right cause. Sometimes it is hard to know.
“But I do not sit back and sneer in cowardice at those with the courage to
fight. The blood of good men makes the earth rich, as it is here. When I die
sword in hand, I hope someone lives to sing of it. I live my life so that when
death comes I may die well. I ask no more.”
“We will go,” I said.
The coins I put away. We climbed from the hole and brushed away the dirt of our
digging. Then, remembering what Jublain had said, I kicked with my heels at the
edge and caved the earth into the hole. Then I threw in some broken branches and
a few stones that lay about.
“Let us go to our horses,” I said. “We can ride a little way before dark.”
Together we walked back through the darkening forest, not talking, each alive
with his own thinking. And so we came to the small clearing where our horses
were, and they awaited us there. Eight men with swords. In my present mood, it
was not too many.
I threw my shovel into their faces and went in with my sword. Staggered or
leaping to escape the flying shovel, they were momentarily taken aback, and my
swinging laid open the cheek of one man, scarred the brow of the man next to
him. Both were bloody in an instant, and I was parrying a blow from another.
Jublain had been no less swift. Accustomed to attack and counterattack, he had
gone in low and fast. One who had leaped back from the shovel had thrown his
hands high, and Jublain’s point parted his laces down the middle of his stomach.
The blade went in—I seemed to see it go. Then he was cutting left with it.
Suddenly the attack was over and they were gone. Corvino had scooped a handful
of earth and flung it into their eyes, and brought down two with the flat of his
shovel.
“They’ve gone?” I looked about me. Two men were down, one moaning softly, one
completely unconscious. The others were staggering as they fled.
“Hired men like them are cowards!” Jublain said contemptuously. “They are not
fighting men. They’d steal a purse from an old woman, or three or four might
attack someone. They are only vicious, and have neither courage nor the heart
for a fight.”
Nonetheless, we had taken some bruises. A point had cut my sleeve, scratching my
arm, and Corvino had a bad bruise where a cudgel had struck him on the shoulder.
We mounted, the richer by two swords and a dagger, dropped and left behind. The
wounded we left where they were, to get back as best they might.
“We must leave the Tabard,” I said, as we rode back. “If they do not know we are
there, they will find us.”
“Where then?” Jublain asked.
“There is a place,” Corvino said, “kept by a sailor’s wife. It is clean,
well-kept. I have stayed there.”
“And there’s the ship,” I said, “we can go aboard her.”
Yet we had left some few things at the Tabard, and went back for them. Coveney
Hasling was in the common room when we entered.
“Ah? You have returned,” he greeted me. “I have some things.” I said.
Taking our ale with us, we climbed to our room on the floor above. There I
opened the packet and showed him, explaining the find.
“Excellent!” He pinched his nose with two fingers as he studied them one by one.
“Truly excellent. This packet, as is, will bring a pretty price. As for the
coins—”
“Do take them then,” I said, “and do the best you can. Pay the money, when you
get it, to my account with Captain Tempany, and I’ll be obliged.”
Pushing the packet to Hasling, I said, “Jublain, you and Corvino take our goods
to the Tempany ship. It is the Tiger … a three-master of two hundred tons, no
forecastle. Take our goods aboard and await me there. I must go to Saint Paul’s
Walk.”
“Do you be careful, then,” Jublain said. “It is a place where anything might
happen.”
“Genester will not yet have the news of what happened, I think. Those who fail
are not swift to report their failure. I shall go, then come on board with the
remainder of our goods.”
“Our goods?” Jublain stared at me. “Yours, rather.”
“Ours,” I said, “one-half for me, one-quarter each for you. If either of you
decides to leave, you leave your goods as well.”
Corvino smiled. “It is more than I ever had, this lot,” he said. “And I shall
stay with you, Master Sackett.”
“I, also,” Jublain said. “One way or the other I am like to get a cracked skull.
It is better in company that I like.”
Saint Paul’s Walk was crowded as ever, yet I found my way to Peter Tallis’s
stall. He smiled up at me, and thrust a packet of manuscript to me. “There it
is,” he said, “ready and waiting.”
I ran through the lot, scanning a page here and there. It was, indeed, what I
wanted. I paid the sum.
Tallis smiled at me as he took it. “If you’ve further need for such things,” he
said, “I can put a hand upon them. I like your business. It is different.”
“We will talk, then.” I sat down on a bench. “You may be able to help me more.”
He indicated the sheaf of manuscript. “Most of what I do is dull stuff. This I
enjoyed. I read it. Now I know more of England than else I should ever have
known.”
“It is said,” I began, “there are charts to be had of the New World. Charts even
the Admirals know nothing of.”
“Charts?” His eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Yes, yes, of course. It is a quiet
pleasure of mine, this matter of charts. Richard Hakluyt has come to me from
time to time, but he wants the accounts more than the charts, and also—”
“Also?”
“He has too many friends who are men of power. I sometimes come upon things it
would be difficult to explain. But to you …?”
“To me? I would say nothing of the source. Talk to me of charts.”
He stood up to gather his gear together. “I will close the booth. There is a
tavern close by. I think we will talk better there.”
Peter Tallis was no common man but a scholar in his way, a shrewd man with not
too many scruples but more than enough interest in my trade. Over ale in the
shadows of a small place nearby we talked. Finally, it was agreed. For a fitting
sum, he removed from his bundle and gave me a dozen charts.
We talked of many things, and the hour grew late. Finally, my roll of charts
beneath my arm, I returned to the Tabard. All was quiet. Only one man loafed
about, a dark, sullen-looking fellow with a wet look to his eyes I did not like.
He lurked near a cart, and I asked him if it was his, and for hire. To both
questions he agreed.
With his help I loaded the rest of my goods into the cart, including in one of
the bags the charts I had obtained.
“I want to go to the Tiger. Do you know the ship?”
“Tempany’s vessel? I know it.”
It took us several trips. A soft rain was falling by the time we last were
loaded. Hunched in my heavy cloak, I walked behind the cart, whose wheels
rumbled over the cobbles.
I saw the spars of the Tiger looming ahead. Beside it the La Rochelle pinnace
that was Nick Bardle’s ship, the Jolly Jack.
Tired as I was, and sleepy, I thought only of the warm bunk awaiting me aboard
the Tiger. I glanced at Bardle’s ship, all dark and still, yawned, then heard a
rush of feet behind me.
Turning swiftly, my hand went to my sword hilt, but my heavy cloak got in the
way, and the carter suddenly jostled me off-balance. They closed in on me from
all sides. I struggled, but my arms were pinned to my side, a cloak thrown over
my head and jerked tight around me, my cries muffled. A blow on the head caused
me to fall. I started to rise, saw the futility of it. For if I tried again,
they might kill me there. If I lay quiet, they might think me worse off than I
was.
A voice said, “Well done!” I heard a clink of coins from hand to hand.
“Remember, Bardle, I never want to see or hear of him again!”
“No need to fret. There’s a sight of deep water betwixt here and America!”
Chapter 7
Rough hands took me up and I was carried aboard and dropped through a hatch to