Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
As soon as the storm had subsided the captain turned his ship towards land and they made for La Rochelle to rest and make repairs before continuing the voyage. The galleon picked its way along the coast of the Bay of Biscay and passed the border between France and Spain on a cheerless Christmas Day. It had been Thomas’s intention to land at San Sebastian, but the port was being besieged by the French and the captain had continued to Bilbao instead, over the protests of the priests who had demanded to be set ashore at San Sebastian.
As Thomas had sat brooding on the quay the soldier finally returned with the port master who launched into a tirade when Richard attempted to explain the purpose of their journey. Behind them the sergeant crept out of the door of the inn and rejoined his men before he was missed. Thomas listened to the angry exchange for a while before he stirred and rose stiffly to his feet. His body was no longer as keen a hound to its master and did not respond willingly. His muscles trembled from the cold and wet and felt heavy as he walked across to interrupt the two men locked in argument.
‘What is the problem with our friend?’
Richard glanced round. ‘He says that all Spanish ports are closed to travellers from England, on the orders of King Philip, in reprisal for the Queen’s continued persecution of Catholics.’
‘Really? Then tell him that I am a Catholic.’
Richard translated and the port master replied shortly and tilted his nose up.
‘He says that you are still an Englishman.’
‘That is true, and it is no cause for apology. Tell him it is he who should be apologising for detaining us here.’
Richard hesitated. ‘We are supposed to pass through Spain as discreetly as possible, sir.’
‘Discretion is one thing, humiliation is quite another. I am an English knight, marching to serve the Order of St John, and defend all Christendom against the Turk. If this man impedes me then he will not only answer to his King, but also to his God.’ He reached into his cloak and took out the leather tube in which he kept the letter from Sir Oliver. He extracted the letter and held it up for the port master to see. ‘This is the seal of the Order, and this letter is my call to arms. Tell him.’
Richard nodded and addressed the Spanish official. The latter’s expression turned to one of alarm as he leaned forward to inspect the seal. He waved the document away and began speaking hurriedly. Then he bowed to Thomas, nodded to Richard and turned away to issue his orders to the sergeant in command of the patrol before striding back into the town.
Thomas carefully replaced the letter and stopped up the tube before he spoke. ‘Well?’
‘He says that we are welcome to stay in the officers’ quarters of the customs house. The sergeant will escort us there. The port master says he will arrange for us to have a warrant to travel across Spain to Barcelona. That is where a fleet, under the command of Don Garcia de Toledo, is being readied to send against the Turks. He will also provide us with two horses for the journey.’
Thomas pursed his lips appreciatively. ‘It is amazing what the threat of a little divine vengeance will do to the motivation of a minor official.’
The corners of the squire’s mouth flickered briefly into a smile. ‘I confess that I embellished the tale a little.’
‘Oh?’
‘I said that the letter was co-signed by the Viceroy of Catalonia.’
Now it was Thomas’s turn to smile. ‘Ah, so it was earthly rather than divine authority that swayed his will.’
‘As is always the case with petty officials.’
The sergeant beckoned to them and gave a curt order to two of his men to pick up the baggage. Finally they left the rainswept quay and made their way up a narrow street into the port.
The customs house was a square building with offices downstairs where merchants were obliged to bring their cargo manifestos and pay the duty owing on them. Few ships ventured on the seas during the winter months and the sole clerk had closed his ledger and was cleaning his quills with an old rag when the two Englishmen arrived. They were led Upstairs to a modest room with four simple beds, a few chairs and a small fireplace with logs and kindling in a basket to one side. The clerk brought them up a lamp and some bread, cheese and a jug of wine before bidding them a good night. They heard the door downstairs close and then the rattle of a lock.
‘That’s that, then.’ Thomas let out a sigh as he looked round the room. ‘I’ll take the bed nearest the fire.’
‘As you wish.’
Now that they were alone Thomas noticed that his companion had dropped the deference due from a squire to his knight.
‘And you can get the fire lit before we eat. We need to get warm and dry our clothes.’
Richard frowned at him but before he could speak, Thomas raised a warning finger. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘Then why don’t you tell me?’
‘You were sent on a mission on behalf of Sir Robert Cecil, not to be my squire, and you’re starting to resent it.’
‘I wonder why I might do that? After all, I am an educated man. I have studied at Cambridge, I speak a number of languages, I have performed valuable services for the Secretary of State. All of which is perfect preparation for being the dogsbody of a knight long past his prime.’ He paused and gritted his teeth before saying apologetically, ‘Pardon me, I am cold and exhausted. I spoke out of turn.’ Thomas laughed and shook his head in wonder. ‘That is the most you have said to me since we left England. Truly.’
Richard shrugged, and undid the clasp of his cloak and let the sodden garment drop to the floor.
‘Well, it’s good to know a little of your background,’ Thomas continued in an amused tone. ‘And that you consider that my best years are long behind me.’
‘I apologise.’
‘No need. You are right, I am no longer the warrior of my youth. But I assure you, when I was your age my body was as well shaped as yours. Better perhaps. Even now, who knows?’
The young man had removed his leather jerkin and struggled out of his woollen shirt before he stared at Thomas with an amused expression. ‘You would try your strength against me?’
‘You think I would be afraid to?’
‘No. Not from what I know of you, Sir Thomas. But I think you would be unwise to.’
Thomas cocked an eyebrow but kept his silence as he also removed his wet garments until he was standing in his boots and breeches and his powerful torso was revealed. The knotted white flesh of old scars was clearly visible by the pale glow of the lamp and he saw Richard staring at him curiously, before he looked away in embarrassment.
‘I’ll light the fire,’ said Thomas. ‘There’s another lamp over there. Take it, and go and see if you can find some more blankets. I want to be warm tonight at least, before we continue on our way.’ Richard nodded. Using a length of straw from a tear in one of the mattresses as a taper, he lit the lamp’s wick and left the room. Alone, Thomas eased himself down on to the floor beside the fireplace. His damp skin felt colder still in the chill air and he shivered as he built up the kindling over a small bed of straw and then applied a small flame. It caught readily and Thomas leaned forward, blowing gently to encourage it. Soon there was a soft hiss and crackle as the small flames licked up around the kindling. By the time Richard returned, the room was lit by the rosy glow of the fire and shadows danced on the plaster walls of the room.
‘Here.’ Richard had some folded blankets balanced against his chest and he held one out. ‘Found them in a cupboard. Spare bolsters too if you need one.’
‘I’ll be comfortable enough without.’ Thomas nodded his thanks and took the blanket, quickly shaking it out and then draping it around his shoulders before he added some of the smaller split logs to the growing blaze.
