Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [240]
“So this Bristol merchant that wants to see me has your father’s house? And you say your father may shortly return.” Ailred looked thoughtful. “I shall certainly explain to him the facts of your situation. But what he will do is another matter.” He sighed. “I’ve never had to beg before, Una, but I must learn how to do it.” How her heart went out to him when he said that.
But when Una saw the merchant come through the hospital gate and disappear into the small hall at the back with the Palmer and his wife, any hope she might have harboured in her heart had sunk. Tall, hard, swarthy, with a fearful dark-eyed stare: one look at Doyle and she knew she was lost. A man like that does no kindnesses, she thought. A man like that takes what he wants and strikes down anyone in his path. She could see her father being left to die at his own door, and her mother forced to beg in the street, at least until the Palmer gave her shelter.
So what would she do when Doyle turned the Palmer down?
This was the question she brooded on while the Bristol merchant ate alone with Ailred and his wife that evening. The case seemed hopeless, but she couldn’t let it go at that. If necessary, she decided she would seek the man out and plead with him herself. She had no choice.
She tried to imagine it. Merely begging for charity was obviously a waste of time; but what could she possibly offer him? To work free for him as a servant? That would hardly be enough to get the house back. Sell herself as a slave? Probably no better. What else?
There was only one thing she could think of. Her body. What if she were his servant and gave him that as well? She supposed a man like Doyle would want some such condition. If he even found her attractive: she had no idea as to that. She thought of his tall, swarthy form, and his hard face, and shuddered. To give her body, like a harlot, to a man like that: could she bring herself to do it? For a girl like Fionnuala, she imagined, it mightn’t be so difficult. She almost wished she were like that herself. But she wasn’t, and she knew she never could be. Then the thought of her poor little father came to her, and biting her lip she told herself, Yes, if I must, for him I will do it.
Ailred the Palmer remembered Doyle well enough, although their business dealings, which had taken place six or seven years ago, had not been extensive. He was aware of the man’s importance in Bristol and somewhat flattered that Doyle should have come to seek his counsel at such a time.
“Since I started this hospital,” he informed the merchant, “I have hardly taken any part in the trade of the port, and so I’m not sure I shall be able to help you much.”
As Doyle looked at the fine old Norseman and his kindly wife, he felt sorry that the man should have fallen on such evil times and wondered whether, as an incomer, the Palmer might somewhat resent him. However, he had his own mission to accomplish and he was not a man to be deflected from his purpose. Politely but firmly, therefore, he plied Ailred with questions about the city, what craftsmen it contained, what was bought and sold, which merchants were to be trusted. And as he had expected, the Palmer in fact knew a great deal. By the time they had finished their meat, and fruit pies and cheeses were brought in, the Bristol merchant could relax, drink his wine, turn to more general subjects, and answer some of the questions which Ailred had for him.
In particular the Palmer wanted to know about the city of Bristol and its organisation—its aldermen, its trading privileges, and what taxes it paid the king. “For this, I suppose,” he said, “is what we must now expect in Dublin.” On these and other points, Doyle was able to satisfy him.
While they were talking, Ailred had also been observing the Bristol merchant carefully. He was not sure exactly what he was looking for: something perhaps to give him an insight into his visitor’s mind; some