Текст книги "The Secret World of Christoval Alvarez"
Автор книги: Ann Swinfen
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The second village, though slightly larger than the first, was much the same, although here there was one boat larger and newer than the rest. That boat I could imagine braving the trip to France.
Once again we were met with blank or frowning faces and negative answers. Yet I felt the declaration of ignorance was less convincing here.
Winchelsea had its own customs officer and searchers, who had answered Phelippes’s summons to Rye the previous day, so we rode through the town without stopping and went on to the next village. Once again the same poverty, the same sullen looks, the same denials. There were two more villages before Hastings, but by now the fog was lifting and the waterfront was suddenly busy. Nets were being folded carefully and stowed aboard the fishing boats, empty barrels loaded, women coming down from the cottages with bundles of food. Men and boys, and sometimes the younger women too, put their shoulders to the boats to heave them down the sloping shore into the sea.
All were barefoot, their prehensile toes digging into the shingle for a better grip. They made it seem easy, yet the boats were heavy and unwieldy on shore. Once in the sea, however, they righted themselves and floated with a kind of sturdy elegance amid the flicking of the waves, which were now taking on a pewter gleam as the sun peered through the thinning fog. The men scrambled over the gunwales, the women waded ashore, watching us warily from the corners of their eyes.
With the men taking to the sea, the women seemed less nervous, but their answers were still negative and unfriendly. The officials in Rye had suggested just these five villages, reckoning that Winchelsea and Hastings were too well guarded nowadays for anyone to be smuggled ashore there. If our information was correct, that the men were to be brought to Sussex, it would be somewhere along this stretch of the coast.
We began the ride back to Rye under a thin sun.
‘One or two men might be brought ashore in any of those villages,’ I ventured, ‘but none of them would serve for landing troops. You could not bring a large ship close enough, with those shallow waters and sloping beaches.’
‘No,’ Phelippes agreed. ‘No, they plan to land their invading troops in larger ports like Rye and Dover and Rochester. We are quietly building up garrisons wherever the conspirators have written that there are suitable harbours. You have transcribed some of those letters yourself.’
‘Yes.’
We rode on in silence for a while, half of our guard now visible in front of us and half behind. As we reached Rye, I said, ‘What will you do now?’
‘Well, clearly they would not make the attempt in today’s fog. Those fishermen know the Channel. Even for a substantial bribe they would not do anything so foolhardy.’
He looked towards the sea, where the lingering traces of mist reflected the sun like the glow of an opal.
‘We must wait a few more days, keeping our eyes and ears open. If nothing has happened by the end of the week, I must return to London. They may have changed their plans. It was worth the attempt.’
I wondered why Phelippes had wanted to come himself this time. Spies and traitors were constantly being slipped into the country. What was particular about this occasion? Neither he nor Sir Francis had explained the mission to me in any detail, only giving me that rather vague reason that they wanted to train me in some way. Yet now that I thought about it, it was indeed curious that Phelippes chose to come himself, when there were a number of Walsingham’s men already in the area.
For what was left of the day I explored the narrow cobbled streets of Rye, finding it, despite its prettiness, a slightly sad place, like a great lady who was sinking into obscurity. There were some very grand houses, which told of the wealth of great merchants in the past, but many of them were a little decayed, some of their paint peeling, some of the plasterwork pitted from the sea air. There was no air of poverty, not like the desolate fishing villages, just a sense of gentle, almost imperceptible decline. I recalled what the customs official had said about the port silting up. Even someone as ignorant of the ways of the sea as I was could see how the marshes on the other side of the estuary were reaching out green fingers towards the town. And the merchant ships of today were being built ever larger. Whereas the largest merchant vessels of a hundred or two hundred years ago could sail into coastal estuaries, these big new merchantmen needed the great harbours of Plymouth and Portsmouth and London. As our navigators opened up the seaways to the spice islands and Indies in the East and to the New World in the West, bigger and bigger ships would be needed to confront the dangers of the wild oceans. They would pass by the smaller ports like Rye, and who, then, would trouble to dredge the port?
By late afternoon the morning’s fog had cleared completely and a bright summer sun shone down from a clear sky, promising a night of stars and a full moon. We dined early and afterwards sat outside on the inn’s terrace overlooking the port, sharing a flagon of fine French wine with the captain of our guard. I wondered whether this excellent wine had come ashore in one of the fishing boats we had seen today.
‘A fruitless morning,’ the captain said.
Phelippes shrugged. ‘We cannot always be successful. The weather was against us. We will try again tomorrow.’
Hesitantly, for I was not sure they would welcome my opinion, I said, ‘Surely if we go with the same questions to the same villages we will be met in the same way, with stubborn silence. Only now they will be even more prepared for us.’
They looked at me tolerantly, but did not contradict me.
‘And do you want to scare them, so that they call off the attempt to smuggle the men in? Or do you want to wait and catch them?’
‘The lad has a point,’ the captain said. ‘Which is it?’
‘Oh, I should prefer to catch them.’
It came to me then that, although Phelippes was a man of exceptional skill in laying his secret plots to entrap the enemies of the state, he was not experienced in this kind of work. And being a man whose work was solitary, he might not read people well when confronted with common humanity. Even I, with my experience at the hospital, probably understood ordinary people better than he did.
As we sat there and the sun declined, I could not rid myself of a feeling I had had in the second village we had visited that morning. On our return journey we had followed the inland road from Winchelsea to Rye, so we had not passed through those first villages again. We had not seen whether the men there had also put to sea. That one boat, larger and more sturdy than the rest – I was sure that it could make the trip to France. At about midday the fog had started to clear and the fishermen we had seen began to launch their boats.
‘How long would it take a fishing boat to cross from here to France?’ I asked now.
The captain and Phelippes looked at each other. It was clear neither of them had any knowledge of the sea.
‘Six hours?’ the captain guessed. ‘Eight hours? I suppose it would depend on the direction and speed of the wind. And the condition of the sea.’ He brought this last out with a confident air, as if suddenly on firm ground, as it were.
Phelippes nodded sagely. ‘I should think that would be about right.’
We all looked down to where the Tudor flag flew in the wind over the Customs House.
‘It is blowing down the Channel from the German Sea,’ I said. ‘That would be a favourable wind, wouldn’t it?’
I had some experience of travelling by ship as a passenger. A wind from the side – the sailors had called it the ‘beam’ – meant that a boat sailing from here to France and back could use the wind both ways.
They agreed, but started to talk of other things, particularly where any invading force could be expected to land. The most likely place seemed to be the coasts of Kent and Sussex, offering a short march to London, though the West Country was also a possibility. There were, I gathered, Catholics in the West who might welcome the invaders. Yet could that be true? Having lived through an invasion myself, I could not believe anyone would welcome it.
Dusk began to draw in, and with it mosquitoes started to bite. It was time to move indoors. Yet I could not rid myself of the picture in my head, that strong little fishing boat breasting the seas and by now reaching the French coast. Would it make landfall in some busy port, or seek out a hidden cove? Given the eagerness of the French to invade us, there would probably be no secrecy on that side of the Channel. The men would be waiting, would step quickly aboard, and the boat would immediately turn back to England. If the captain’s guess of six hours was right, she could already be well on her way home.
‘Master Phelippes,’ I said as we entered the inn parlour, ‘do you not think one of the boats might have made the attempt today, after the fog cleared? If we are right about the time it would take, it could be back some time between midnight and the early hours of tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think it is very likely, Kit. They would surely choose a better day.’
‘But there is no problem with the weather now. The sea is calm. The wind favourable. There is a full moon tonight.’
They were both smiling at my eagerness in a kind but patronising way which annoyed me.
‘There was a boat in that second village that could attempt it. And one house more prosperous than the others, as though the owner had some lucrative business.’
‘Probably smuggling,’ said the captain, hefting the empty wine flagon.
‘I would be willing to ride over there and see,’ I said, stung by their dismissal of my idea.
‘There is no need to give up your night’s rest, Kit,’ Phelippes said.
‘Nevertheless, I would like to do it, if you will give me your permission.’
‘Oh, if you must. I cannot see that any harm will come of it. But you must take at least one of the guards with you and I don’t suppose any of them will share your enthusiasm for a night ride to a dirty fishing village.’
‘I will ask amongst my men,’ the captain said.
‘Very well,’ said Phelippes. ‘If there is one willing to accompany you, then you may go, but do not blame me for a fruitless journey.’
As it proved, one of the guards was willing to go with me. A young man not much older than I, called Andrew Joplyn. I could see that he looked upon it not so much as a serious mission as a bit of a fun away from the senior men. Well, that suited me. A grim older soldier would have been a less pleasant companion.
‘We’ll set off about eleven of the clock,’ I said. ‘I do not think they can be back before midnight, so we should be there with at least half an hour to spare. But we may have to wait some hours, even till dawn.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, tapping his nose, ‘I’ve made a friend amongst the kitchen maids. I’ll bring us some vittels.’
‘Well thought of,’ I said. This was a companion after my heart.
I sat for a while in my room with my boots off, trying to rest a little, but I was too keyed up. I was convinced I was right. As the moon came up and flooded the town with light, it seemed a perfect night for a clandestine journey across the Channel. The wind had dropped a little, but not much. There was surely still enough wind to sail by but, if there was not, I had seen that the boats had long oars, four to a side.
At ten, sounding out from a church clock nearby, I pulled on my boots and went quietly downstairs. I need not have troubled to be quiet, for the inn parlour was still full of visitors and local men drinking, though Phelippes was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was closeted with his paperwork again, though I was disappointed he had not waited to see me on my way.
In the stable I greeted Hector with an apple I had filched from the dining parlour and had just started to saddle him when Andrew appeared, flourishing a leather satchel of food. Within half an hour we were riding out under the massive town gateway, having a pass from the captain giving us permission. We both remembered the road from earlier that day, though the bright moonlight made it much easier to follow than it had been in the fog.
‘How do you want to proceed, Master Alvarez?’ Andrew asked.
I was glad that he seemed prepared to accept my leadership, despite the fact that I was younger and a rank amateur, while he, I assumed, had some experience of military matters.
‘I thought we would ride to the outskirts of the village, then tie the horses and go the last part of the way on foot. We can check the boats first. If the one I noticed this morning is there, and doesn’t look as if it has just returned, then we can go home again. If it is, well, wet, if it looks as though it has just come ashore, then I think we will need to take a look at the largest house, see if there is anything afoot, then ride back as fast as we can to Rye.’
He nodded. I could see him quite clearly. ‘And if it isn’t there?’
‘That is what I am expecting. If it isn’t there, we will have to wait for it to return, however long it takes. But we can be sure, if it isn’t there, that it’s up to no good.’
‘It may be smuggling.’
‘Yes, it may. If so, we’ve had a wasted trip and lost a night’s sleep. Do you mind?’
‘Not me.’ He grinned. ‘Makes a change from always trotting along at the tail end of the troop and having to polish other men’s boots and saddles!’
For the rest of the way to the village, we rode almost without speaking, except to draw each other’s attention to an overhanging branch or a hole in the road. On the outskirts of the village we stopped beside a small copse of thorn trees, stunted by the sea air and wind.
‘This should do, I think,’ I said. ‘Do you agree?’
‘Aye. There’s enough cover for the horses and not far for us to walk.’
Both horses were well trained and would stay without being tied. If we needed to leave in a hurry, we could be away in a moment. Leaving them there, we began to make our way the last hundred yards or so to the first house in the village. It was then that I realised one problem. The bright moon had made our ride easier but it also meant we would be in full view of anyone looking out from one of the cottages, as soon as we tried to approach the boats.
The village appeared to be asleep. All the cottages but one were dark. I touched Andrew lightly on the arm and leaned close to his ear.
‘You see that cottage with the candle in the window? That’s the one I thought looked more prosperous than the others.’
‘I see it,’ he breathed. ‘So someone is up and about.’
We waited beside the first cottage, straining our eyes to see as far as the beach. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought it would blot out all other sounds. I held my breath and tried to listen.
‘Do you hear anything?’ I whispered.
Beside me I sensed rather than saw him shake his head. If we were going to check the boats, it had better be now. Crouching low, as if that would somehow make us less visible, we crept forward past the cottages. The moon was directly overhead now, lighting up the village like the stage in a playhouse. With sudden irrelevance, I wondered what Simon was doing now. Not creeping through a hostile village in the middle of the night, certainly.
There was an open area in front of the cottages, not as pretty as a village green. Rather it was an ugly patch of beaten grass and weeds, scattered with the debris of village life: a handcart tilted on its side, two discarded wheels, the remains of several broken barrels, a discarded fishnet, a rough table from which arose a pungent odour of fish, perhaps where the women gutted and filleted those sold ready prepared in the local towns. A stream ran across this area, no doubt providing water for the village, which was crossed by a sort of bridge, consisting of no more than two planks laid loosely across from bank to bank.
The house with the light was the last one in the village, facing this bridge, so we would have to cross the stream in full view of its windows. I sent up a quick prayer that no one would be looking out, nodded to Andrew, and we darted across.
Because the planks were loose, they tilted and slapped down again as we jumped off. Not much of a noise, but it seemed huge in that silent village. We ran on, across more rough turf to the edge of the beach. Andrew put out a hand to stop me.
‘Shingle,’ he whispered. ‘That’ll make a b’yer lady racket if we walk on it.’
He was right. I remembered how loud our footsteps had sounded in the morning, when there was no need to be quiet.
‘You’re right. Can we count the boats from here?’
Now we were grateful for the moon. I remembered that there had been six boats like all the other small boats we had seen, then the larger one drawn up on the shingle at the far end. We edged along the margin of the beach, taking care to stay on the turf. Four, five, six – the smaller boats were all here, leaning over and draped with their fishing nets.
‘The big one was further along.’ I barely breathed the words, but he nodded.
We sidled crab-like, following the top of the shingle, till we reached the spot where the stream spread out and emptied itself into the sea. The large boat was not here.
‘Now what?’ he said.
I thought for a moment. It was all too open down here beside the beach. The returning fishermen would see us at once if we waited here. We would need to make sure that they were indeed bringing in men and not smuggled wine. If we rushed back to Rye now with a false alarm, we would make fools for ourselves.
‘We’d better go back to the village, where there’s some cover and wait there.’
‘Look, the stream is shallower here, where it spreads out,’ he said. ‘We could wade across, then follow it along on the other side and get behind that end house.’
I nodded. ‘Good.’
The stream fanned out into a miniature estuary and was no more than ankle deep in the middle here at the mouth. As we climbed up the bank on the other side, however, we encountered a patch of shingle, hidden by the overhang, and the noise of our feet nearly made my heart stop. Andrew, who was ahead, reached down for my arm and pulled me up on to the bank, which was turfed.
‘Must be deeper in winter,’ he said. ‘That shingle would be under the water.’
I gave him a sickly grin. The noise had terrified me. What did we think we were doing? This was madness. What if we were caught?
Andrew led the way now. The stream ran close to a thicket of undergrowth here, interspersed with sea holly, and only a narrow strip dividing the two. I hoped we would be able to push our way through and not have to retrace our steps to the beach. After about twenty yards, the stream twisted away to the right, back towards the centre of the village, leaving us enough room to make our way ahead side by side. Just as the walking became easier, I heard something. I grabbed Andrew’s sleeve and laid my finger on my lips.
It was the sound of oars.
He had heard it too. I caught the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. Perhaps he saw this as no more than an adventure, away from the older soldiers. He might have no idea how dangerous men bent on killing the Queen might be. There was no time for explanations now. We crept forward, toward the end house with its lit window. We had nearly reached it when there came the loud grinding of the boat’s keel on the shingle beach, then men’s voices, not shouting, but not trying to be quiet either. Presumably everyone in the village knew what was going on, even if they did close their shutters and go to bed.
Pressed against the dark side of the house, Andrew and I watched as four men heaved the boat up the shallow slope of the beach. Two other men stood to one side. Since they must have paid well for their passage, it was no business of theirs to join in the hard physical labour of landing the boat.
An anchor was run out and stamped into the shingle, and another rope tied to a dead stump just above the line of the shingle. Of course, the tide must come in at some times of day and could lift the boats away, but in my ignorance I did not know whether it was low tide or high at the moment.
Now the men were walking over the plank bridge and toward the house where we were hidden. Someone inside opened the door and the yellow of a candle-lantern flowed out, lighting up for a moment the two men who had been standing to one side. I did not recognise either of them. I had half supposed one of them might be Poley, as he seemed to turn up everywhere, like my evil shadow, but these men were quite unknown.
I jerked my head towards the back of the house and mouthed in Andrew’s ear, ‘Back to Rye, as fast as possible.’
He nodded and ran off swiftly in the direction of the thorn thicket. I ran after him.
It was dark behind the house, overshadowed by a stand of taller trees, willows, and as I ran, thinking of speed and not watching my feet, I collided with something heavy and metal, stumbled and fell, striking my head. Darkness rushed over me.
