Scarlet

'My ship draws lightly,' he said. 'We can easily go upriver as far as the bridge. It is but a short ride from there to the town.'

The tide was on the rise, so we had to wait until it had begun to ebb again. We settled down to a good meal which the ship's master and Jago prepared for us, then slept a little, rising again when the tide began to flow. As a dim half-moon soared overhead, we upped anchor and set out once more.

Dawn found us skirting the high white cliffs of the southern coast, and as the sun rose, the clouds gathered and the wind began to blow. At first it wasn't so bad that a fella couldn't stand up to it, but by midday, the waves were dashing against the hull and splashing over the rail. Ruprecht allowed that we were in for some rough water, but assured us that we would come to no harm. 'A summer storm, nothing more,' he called cheerfully. 'Do not fret yourselves, Brothers. See to the horses-there are ropes to lash them down so they cannot hurt themselves.'

Throughout the day, the storm grew. Wind howled around the bare mast-they'd long since taken down the sails-and the waves tossed the ship like thistledown: now up, now down, now tail over top. It was all I could do to hold on for dear life and keep my poor bandaged fingers from smashing against the hull as I tried to keep from getting battered bloody.

As evening fell on that wild day, our ship's master was the only one still cheerful. Ruprecht alone maintained his usual good humour in the teeth of the storm. Moreover, he was the only one still standing. The rest of us-his sailors included-were hunkered down below the deck, clinging to the stout ribs of the ship as she bucked and heaved in the rowdy waves.

More than once, my innards tried to leave the wretched confines of their piteous prison-and I without strength or will to stop them. My stomach heaved with every wave that rolled and tried to sink our vessel. Along with my miserable companions, I shut my eyes against the dizzying pitch and twist, and stopped my ears against the shriek of the wind and the angry sea's bellowing roar.

This seagoing calamity continued for an eternity, so it seemed. When at last we dared lift our heads and unclasp our limbs and venture onto the deck, we saw the clouds torn and flying away to the east and rays of sunlight streaming through, all bright gold and glowing like the firmament of heaven. 'Have we died then?' asked Siarles, grey-faced with the sickness we all shared. The front of his robe was damp from his throwing up, and his hair was slick and matted with sweat.

'No such luck,' groaned Iwan; his appearance likewise had not improved with the ordeal. 'I can still feel the beast bucking under me. In heaven there will be no storms.'

'And no ships, either,' muttered Merian. Pale and shaky, she tottered off to find water to wash her face and hands. Bran was least affected by the storm, but even he strode unsteadily to where Ruprecht stood smiling and humming at the tiller; summoning Jago to him, Bran said, 'Ask him how many days we have lost.'

'Only one, Your Grace,' came the reply. 'The storm blew itself out overnight. The sea has been running high, but it is calming now. Och! That was a bad one-as bad as any I've seen in a month of years.'

'Are we still on course?' asked Bran.

'More or less,' affirmed the master. 'More or less. But we will be able to raise the sails soon. Until then, have your men see to the horses. Unbind them and give the poor beasts a little food and water.'

While Iwan and Siarles saw to that chore, two of the sailors began preparing a meal for us. Bran and I watched this activity as we leaned heavily on the rail, neither of us feeling very bold or hearty just then. 'What a night,' Bran sighed. 'How is the hand?'

'Not so bad,' I lied. 'Hardly feel it at all.' Looking out at the still-rumpled sea, I asked, 'What will happen when we get to Rouen, if we should be so fortunate?'

'I mean to get an audience with Red William.'

'As Lord Bran,' I wondered, 'or Father Dominic?'

He showed me his lopsided smile. 'Whichever one the king will agree to see. It is the message that is important here, not the messenger.'

'Leaving that aside,' I said, 'I'm beginning to think we're mad for risking our necks aboard this mad ship and storm-stirred sea to save a king we neither love nor honour.'

He regarded me curiously. 'Is that you talking, Will? It was you who put us onto it, after all.'

'Yes, but, I didn't think-'

'If you're right, then it is well worth the risk of a kingdom,' Bran said.

'Whose kingdom, my lord?' I wondered. 'William's… or yours?'

We talked until Cinnia called us to our food which, following a little good-natured teasing by the sailors, we were able to get down. After we had eaten, Ruprecht gave orders to his crew for the sail to be run up. Once this was done, the ship began to run more smoothly. We had no more trouble with the ever-contrary weather and reached the French mainland that evening. We dropped anchor until morning, then proceeded up the coast until reaching the estuary of a wide inland river at a place called Honfleur. Although some of our provisions had been damaged by seawater in the storm, we did not stop to take on more provisions because Ruprecht assured us that Rouen was only a day or so upriver and we could get all we needed there at half the cost of the harbour merchants.

So, we sailed on. The storm we had endured at sea had gone before us and was now settled over the land. Through a haze of rain we watched the low hills of Normandie slowly slide by the rail. Although we could not escape the rain, the river remained calm, and it was good to see land within easy reach on either side of the ship. I confess, it did feel strange to go into the enemy's land. And I did marvel that no one tried to apprehend us or attack us in any way. But no one did, and we spent the night anchored in the middle of the stream, resuming our slow way at sunrise the next day. As promised, we reached the city of Rouen while it was still morning and made fast at the wharf that served the city. Iwan and Siarles readied the horses, and Bran meanwhile arranged with Ruprecht to provision the boat and wait for our return.

Then, pausing only to ask directions of one of the harbour hands, we set off once more beneath clearing skies on blessed dry land. Oh! It was that good to be on solid ground again, and it was but a short ride to the palace of the archbishop where, it was said, the English king had arrived the previous day.

'Here is the way it will be,' Bran said as we entered the palace yard. 'To anyone who asks, we are still ambassadors of the pope with an urgent message for the king.'

'Aye,' agreed Iwan dryly, 'but which pope?'

'Pray we do not have to explain beyond that,' Bran told him. 'At all events, do not any of you speak to anyone. Let Jago, here, do the talking for us.' He put his hand on the priest's shoulder. 'Brother Alfonso knows what to say.'

'What if someone asks us something?' wondered Siarles, looking none too certain about this part of the enterprise.

'Just pretend you don't speak French,' I told him.

The others laughed at this, but Siarles, bless him, was worried and did not catch my meaning. 'But I don't speak a word of French,' he insisted.

'Then pretending should be easy,' Merian chirped lightly. She patted her hair, working in the ashes that greyed it; then took out the small wooden teeth that were part of her disguise and slipped them into her mouth; they were an off colour and made her jaw jut slightly, giving her face an older, far less comely appearance.

Bran and the others straightened their monkish robes and prepared to look pious. I had no disguise, but since no one in France had ever seen me before it was not thought to matter very much. Then, standing in the rain- washed yard of the archbishop of Rouen's palace, Brother Jago led us in a prayer that the plan we set in motion would succeed, that bloodshed could be avoided, and that our actions would bring about the restoration of Elfael to its rightful rule.

When he finished, Bran looked at each of us in turn, head to toe, then, satisfied, said, 'The downfall of Baron de Braose is begun, my friends. It is not something we have done, but something he has done to himself.' He smiled. 'Come, let us do all we can to hasten his demise.'

CHAPTER 42

We were given a beggar's greeting by the archbishop's porter, who at first thought us English and then,