The Roots of Betrayal (25 page)

It was late evening when Clarenceux, Juanita, and Alice walked along the quay at Southampton. Four men had rowed them and Sir Peter Carew into the harbor from where his ship had moored in Southampton Water, and all of them had gone to the harbormaster's house for Clarenceux to draw up the letter of introduction and instructions for John Hooker, antiquary and Recorder of Exeter. In addition, he supplied the indenture by which he asserted that Sir Peter Carew was a direct descendant of Sir William Carew and his wife Avice, daughter and sole heiress of the lord of Idrone, who had inherited the estate in the time of King John, as well as a signed letter in which Clarenceux declared his wholehearted faith in the veracity of the descent and listed the various pedigrees he had consulted to confirm the same.

When all was done and agreed, Sir Peter shook Clarenceux's hand and promised to come to London for the pedigrees when the time arose; and to disembowel the herald personally if it emerged that he had lied in so delicate a matter or revealed any part of these dealings to another person. With this threat ringing in his ears, Clarenceux watched the four oarsmen take Sir Peter back toward his ship.

No one spoke as the three of them walked toward the Two Swans. Juanita and Alice did not need to be told that a deal had been agreed between Clarenceux and Sir Peter Carew. As far as they could see, Clarenceux had not saved them so much as betrayed the others. It went without saying that he had no obligation toward any of the pirates, but equally it went without saying that a man who had fought alongside them should not have abandoned them to the justice of the gallows. Clarenceux, having agreed not to tell a soul about the deal made with Sir Peter, could say nothing on the matter.

He followed the women into the front hall of the Two Swans. There were about twenty men inside, sitting at tables drinking and talking. His first impression was that it was a respectable wine tavern, even though he knew that it was much more than that. Alice told him to wait by the door while she made inquiries. Juanita left him with a brief word of farewell shortly after. Clarenceux sat on a bench and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of all the conversations, inhaling the welcome and familiar odors of a good tavern: the herbs scattered in the rushes, the smell of dogs, the stale scent of spilled wine, and the savory lingering aroma of roasted pork. For a moment he almost relaxed, letting go of a tension that had twisted his mind and bound him physically since that terrible moment on the morning of Rogation Sunday, when he had found that the marriage agreement had been stolen. Almost—but not quite. He was in a strange place surrounded by people he did not know and without any money. The authorities had issued instructions for his arrest or death—and he had not yet found the document or Rebecca Machyn.

Alice returned, her large figure coming toward him in a slow gait as if there was no reason in the world to hurry. She nudged him along the bench, so she could sit down beside him. “Amy is not here. Pieter, the landlord, says he will provide us with a meal. Where's Juanita?”

“I do not know. She just said good-bye and walked off.”

“Ungrateful cow. Probably hightailed her way to sleep with the nearest merchant heading back to Castile.”

“Can you blame her?”

“We're the lucky ones. Think of the men still in the hold of that ship.”

“There was nothing I could do. I tried.”

“It is not right for us to be sitting here and them being taken off to their deaths. I never really liked Skinner, and Stars was a bit delicate, but Francis was a good man. The best of them are dead.”

She fell quiet. Then she said under her breath, “Raw is upstairs.”

“Here? He made it back?” Clarenceux was astonished. “He made it back here faster than we did.”

“I don't suppose he was keen to stay too long in the water.”

A young woman with a scar on her face walked between the tables toward them. “Alice,” she said.

Alice looked up. “Ursula,” she breathed, struggling to her feet. She embraced the woman and held her a long time. Clarenceux reflected that he had seen almost no sign of emotion from Alice since he had met her, and only now was it seeping through, like a flood just beginning to break through the cracks in a dam.

“So many,” said the bond woman, tears on her cheek.

Alice said nothing. She simply held on to Ursula. Eventually they broke away. Alice turned to Clarenceux who had remained seated. “Come on,” she said. “Let us go and see the Robin Hood of the High Seas.”

Clarenceux followed Ursula and Alice up to the attic chamber. There was a large bed and very little else. A baby boy, aged about twelve months old and dressed only in a shirt, was sitting in the corner of the room, playing with some wooden blocks. Raw Carew was lying on the bed, sweating, with his legs naked, attended by a red-haired young woman with a pair of tongs. There was blood all over his right thigh.

“It's not coming,” she said, concentrating on the gash and dabbing at the fresh blood.

Carew shook his head. “It hurts—I can't believe it.” He started laughing. “It's funny, it hurts so much.” He turned to Alice and held out a hand toward her. “I'm glad to see you,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly.

Clarenceux looked at the mess of Carew's leg. The musket ball had not broken the thigh bone—Skinner had been wrong on that point.

“How did you escape?” Carew asked, looking at Alice, still holding her hand.

“He hasn't actually said so, but I think Mr. Clarenceux here did me and Juanita a good turn,” she replied.

“Just you and Juanita?” Carew looked at Clarenceux. “Not the others?”

“There was nothing I could do,” Clarenceux said quietly. “Your uncle intends to take them to London.”

“And hang them there, on the pirates' dock at Wapping, no doubt.” Carew suddenly winced and then cried out, panting through gritted teeth. He started whooping and then laughing again. “They call me the bastard but he deserves the title far more.” He gasped at the pain from the operation. “You should have saved them too.”

“Hold on; this is going to hurt,” said the woman, gritting her teeth as she sponged the blood away and delved deeper with the tongs.

“It damn well hurts already!” shouted Carew, laughing more with his eyes closed, pulling himself up by his stomach muscles. He bent his forefinger and bit it to try to control the pain. “Damn Peter Carew! Damn the lot of them.” Another howl of laughter escaped his finger biting.

Amy pulled the tongs out of the wound, clutching the musket ball. It was large—three quarters of an inch in diameter. “There's your friend.”

“Friend?” exclaimed Carew, lying back, breathless. “I think not.”

Clarenceux felt he was not wanted. He was disappointed to see Carew in this position, making jokes even though he had so recently lost so many men. Saying that
he
, Clarenceux, should have rescued the other prisoners. He turned and went downstairs, found the landlord, and asked for some food. Provided with a bowl of ham and pea broth and a large hunk of dark bread, he took himself off to an empty bench and sat there eating in silence.

After a while his indignation began to subside and he began to take more of an interest in the tavern. This was where Rebecca had been seen; perhaps she was still in the vicinity? He looked among the men in their shirts, jerkins, and doublets; they all looked like mariners or ship owners. She could have sailed on from here to anywhere in the world. Perhaps that was why Denisot had sent her here, so she could be taken on to France.

Just then, Alice appeared. “He wants to talk to you,” she said.

“What sort of mood is he in?”

She gave a little laugh. “He'll claim he walked here on water, if he thinks that will impress you. But we love him nonetheless.”

“He shows so little…regret.”

Alice shrugged. “He cannot afford to be regretful. Not when he's seen so much and lost so much. You have to regard people as liable to leave you—whether through betrayal or through death. He is not as thoughtless as you think.”

Clarenceux stood. “I'll go up and see him.”

“Where did you disappear to?” Carew asked as Clarenceux entered. Amy had finished bandaging his thigh and was leaving the room with a bucket of bloody water.

“I went to have some food. And to think about those still aboard that boat.”

Amy stepped past Clarenceux and closed the door behind her. The two men were alone.

“Who is still aboard?”

“Stars Johnson. Francis Bidder. Skinner. A few others.”

Carew closed his eyes. “Harry? Luke? Swift?”

“Dead. Kahlu too.”

“Kahlu will show up yet. There's no one who can get the better of him.”

Clarenceux shook his head solemnly. “I saw him cut down, with my own eyes. I saw him killed.”

“So have many men, Mr. Clarenceux.”

Clarenceux walked across the room to the window. He looked out, bending his head to avoid the angle of the roof. The quay was as busy as ever.

Carew shifted on the bed. “Come, are you not glad to be alive? We cheated them. We cheated death. Does that not give you a thrill?”

Clarenceux turned. “A thrill? We did not cheat anyone, least of all Death. Death picked off whom he wanted, laughing all the way. We offered to send Death men by the whole boatload—and Death gladly accepted. You are a godless man and I despise that in you. Whatever has taken the place of God in your heart is cold and evil. Every single one of those corpses now rotting in the sea has more good in it, even now, than you!”

Carew raised himself onto one elbow. “Every man who fought for us knew he was risking death. The women too. None were pressed men aboard my ship. Not one.”

Clarenceux looked Carew in the eye. “There you lie.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

Carew raised a finger, pointing at Clarenceux. “We had an agreement. I would bring you here to Southampton and help you find that damned woman and you would tell me where Denisot is. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. You have not.”

“You did not bring me to Southampton. Your natural father's brother did—and not out of kindness, I might add. He had orders to take me to London—and to sink the
Davy
rather than let me go.”

Carew took a moment to comprehend what Clarenceux had just said. He swung his legs around and sat on the bed, biting his lip with the pain. “You mean, Sir Peter Carew sank the
Davy
because of you? Not because of me?”

“I am sorry if it injures your pride but yes, that is the fact.”

“All those men died just because you wanted to find that woman?”

“Oh, for pity's sake.”

Carew suddenly became solemn. “No, no, Mr. Clarenceux. You misunderstand me. You may think me godless—and I am, thankfully—but we are allies, as you once said. Your enemy is my enemy. Whoever wanted to arrest you killed my men.”

“We came here to find Rebecca Machyn. Now we are here, will you still help me? Avenge those deaths?”

Carew stood. Clarenceux heard him and turned to watch him. Blood started to run through the dressing and down his leg.

“Amy!” Carew shouted. “
Amy!
” She came quickly, almost in a panic. She looked at his wound, but Carew was not calling her because of the blood. “That woman who came on the
Davy
—Swift George told me that she and the man with her got into a small boat that day with John Prouze. Where did Prouze take her?”

She was astonished to see him on his feet. “Have a mercy, Raw, what are you standing up for?”

“Just tell me. Where did he take her?”

“I don't know. The fort, I suppose.”

“Which fort?”

“Calshot. Prouze serves Captain Parkinson at Calshot.”

Clarenceux was curious. “What did he say to you?”

Amy gently pushed Carew back onto the bed and grabbed a towel to wipe the blood away. “He said the Catholic Treasure was going to arrive that day. But it was late. That is why he stayed with me that night.”

“This man, Prouze, knew in advance?” asked Clarenceux. “Not
after
she arrived? And he used the words ‘Catholic Treasure'?”

“Does that make a difference?” asked Carew.

Clarenceux turned to him. “Of course it makes a difference. The Catholic Treasure is the document that was stolen from me. If he was expecting her to bring it, then he had been forewarned by someone else.”

“The treasure is your document?” asked Carew, forlorn. “Hell's breath, I thought it would be gold.”

Clarenceux started pacing across the room. “If Nicholas Denisot not only paid for her to come to Southampton, he probably arranged for her to be received here too. It was either him or someone who was privy to the same information as him. Either way, Denisot hijacked the Knights' plot. ‘Percy Roy' he called himself—just as they did in their letter. He was pretending to be them.”

“There was a man with her when she came too,” said Amy, wiping the blood off the floor. “A tough-looking man.”

“Robert Lowe,” said Clarenceux. “Her brother. He was mentioned in the secret message that Cecil showed me. No doubt it was through him that Denisot learned about the Knights' plot. He and Denisot spirited Rebecca Machyn away from London and brought her here, far from Scotland and the reach of the Knights.” He looked at Carew and then at Amy. “But why would they have sent a message to John Prouze?”

Amy stopped wiping. “They didn't. It was sent to Captain Parkinson.”

“Parkinson is corrupt,” added Carew, “but he is loyal; he would not lift a finger against the queen. He knows he only controls this port because he is trusted in Westminster—but he would hide anyone in that fort at the end of the spit, if you paid him well enough. If Denisot could afford to pay two hundred pounds for the woman and her brother to come here, then it sounds to me as if money was freely available.”