Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [33]
“Godspeed,” said Bear with not the slightest hint of urgency. “Peradventure, would you be sailing soon?”
“Aye. When we load.”
“Where might you be sailing to?”
“Flanders.”
“Bringing wool?” said Bear, with a nod to the barrels.
“We are,” said the man. “Is there some matter here for you in all this? I’ve no time to gossip. We must sail at dawn.”
Bear advanced a few more steps. “My name is Bear, and I, along with my children”—he gestured back toward us—“are—may God grace our way—seeking passage to Flanders.”
“Are you now? For what reason?”
“I’m a weaver,” said Bear. “I’m seeking employment there.”
“And I’m short two men, and eager to load, but the attackers destroyed the machinery. You look strong enough. If you lend a hand I can offer a voyage for a shilling. With luck we should take no more than a day or two. But I’ll want to sail with the morning’s tide. A good wind is promised. If we catch it, we’ll make fair speed.”
“We’re more than willing,” said Bear.
Bear offered the coins that Benedicta had given us, and then the three of us took to rolling the barrels into the cog, which, I hoped, would take us to safety.
I was very tense as we worked, fearing those who sought Bear would appear at any moment. If Bear felt the same, he did not show it, but turned to the task at hand. I don’t know what aid Troth or I provided, but we pushed and rolled by his side, one heavy barrel at a time.
Once all the tuns had been lowered into the hold, a lid was placed over the hatchway and hammered in with bits of rope stuffed in the cracks. “To keep the seawater out,” Bear explained.
“Will none get in?” asked Troth.
“It will surely be all around us. But, God willing, not over us.”
When the barrels had been loaded, we all, at the shipmaster’s request, put our shoulders to the cog’s bow, and shoved her free from the sand into the water. With the ship afloat, Bear waded into the water and hoisted Troth and I onto the deck. Then he clambered aboard.
We were now on the cog. A line ran to the shore from the boat’s stern and was tied round a stone. Then one of the mariners went forward and heaved out the iron anchor from the bow. Between the two lines the cog held steady in mid-river. The sail was furled. In this fashion we were ready to depart at first light, winds—and God—willing.
With the boat secure, I watched the master’s three companions go off, moving up the shingle, past the remnants of the beach fire and into town through the Landgate. That left the ship’s master and us on board. Night was now with us.
The master called out to Bear, “Come, my good man, present yourself and your brood so I can see what manner of folk you might be.”
We approached the man where he stood at the stern. He held up a lit lantern and gazed at us.
“Your daughter is afflicted,” he said.
“Only to those who would see it so,” returned Bear.
“Does she bring bad luck?”
“As Jesus is my witness,” said Bear, his hand resting on her shoulder, “only good.”
“Well then, as God wills it,” murmured the man, putting his lantern to one side. “Now then, I thank you for your assistance and your coin. I suppose you’ll want to stay and sleep here till the dawn.”
“If it pleases,” said Bear.
“Best do,” said the master. “We’ll want to bestir ourselves as early as possible. If you can find a place to sleep by the bow, midst the chaff, be free to do so. I fear I’ve no food for you. I’ll be here,” he said, meaning the ship’s castle.
“We thank you for your kindness,” said Bear.
We took ourselves to the bow. There, upon the rough planking, was all manner of things strewn about: coils of old, rough rope; rusty hammers; axes; rotting rags; plus other things I did not know. We cleared some space next to the capstan, the better to spend the night. The master, having wrapped himself in a blanket, had doused his lamp so the only light came from smoldering coals on the shore. Above were naught but stars and a crescent moon.
“Will those