing of me or any of us. We
came here and stopped the night and then were gone. I kept to myself and acted
worried. You were glad when I was gone.”
“If I were a man, I’d ride with you.”
I smiled at her. “Mag, if you were a man, we’d all regret it. Do you be the
woman you are, and wait for that sailorman who’ll be coming back soon.”
I put a gold coin in her hand. “If any of the others come back and need help,
give it to them.”
Only a short distance for Ring and myself to where the horses waited, then into
the saddle, and a sound of hoofs on cobbles, and then we were off, guided down
dark lanes by Jeremy Ring.
Two men with swords, daggers, and pistols, two men riding on a fool’s mission,
to the aid of a man neither one of us knew. He had stood in battle beside my
father, my father had spent blood with him upon more than one field, but I had
not seen him. And Jeremy Ring?
He rode because he was Jeremy Ring, a gallant follower of lost or flimsy causes,
a poet with a sword, a man for whom life was a thing to be nobly used, not
allowed to rust or wither and decay. He had missed his chances elsewhere, this
one he would not miss.
At a pause atop a hill, our horses had time to breathe and catch their wind.
“Jeremy,” I said, “if we come through this, there’s the New World yonder. Will
you be sailing with me?”
“Aye … Wherever you go.”
We rode on then, following a dim track into the night, and I thought of Abigail,
waiting, and of our first meeting on the dark night after my flight from the
theater.
I thought of her and our few talks aboard ship, of things longed for and sought,
of things dreamed of and wanted.
Through a dark wood with a smell of damp earth and damper leaves, to the drum of
hoofs upon the turf, and the low murmur of wind in the branches above.
Would the old man, the Earl, be dead? Did Genester actually intend to simply let
him die? Or to hasten his death?
Chapter 20
Jeremy Ring was a better horseman than I, for I had walked more than I had
ridden. Moreover, he knew the roads.
Before we had gone a dozen miles I was totally lost, Jeremy did so much weaving
about. We had no wish to be followed, so he made sudden diversions down lanes
between cottages or around barns and even through pastures, and several times we
paused to listen.
“You know the way well,” I said, with a tinge of suspicion.
He chuckled. “I should, my friend, for I’ve worked the King’s highways upon more
than one occasion. I would say that to you and no other, but the truth is in me
tonight.”
The night was damp and cool. After resting the horses a bit we rode on, taking
more time now that we were well away from London.
We came to a slope and, crossing a small valley, we started up a winding ridge
toward a village above. “There’s a man here and a tavern,” Ring said, “a
friendly man if you have a coin or two, who will switch horses and forget it.”
Seven Oaks, a sign said. There were trees, but I could see no oaks.
We had slices of cold ham and the end of a loaf and slept the night out. In the
morning, on a pair of matching bays, we rode along the ridge to the eastward,
skirting the knoll, then circling about, as Jeremy was of no mind to let them
know our direction.
The sun was out and the day was warm, our destination still some distance.
We saw no one, nor wished to.
We stopped at last near an abandoned woodcutter’s hut, deep in the woods. There
was a well nearby, and the ruins of some much older building. We tied our horses
and waited for the dark. Through the thinnest of the foliage we could see the
squarecut outlines of the manor, not more than a half mile off.
At dusk we mounted and walked our horses through the woods, keeping off the
paths until we reached the bank of the river. The willows were thick along the
banks. Dismounting, we led our horses down and let them drink.
Suddenly, we heard the faintest of sounds. Someone was coming along the bank
just outside the clumps of willows, a bit higher up. It was someone who moved
cautiously.
He appeared then, not far off, yet easily seen in the dim light. He paused, and
I spoke.
“Ah?” It was Jublain. “I was sure you would be here.” He came toward us through
the trees. “The boat is tied to the bank not a cable-length from here. Should we
be closer?”
“Yes. Corvino is on the boat?”
“Corvino and Sakim. Without Sakim we would not have made it so soon. He is a
fine sailor, that one.”
“Aye. Then leave him with the boat and do you and Corvino come with me.”
“There is a landing below the house. Should we come there?”
“Aye, and soon. What is to be done must be done quickly, smoothly.” For a moment
I listened into the silence. “I will meet you at the landing. Come quickly.”
He turned swiftly away and, with Jeremy following, I led my horse back through
the woods. Soon the manor loomed above us, and we could see the gleam of water
on our right and the gray of a path that led down to the landing. Good enough.