I looked up to find the tavern owner staring at me in amazement. Trying to control the shaking in my hands from my sudden surge of rage, I fished in the purse at my waist and threw a handful of coins on to the counter. ‘That’s for the wine — and the stool,’ I said, making for the doorway. ‘And you’d better give that great ox a drink of ale when he wakes.’
I had thought that a night of boozing and brawling might make me feel better about Goody — it did not. The next day I woke with an aching head and a deep sense of guilt. I hoped I had not killed Tom in the fight the night before. He did not deserve to die for being a drunken boor.
I mentioned the boating affair with Goody to Marie-Anne that day, hoping that as a woman she would know what I could do to make things right with my young friend.
‘I would not trouble yourself too much about it,’ said the Countess of Locksley, as we shared a cold supper in her chambers. I had been summoned to entertain her while Robin was ensconced with the Queen discussing King Richard’s plight. Marie-Anne must have sensed that my heart wasn’t in my music, for after I had picked my way through a few of her favourite cansos, she invited me to set down my vielle and bow and join her in her meal.
‘Girls that age have a difficult time, stuck halfway between childhood and the full bloom of a woman,’ she said. ‘She ought to be married by now, really, and have babies to care for, but as she has neither land nor money, it is difficult for her to attract the right suitors.’
‘But she is truly beautiful, she has a lovely face — surely there must be some men who are interested,’ I said. Marie-Anne gave me a slantendicular look. ‘You could always write her a song,’ she said, ‘if you wanted to make amends. I’m sure she would appreciate it, and it would be a fine way to tell her that you are sorry.’
I considered this. It was a good idea, I thought. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘But…’ And at that moment the chamber door opened and a little bundle of raw energy on two pudgy legs came barrelling in, running straight up to Marie-Anne with a delighted cry of ‘ Maman!’, pursued by a red-faced nursemaid. ‘I am so sorry for disturbing you, my lady,’ she said breathlessly, ‘but he got away from me while I was sorting out his clothes chest.’
‘That’s quite all right, Ysmay,’ said Marie-Anne, scooping up little Hugh in her arms, smoothing his black hair and bestowing a kiss on his soft pale cheek. I rose from my stool and was about to make my excuses and leave when the Countess stopped me: ‘Alan, do you think… when the weather is a little clearer… you could arrange for myself and Hugh to take a boat ride downriver with you? Not a grand outing, just a few of us. Perhaps you could ask your friend Perkin…’
I told her that it would be my pleasure to arrange it, bowed low and left the chamber.
The day I chose for Marie-Anne’s boating expedition was bright and clear, and surprisingly warm — it was almost spring-like although we were still only halfway through February. Our party was made up of the Countess, little Hugh and his nursemaid Ysmay, myself, Perkin and Tuck, who as Marie-Anne’s personal chaplain had taken to carrying a wooden cross as tall as he was. The cross, as well as being the holy symbol and a badge of office, served as a walking staff to support my corpulent friend, who by now was well into middle age — though he did not like his juniors to remind him of the fact.
I had spoken to the Bishop of London, a kindly man named Richard FitzNeal, who was staying at Westminster in order to give counsel to the Queen at this time of crisis, asking on behalf of the Countess whether we might visit his manor of Fulham, a few miles upstream. The gardens there were said to be of surpassing beauty and I thought Marie-Anne might enjoy them. Bishop Richard was a wonderful old stick, past sixty years of age but still vigorous and very learned — his book about the administration of the kingdom was very highly regarded — and he was happy for us to enjoy his manor.
‘Of course, my dear boy, of course,’ he said. ‘I shall send ahead and make sure everything is prepared for you when you arrive. Would the Countess not like to stay there for several days? I am busy here with the Queen, but if she would like a break from court life she would be very welcome to stay at Fulham, for weeks if she wants to; masses of room, nobody there but the servants…’
I assured the good bishop that we were merely going there for the day, this coming Thursday, but I was warmed by his generosity. I left him issuing orders to his clerks to have his people in Fulham prepare for our arrival with a lavish meal and the finest wines. Marie-Anne was very popular at Westminster; her beauty and charm — and, the more cynical might say, her close friendship with Queen Eleanor — made her someone that the entire Court seemed to adore. And even elderly bishops were not immune to her charms, it seemed.
The skiff was fully laden as Perkin shoved off and he and I took our places at the oars. The going was hard; moving the bulk of the fully laden boat against the current required a good deal of sweat and muscle power from my snub-nosed friend and me, but I was young and strong in those days and I did not mind that we were going upstream. It would make the afternoon all the sweeter when, full of the bishop’s good food and drink, we would be able to glide back down to Westminster with the minimum of effort.
As I hauled on the long pinewood oar, I faced backwards, timing my stroke with Perkin, who was seated to my left. And it was Perkin who first alerted me to the small black ship. As we stroked our way slowly up the river, heading due south at that point, Perkin turned to me and, nodding at a dark, low form behind us, on our side, the western side of the river, but closer into the bank, he said quietly: ‘That bugger is moving very strangely. Going too slow for a craft that size. Must have at least ten oarsmen, but it’s moving no faster than we are.’
He was right; the small ship, a low, clinker-built vessel, its sides daubed with pitch, with a single mast but no sail hoisted, was being rowed by five men on each side and yet it seemed to move at the same pace as us. In fact, it might be said to be following us.
At first I was just idly curious, but after half an hour had passed, I began to be slightly alarmed. The river had turned west and we were now sticking close to the northern shore, but the black ship was still there behind us. And it was more conspicuous for the fact that, on that clear day, in that part of the river, there was very little traffic on the water.
I was certain now that the ship was following us, and no sooner was that thought born than the vessel began to move more speedily, coming up fast on the landward side. I cursed my decision not to engage a bigger boat for our jaunt that day, for in Perkin’s small skiff there had been no room for extra bodies and the only fighting men on board were myself and Tuck, although I suspected that Perkin could handle himself in a tight situation, and I noticed that he wore an evil-looking long dagger at his belt.
I looked sideways at the waterman and it seemed that we both had the same thought simultaneously. Perkin muttered: ‘River pirates; God damn their black souls!’ I was too intent on pulling on my oar as powerfully as I could to reply. But for all our efforts we were losing the race.
The black ship was now almost level with us, positioning itself between our skiff and the north bank of the Thames, about a hundred paces away, where the little village of Chelsea was laid out on the shore, the wind blowing the smoke of dozens of cooking fires towards us. Crouched in the prow of the black ship I could see more than half a dozen armed men, rough-looking fellows armed with swords, clubs and spears, dressed in greasy furs and leather armour, but with no distinguishing badges to say whom they served. To a man, they were eyeing us hungrily. Perkin and I braced our feet against the skiff’s ridged wooden bottom, and put our backs into the task of rowing. The river turned south at that point and we tried to cut straight across to the other side, to a marshy area where there was a village on an island known as Battersea.