The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [130]
It was a good place to play. The earlier rain had made the grassy banks slippery and Jonathan had just defended the fortress from assault by Willie for the third time when they saw a handsome figure riding down the lane who, when he caught sight of them, gave a cheerful wave, dismounted and strode towards them.
‘So,’ he said genially, ‘today you battle by land and soon your fathers will battle by sea.’
Richard Albion was a very pleasant gentleman. His ancestors had been called Alban, but somehow, over the last two centuries, like some forest stream that gradually alters its course, the pronunciation of the name had shifted from Alban to the more comfortable Albion within whose banks, so to speak, it had been flowing very easily for several generations. As foresters, they had maintained a position among the gentry of the area and married accordingly. Albion’s own wife was one of the Button family who held estates near Lymington. In late middle-age now, with his grey hair and bright-blue eyes, Richard Albion bore a striking resemblance to his ancestor Cola the Huntsman of four centuries before. A naturally generous man, he would often stop to give some child a farthing; he was familiar with most of the inhabitants of Lymington by sight; and so he knew at once who the two boys playing on Buckland Rings must be. He chatted to them very amiably, therefore, and discussed the coming race.
‘Will you watch it, Sir?’ asked Jonathan.
‘Indeed I shall. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Why, the whole area will be there, I should think. As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘I was just in Lymington, trying to place a bet on the race myself. But I couldn’t find any takers.’ He laughed. ‘The whole town’s so deep in already that nobody dares bet any more. See what your father’s done to the place, Jonathan Totton!’
‘Which way were you betting, Sir?’ asked Willie.
‘Well,’ the gentleman answered him honestly, ‘I’m afraid I was betting on the Southampton ship, not because I have any idea who will win, but because I like to be on the same side as Henry Totton.’
‘And’ – Jonathan was not sure if it was proper to ask, but Albion was not a man to take offence – ‘how much would you bet, Sir?’
‘Five pounds, I offered,’ Albion replied with a chuckle. ‘And no one would take my money!’ He grinned at them. ‘Either of you interested?’
Jonathan shook his head and Willie answered seriously: ‘My dad told me never to bet. He says only fools bet.’
‘Quite right,’ cried Albion, in high good humour. ‘And mind you do what he tells you.’ And he got on his horse and rode away.
‘Five pounds!’ said Jonathan to Willie. ‘That’s a lot to lose.’
Then they resumed their play.
Although Alan Seagull had not yet forgiven his son for his stupidity in telling the Totton boy his secret, he was in a tolerably good mood when he caught sight of Willie that afternoon. He had just counted up all the money he had been promised and, even if he lost the race, he would be paid more for this run then he had made in the last half-year. If he won, then with Burrard’s money he’d do better still. Student of human nature though he was, the mariner confessed himself astonished by the whole business. But he wasn’t expecting any more surprises, when Willie came up to him and enquired: ‘You know Richard Albion, Dad?’
‘Yes, son. I do.’
‘We met him at Buckland Rings today. He wants to bet on the race. Against you. But he can’t find no takers. All the Lymington money’s already been bet.’
‘Oh.’ Alan shrugged.
‘Guess how much he was going to bet, Dad.’
‘I don’t know, son. Tell me.’
‘Five pounds.’
Five pounds. Another five-pound bet! Seagull shook his head in wonderment. Someone else was actually prepared to wager that amount of money that he would lose. Nothing to Albion, perhaps. A small fortune to him. For a long time after his son had run inside the mariner sat staring out at the water, thinking.
Darkness had just fallen when Jonathan heard his father coming along the gallery passage.
Until the last few days of her life,