Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [35]
By God’s good grace, the three men paused at the first cog they came to, the one farther upstream. The torch-bearer held up the light, while the archer hauled himself onto the boat. Then he reached down, and took hold of the torch. The other men boarded.
I could see them move about, searching. I was sure when they found that cog deserted, they would come to us.
Trying to think what to do, I recalled Bear’s dagger.
“Troth,” I hissed. “Keep watching that boat.” I hurried to where Bear slept. Seeing his dagger by the faint gleam of its iron blade, I took it up and went back to Troth.
“Are they still on that cog?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Call if they start to come.”
“Where are you going?”
“Not far.” I crept to our boat’s stern. I could just see the ship’s master curled up on a blanket against one side, his curly hair exposed. I searched about, seeking where the rope—the one connected to the shoreline—was attached. It was not hard to find.
Working silently, I used the dagger to saw upon the multistranded rope. I made certain not to work at one spot, wanting the cut to be as jagged as possible—like a rip.
The boat’s movement helped; it kept the rope taut, with an occasional sharp tug that made my cutting easier. Sure enough, the rope began to fray. Fingers of cord sprang up. When the boat gave a sudden lurch, the rope split. Instantly pulled by the tide, the cog swung out. Drawing upon its bow anchor, it floated out into the middle of the river.
It was all so gentle the ship’s master did not stir.
I went back to where Troth was and looked back.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
I grinned and held up the dagger. “Where are those men?” I asked.
“Still on that other boat,” she said.
Not for long. As we watched, they quit the first cog and climbed down onto the beach.
I gripped the dagger.
We watched as they advanced along the shore. If they had expected to find our cog where it had been, they were surprised.
Holding up their torch, they stood upon water’s edge. I could hear the faint murmur of their voices. Unable to reach our cog, they soon departed, trudging toward town through the Landgate. “Jesus is kind,” I said. Even so, Troth and I remained on watch for the remainder of the night.
25
THE FIRST STREAK of dawn had just appeared with a cock’s crow when the ship’s three mariners returned. They had to swim to the cog, which they did with many a curse. The Master, much perplexed, assumed the rope had frayed by itself. No accusations were made.
Troth and I gave a hurried, whispered explanation to Bear. “Saint Bathildis,” he said with a grin, “who protects children, must follow your footsteps very near.”
I was full of satisfaction.
Meanwhile, the mariners were busy, one climbing the mast until he perched cross-legged atop the sail yardarm.
“Let it fall!” cried the master. The knots of cord that held the sail were undone. The great square sheet of Brittany canvas unrolled, revealing alternating stripes of red and white. Two mariners caught the ropes at each corner, and tied them to the deck. The master threw his weight upon the rudder stick. The cog swung about. The sail crackled and filled with the morning’s breeze.
Now Bear, along with Troth and I, were called to turn the capstan so that the anchor—a two-pronged hook of iron—was hauled up. As the anchor lifted from the water, the cog began to glide down the river, into the lower bay, then quickly into the sea itself. We had left Rye behind.
Looking back, I swear I saw three men upon the shore looking out as we went on.
“We’re safe,” I said to Troth, full of pride.
With the ship’s master holding the rudder rod in strong and easy hands, we sailed out upon the rolling swell of sea. The cog’s blunt prow smacked the waves with a steady, splashing rhythm. The great, square sail snapped. The air was suffused with a salt-heavy dampness. Several squawking birds followed in our wake only to fall behind, indifferent to our fate. The green of England dropped away rapidly, growing ever smaller to my eyes.
How passing strange it was that though