Chapter 2: The River

We ride through paths between the fields next to the City, past the bone hill where the throng of so many people, seventeen thousand, I heard once, living in one singular town have their rubbish dumped into what were once the waste of fertile gardens, and we continue down towards the river. We ride in silence past the the imposing Tower of London, the White Tower almost blinding in the late harvest sunshine, as it stands alone, protecting the citizens of London from any seaborne attack up the river Thames.

No hue and cry follow us as we canter down the dusty dry lanes, passing farmers and serfs buying their lunchtime refreshments from the hawkers by the side of the lanes. Once past the mighty tower, the lanes are quieter down by the river. A few fishermen are spreading their nets to dry and making good necessary repairs as they have finished fishing for the day and the catch already fresh sold in the riverside markets, London being forever full of mouths to fill.

I have avoided talking to Lady Elinor, and she too has held her breath during the ride down from the Smooth Field. Soon we start to turn south, following a huge bend in the river, down an elevated causeway road with reed-filled marshes on either side leading down to the river bank. On the road, though, there are few people here heading in either direction along the river and no-one to overhear us save the hundreds of water fowl and the pairs of young monks ahead and behind us as escorts.

“So, tell me Lady Elinor, what are we doing, where are we going, and why should I be going with ye?”

“Robin, surely you know me so well that you could drop the ‘Lady’ for once and just call me by my given name, Elinor?” She looks at me sideways with a slight smile playing upon her ripe lips.

“Well, truth be that I do know thee, but can I say that I know thee well enough for such familiarity, my Lady?” I reply, “We were acquainted for but a week, during which you led me on a merry dance indeed. But that were over three and a half years since and I have not seen or heard of thee or your husband since. We are hardly on any terms where we can be familiar with exchanges of names and the dropping of any due honours, Lady Elinor.”

She pouts with her lower lip pushed out, “I am disappointed, Robin, truly I am,” she says, with a hint of a whine in her voice that almost has me smiling at her playfulness, “and I genuinely thought that we had formed an attachment that transgressed the strict formalities of regal court. I am still nought but the uncouth barmaid from Pitstone, you know, as I was mostly until I married, so however grand be my title and the tapestried rooms which now keeps me free of draughts and warm anight, I am no real princess.”

“Especially now, as you seem to have upset your father so royally this time about, my Lady!”

“Aye, I appear to have done so!”

Now her grin is broad, her eyes asparkle, and I cannot help myself but smile along with her.

“So how did you manage to do what all his other subjects avoid doing like the very plague?” I venture.

“Well, for my full explanation we will have to wait until we have some clear water beneath our hull.”

“And how long will that be?” I ask, as all I can see to the south of us is a huge thicket of tall osiers still in leaf on either side of the road we follow.

“A few minutes on, Robin, as this road leads down to a wharf which provides for a ferry across to Greenviz on the south bank. Our ship awaits us at the wharf, ready to sail.”

“So where exactly are we now?” I really have no idea at all where we are. This is my first visit to London and I came through Buckinghamshire and Hertfordshire on my way and never came further east in these parts than the Smooth Field we have recently left in our wake.

“This is Stepney Marsh, with Black Wall upon our left and Marsh Wall on the right. The borough of Stepney want to build dykes all around Marsh Wall and thereafter plan to put in countless wind mills to pump out all the water. Soon there will be rich gardens growing food here for the growing population of the twin Cities of London and Westminster.”

“You have knowledge of these plans?”

“Of course, Gervaise bought all this marsh on our right hand side, for just a few marks per hide, and by his presence as an Earlderman of this borough by right of this purchased freehold, he can encourage the borough in this venture which will be of benefit to many hereabouts. We will rename this garden as Mill Wall.”

“And make yourselves a pile of gold and silver in the meantime. Is this why your father —”

“— No! He is upset with me over other matters, that I cannot go into now. I am sure the King worries not about such small barely-populated boroughs as this.”

“While I am equally sure that the King worries about all his boroughs.”

“Well, his court sits in Rouen for now, so I cannot see him worrying over the wellbeing of his domains in England for the winter, unless ... well it is quite likely that he will stay in Normandy until spring.”

Yes, I thought that might be likely but rumours were already abound of what role Lady Elinor’s half-sister, Matilda, the Dowager Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, will be asked to perform for her father. Chief talk coming from the rumour grinding mill is that the only officially recogniseddaughter of our King will be our Queen in place of a King one day if the King but hath his way with an adjustment to the Rules of Succession. That is a challenge in itself but there are more fears abound that the childless widow might prove barren, if twelve long years married to the Emperor, who claimed to have been given the crown directly by God Himself, hath proved fruitless upon the bough of succession.

And who, among the Princes and Lords, could the Empress Widow possibly wed next, who was not already within the compass of consanguinity, to her sixth cousins, and would the chosen Prince in their turn not simply seize the throne from his Queen, when opportunity presents, and defy those Lords who were denied their legal opportunity to wed the Empress?

Me? I care not whom I serve as my liege Monarch, be they stag or doe, so I hold still my own counsel upon the matter.

We ride on in silence and soon I see the promised wharf and the wide river Thames opened up afore me, with farm houses dotted in the farmlands a long way off upon the far bank, rising to the southern hills of West Kent, if I have my bearings aright.

Smoke rising from the smoke holes in the roofs of these farmhouses remind my stomach that it is about lunchtime and I have not eaten since the dawn broke early and I partook of the landlord of The Goat Inn’s hearty break-feast of hot fresh bread, bacon and cheese, washed down with a light fruity ale, and that was a long time since. I think my stomach must have been growling loud enough for the Lady to hear over the hoof beats on the hard dirt road, because she says:

“Hungry, Robin? Not sure if you are wise to eat before we cast off, remembering how you fared last time that we put to sea in a ship.”

“How WE fared, if I remember aright, my Lady.”

Aye, I remember all too well our last trip together by sea, when we were both so ill that I felt we had died and been sent by St Peter to some cold watery hell.

“So, we sailing somewhere? Anywhere familiar?” I ask.

“Aye, Robin, we are off to return to Brugge.”

“To see our mutual friend Rebecca?”

“We know that she is not there, but it was where she was last known to be, and if we ask her neighbours perhaps we will discover where she was taken and why.”

She chews her lip uncertainly, looking at me indirectly out of the corners of her eyes.

“Taken?” I ask, “By what agency do you believe has she been taken?”

“We know not, Robin.” She looks miserable, “she has been missing for some weeks, I am told, and I think she has been taken by the same knaves who have robbed my husband from me.”

“And you have no idea who that might be or why these two kidnappings might be connected?”

“None at all, but I believe they could be connected,” she says, “of course kidnappings and ransoms happen oft ... Gervaise and I have been involved in a handful over the last decade.”

“Involved?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“No, Robin, we have never kidnapped anyone, only joined in the search to track the missing down and help relieve them by force or parley with their captors to secure a release. But without Gervaise by my side all my enquiries through our many contacts have proved fruitless, for either party we seek.”

I nod. “What of Gervaise? You say he has also been taken? How do you know that he is not on some secret errand for your father?”

“He went missing on a journey, aye, ‘twas on my father’s behest, traveling betwixt Paris and Rouen down the river Seine with a message from King Louis VI, also known as Louis the Fat of France, in the form of a letter to the King of England.” She says, “that was during the spring season, half a year since, and for the past few months I have received various and increasing demands for ransoms from his captors. I ... I pleaded to Rebecca for help two months ago and discovered that she too, was gone from her demesne in Brugge. My messenger told me that her bank was closed, her network of agents disappeared and unavailable to he or I. No doubt one who is closer to her than I has received the ransom demands for her release and I fear for both her and my husband’s safety. And because Rebecca is missing, her system of contacts and friars is also closed to me.”

I remember well the messenger in the shade of London Wall, the monk with the red hand. He was there as a warning of danger, that I kenned aright at the time. But his appearance was also a message from Rebecca herself, reassuring me that she was still active, aware of what was going on and free of bonds enough to warn me to refrain from altering my countenance lest I warn whoever was watching me. Would that watcher be The Lady Devious by my side or one of her agents? So, Rebecca was still free and active but she wanted Lady Elinor to be in ignorance of this and at the same time for me to have the advantage of this knowledge. That is what I now believe the signs mean.

My mother Alwen is in constant parley with Rebecca and would know for sure if our dear friend and Jewish banker were taken by some party or still at liberty. They share and exchange homing pigeons with regular messages, be it business and personal. Alwen would know before I where Rebecca was and what state of freedom she enjoyed, or otherwise. I may not know where Rebecca be, but I know for sure where Lady Alwen be.

I shake my head. I am completely out of my depth in such intrigue. I am straightforward in all matters, it is the only way I can be. But this Lady lives by the twists and turns of intrigue and I best be on my guard.

I am but an honest tradesman in archery goods, a craftsman in the design and manufaction of the Welch longbow and all the arts involved in archery. I am even a fair competitor in the multivarious tourneys I participate in purely for the enjoyment of sport, but I have been generally untested in battle, except in extremis when, with my father, Lady Elinor and the King faced down a brief rebellion, nearly four years ago which eventually lead to my knighthood earlier this year. The money that I win at the tourneys is of the nature of surplus fruit after the joy of harvesting my good fortune tested upon the field of gentle village green competition. I neither need the income for my means nor seek it, except in the knowledge that should I fall ill or lose the use of my fingers or sight, I would want not in sustenance if my livelihood were to end suddenly.

Agreed, I deal in subtle secret exchanges of my purse to those I trust, which is an intrigue of a fashion, admittedly. And my trust is rewarded in investments for my future and payment of fares and tariffs on my part even in my wake, each payment particulated upon my regular calendared reports. But I am passive in my participation, I am no spy, no player of guile who can bluff his way through a double-dealing game, like some can.

What tack can I use now, as the Lady expects a reaction to her revelations?

“So if we cannot rely upon Rebecca’s monks or Henry’s band of knights, who be these young boys that ride with us? I know they not be clergy by their general demeanour.”

“I call them the Esquires of Breton. They come from the lands that I freehold there, where they were being trained to become knights in time. Their four knights were killed in defence of an attack on Naples last year and were left behind without their protected apprenticeships. My Steward brought the stranded Squires of Breton to my attention and called upon my favour to help them in their time of need. They are young, and they may be inexperienced, but they look good in their new costumes, yes?

“No, my lady, they are too military in their attire and they make us look too conspicuous,” I say. “Even though we be dressed as ordinary travellers, as a young man and a boy respectively, but for your present exposed feminine mane, neither of us look too much out of place. However, they look sleek and stiff, exactly like they are guarding someone of importance and are thus nervous about their responsibility. They make us stand out. Better they ride together fifty paces ahead of us, or some way behind in disassociation from us. And all of them dressing alike, makes them look in uniform, like they are on a day out from a city monastery school.”

“Yes, now that you mention it, they do look odd, I’ll —”

“Don’t worry yourself now, Lady Elinor, I have seen no-one on this road since we turned Southward away from the main road to Essex, nor are we pursued within sight that I can assert at any rate. Besides, we are almost at the wharf you promised.”

“Indeed. So, from here we will sail to Flanders, to see if we can pick up the trail of the missing Rebecca. And we have been also granted an audience with the new Count of Flanders, Charles. sometimes known as ‘The Good’, to seek his aid in finding Rebecca’s whereabouts, and I am beholden to pay court to my Lord for the lands that Gervaise and I hold within his County.”

“I thought the Count once seized Gervaise’s lands?”

“Aye, Baldwin, the previous Count, he confiscated our land after Gervaise changed sides at the start of a battle, under orders from my father the King, of course. Charles handed them back to us five years since and Gervaise has been forgiven all his transgressions from that time. Charles is a good Count and he knows Gervaise very well, although aware of nothing of our work since for the King. In the course of relationships, all the lords of lands surrounding France change their allegiances as often as breaking in new boots, so Gervaise is forgiven his brief transgression, the deed of betrayal conveniently forgotten. I think Charles will be fair and I believe we can put our trust into him and we can find out where Rebecca was taken or is held ... if he knows. Only through her help can we free Gervaise.”

“You have it all planned out, I see. So why do you need me along for the ride?”

“Why indeed!”

But she smiles, to deflect any barb I might detect in her voice.

“Robin, you and your father are the most steadfast and honest people I have ever known. As you well know, I have been my father’s spy for longer than I remember. My husband too, has long served my father, before and throughout our marriage, and this has personally cost him a heavy price in revenues from his lands. He took the loss of his lands to heart, left only with some poor pastures in Lancashire and Cambridgeshire that added little but tarnished brass to his purse. He had for several years to rely on my income from the lands I hold in Brittany, Picardy and Buckinghamshire. He is a proud man, and that hit him hard to be beholden to a woman, even though she be his wedded wife. My possessions, being of Royal origin cannot be possessed by him like the chattels of an ordinary gentlewoman who hath become spouse.”

“Even though he is supported by a woman who is his devoted wife?”

“Even more, because in his case his wife has the ear of his master,” she smiles, though it seems to be a sad one. “At least I once had.”

“So did he follow his heart when he changed sides or was he only following your father’s orders?”

“He was so upset by what happened in consequence, that we have never once spoken of it.”

“We always talk about where we succeed or fail,” I say idly, without thought of censure, full of my own thoughts about my family.

“That is your family, they are so ... remarkable, Robin.”

“To me they are family, not that I take them lightly, they are all I know, and I am thankful for my happenstance, and they mean everything to me.”

“That is what makes them so remarkable. I always think of your family, when I think of what troubled lives the rest of us lead, your family seems so grounded, so full of love and serenity.”

“Sometimes, it seems as though they are so normal, but they do surprise even me, sometimes. They are presently in Canterbury town upon the act of pilgrimage.”

“What?!” She exclaims. “Why are they there?”

“My mother, Alwen, wanted to take a break from her self-imposed task of providing me with more half-brothers and sisters than I could possibly remember all the names and birth dates of. She was always more devoted to the teachings of Father Andrew than either my father or I, so she wanted to take this pilgrimage while her brood was still small and could be left in the charge of the maids of Oaklea Inn and my father naturally indulged her wishes and accompanied her for her safe passage and return.”

“So Sir William Archer is at Canterbury town, even now?”

“Aye, I had a message only yesterday at the Inn saying that they safely arrived two days since and are due to stay a week before riding back to Barton Castle first and from thence return home onto Oaklea.” That message in itself reminded me that Rebecca was the source of all my messages, concerning my family, so even if she has been taken, as Lady Elinor assumes, her network was still working as it always is.

Just now we arrive at the long wooden wharf upon London’s proud river. There are many small boats tied up, many having worked the fishing grounds of the river at first light, but there was only the one ship tethered there that was clearly meant for seagoing.

“We be here my lady,” one of the young Esquires in front of us turns his head and announces in French.

“Merci, Alain,” Lady Elinor smiles.

We dismount and two of the other Esquires escort the reluctant horses down a gangplank to a rough-looking boat, that appeared to be filled to the gunnels with rolled and bound sheepskins about the mid ships, whilst aft a couple of carters along the wharf were throwing more woollen bales to waiting sailors who were storing them in a hold near the stern. The Esquires manage to tie up the horses to cleates on the cramped main deck, and calm the mounts down by putting sacks over their heads, before the Lady and I walk side by side to the gangplank leading to the ship from the wharf. I step down first onto the moving deck, and I hand her down next to me.

I smile to myself, wondering if a sack over my head will help my own trepidations of how I will fare once we put out to sea. Last two times I sailed, the only sailings I have experienced thus far in my life, I was violently ill. Then I was considered but a child and the Lady barely knew me ... and back then I did not feel for her what I have felt in my heart towards her ever since. It is important for both my own standing as a full growed man and to help maintain my aloof separation from any relationship other than offhand acquaintance with the Lady, that I perform as a seasoned sea-going passenger resolved to maintain my control over my body’s reaction. The slight motion of the tidal river was not unpleasant to me I am pleased to note as soon as I was on board.

A stout man with a full dark beard generously streaked with grey, under an almost smooth hairless head, that had been stained as brown and shiny as an autumn cob-nut, by sun, wind and sea salt, approaches us, with a rolling gait that smoothly absorbs the ship’s slight movements upon the fast running river.

“Ah, Robin, this is the ship’s captain, Wulfstan.”

She turns away from me and speaks unto the man.

“Hail, Captain, this is the young man I was telling ye about, Robin Archer of Oaklea in the County of Bartonshire.”

“You managed to persuade him to join us on “The Good Tern”, then, and sooner than we thought, assuming that you would reach the final round of the tourney in the late post noon. You’re a couple of hours early, Ma’am, but the tide is aturning in our favour so we can cast off now, if it pleases thee, my Lady.”

“Captain, I have just heard of a friend who would be quite useful to our cause if we can fetch him thither from Canterbury town. We sail nearby the cathedral city I believe?”

“And who might he be?” he asks. Though Wulfstan speaks to Lady Elinor, his eyes settle upon me for the answer.

So I answer for The Lady, “My father, Sir William Archer, Shire Reeve of Bartonshire, in the ancient kingdom of Mercia. He is on a pilgrimage with my mother unto the chapels of the Cathedral at Canterbury town. Can we find a nearby port that would serve to reach them in timely fashion?”

He nods to me, as though satisfied, turning back to the Lady, “Aye, Lady Elinor, I can find a port. I reckon we can best pull into Witenstaple, it is but a three league ride to Canterbury from there. ‘Tis a fishing village in the main, My Lady, but deep enough port for our purpose. My first mate hails from Canterbury Town, so he’ll go awith thee as land pilot.”

Soon we cast off, with everything stowed in its proper place and the sailors able to work around us and haul the single main sail up and cast off the wharf.

The sailors move the cumbersome craft into the middle and deepest channel of the wide river Thames, avoiding the shallows and mudbars of the marshy south bank. Wulfstan talks to us constantly, while also barking out orders to his sailors, all of whom move cheerfully with well-rehearsed steps as the main sail slaps and cracks in the rigging. Gently pitching and rolling, the vessel makes its way out to the middle of the river alike a stout old lady and wind be caught and gathered into the sail, which makes even more noise like a dozen loaded washing lines in a stiff drying breeze as we turn to follow the river round the bend. With the wind now sideways on, it gives the tiller man at the stern a hard task to keep the ship on course to Wulfstan’s critical satisfaction.