He gave me a little smile.
“I hope your mother told you that I want to make amends for yesterday. But first, let’s eat.”
Let’s eat. At any other time, those words would have made me very happy. But this morning, my stomach seemed full of sludge. I didn’t think I could ever eat again. We followed him across the courtyard into the inn. The landlord looked Mama up and down, then turned to the man.
“God save you, sir. How can I be of help to you and – your guests?” Another look at Mama and me.
“We need food. Didn’t you say last night that you had bread and herrings?”
The landlord scurried away. Perhaps it was only me that noticed a woman who must have been his wife and a serving girl peering round the barrels at us. We sat down at a table, the man on one side, Mama and me on the other. A couple of moments later, the serving girl thumped three tankards of ale on the table. I took a sip of mine. It was weak and bitter.
The man said, “I didn’t have an opportunity to introduce myself yesterday. My name is George Symons, currently of Southwark, previously of Portsmouth.”
Of course, I knew where Southwark was. But Portsmouth? Perhaps it was one of the villages further down the Thames. He looked at me.
Mama nudged me. “Where are your manners, Eve?”
I wanted to say that they had floated away from me when George Symons had tried to kill me.
“You’re too old to be shy, Eve,” Mama said.
I wasn’t shy. I was furious. Mama should know the difference.
“How old are you?” George Symons asked.
Mama nudged me harder. “Twelve,” I said. Another nudge so hard I almost fell off the chair. “Sir,” I added.
The serving girl thumped down a board with half a loaf of dark bread and a platter of fried herrings. George Symons picked one up and started to peel the flesh away from the bones. He piled it into a heap on the side of the platter. He turned the fish over and worked on the other side. The fish’s head bobbed around, its eyes white and glazed. He pushed the platter towards us. Mama took a pinch of the fish and put it in her mouth.
“Eat,” Mama said.
I shook my head.
George Symons carved a slice off the loaf and offered it to us. Mama tore the slice in two and gave the bigger piece to me. I nibbled the crust. The crumbs settled in my queasy stomach.
“Yesterday, in the river,” George Symons said, “if it wasn’t for your courage, you would be preparing for your daughter’s funeral today.”
My throat closed up. I lay the bread down.
He leaned toward Mama. “It was like a miracle. You dived into the water like – like a porpoise. And I’ve seen porpoises.” He laughed. The lines in his face smoothed out a little. “I have never seen a woman swim like that. Or indeed a man. Did you learn in your own land?”
Mama gave the tiniest of nods.
“A miracle.” He stared out the window. “Even though I was born by the sea and raised by the sea, I cannot swim. Even though I knew my destiny was to sail on a ship, I still did not learn how to swim. Though why should I? It’s better to drown quickly than splash around waiting for a ship that will never turn back for you.”
He turned to look Mama in the eye. “I’d always known that there were dangers in the deep sea, far away from any known land. But once I … I was tipped into the water so close to shore, I swore I could see my mother and young sister crying out for me.”
He banged his cup on the table. The serving girl brought another flagon of ale. “And butter,” he called after her. “Have all the cows gone dry?”
The butter was slammed down next to the flagon and the girl walked away.
“Yesterday, in that boat, I was frightened,” he said. “And I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t admit that in front of women.”
I’m a woman now?
“But I have nearly drowned before.”
“How so?” Mama had taken the words from my mouth.
“Do you know the story of King Henry’s Mary Rose?” he asked.
“No,” Mama said. “Was she another of his wives?”
George Symons gave a smile so quick and bright I thought I’d imagined it. “She was a warship, Madam, one of his favourites. She fought many a battle for King Henry.”
“And you were a sailor on her?” Mama asked.
“I’m a carpenter by trade. My father died when I was a child and I lived with my Uncle Francis. He was a carpenter, like my grandfather before him. My grandfather made a good living before King Henry moved his shipyard to Deptford, but there was still work enough for us in Portsmouth.”
He filled his tankard and offered the flagon towards Mama, but we had barely sipped ours.
“The Mary Rose was built in Portsmouth. My grandfather helped fit her hull. If she hadn’t sunk, she would have been an old woman now, nearly seventy. I saw her when she returned to Portsmouth after many years’ service, heavier, stronger, ready for new wars.”
I heard the clatter of horses outside in the yard. The room would fill up soon with thirsty travellers and the man still hadn’t got to the bit where he said sorry to me. He took another gulp of ale. Mama echoed him by taking a sip of her own drink. I followed, just letting the liquid touch my tongue.
“I was taken on as an apprentice carpenter on the Mary Rose. My uncle was the carpenter’s assistant. I understand!” He lunged forward. I shot back. He leaned away and buried his face in his
