The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [135]
Jonathan slid over to him. ‘What’s the matter?’ he enquired.
At first Willie did not reply, then, lowering his head he muttered: ‘I can’t understand it.’
‘What?’
‘Why my dad hasn’t raised the big sail.’
‘What big sail?’
‘In there.’ Willie nodded towards the space under the aft deck. ‘He’s got a big sail. Hidden. He can outrun almost anyone.’ He jerked his thumb back towards the Southampton boat, which was now visibly gaining on them. ‘With a following wind like this they’d never catch us.’
‘Perhaps he will raise it.’
Willie shook his head. ‘Not now. And he’s bet on the race. Five pounds. I don’t know what he’s doing.’
Jonathan stared at his friend’s small, chinless face, so perfect a replica of his father’s, saw his worried frown and suddenly realized that the funny little boy who ran through the woods and played in the streams with him was also a miniature adult, in a way that he was not. The children of farmers and fishermen went to work alongside their parents, while the child of a well-to-do merchant did not. The poorer children had responsibilities and, to an extent, their parents treated them as equals. ‘He must know what he’s doing,’ he suggested.
‘Then why hasn’t he told me?’
‘My father never tells me anything,’ said Jonathan, then suddenly realized that this was not true. The merchant was always trying to tell him things, but he never wanted to listen.
‘He doesn’t trust me,’ Willie said sadly. ‘He knows I told you about his secret.’ He glanced at Jonathan. ‘You never told anyone, did you?’
‘No,’ said Jonathan. It was nearly true.
For a little while, however, Seagull’s boat managed to keep just ahead of the other as the coast of the island drew closer.
They were halfway across when the Southampton boat passed in front. Jonathan heard a cheer from her men but Seagull and his crew ignored it. Nor did the bigger boat, as they drew nearer to Yarmouth, establish more than a half-mile lead.
The port of Yarmouth was smaller than Lymington and protected from the Solent waters by a sand bar that acted as a harbour wall. They were still about a mile out from the harbour entrance when Jonathan noticed something strange: the sail was flapping.
He heard Seagull call out an order and two of the men leaped to loosen one of the sheets while two more tightened the other, altering the angle of the sail. Seagull leaned on the tiller.
‘Wind’s changing,’ cried Willie. ‘Nor’-east.’
‘That’ll make it a bit easier to get back,’ ventured Jonathan.
‘Maybe.’
The Southampton boat was having to employ the same tactic, but was already nearer the harbour entrance, so had the advantage. Before long they saw it turn and make for the narrow channel by the sand bar, dropping its sail as it passed into the protection of the harbour; but it was some time before they could do the same. Just before they made their run in he saw Alan Seagull gazing up at the sky, watching the clouds. The half-smile that was usually on his face had gone and it seemed to Jonathan that he looked worried.
As they came in, the Southampton boat was already tied up and its crew busy unloading.
The town of Yarmouth had also been founded by Lymington’s feudal lord. In this case he had laid out his borough as a little grid of lanes on the eastern side of the harbour water. Though small, it was a busy place, for the greater part of the Isle of Wight’s trade flowed through it. During the last hundred years, the quay had been built and lifting equipment set up, so that ships could unload directly on to the dock instead of into lighters.
The boat had no sooner tied up than the crew sprang into action. While gangplanks were pushed out from the quay and a beam moved out, the mariners raced to raise a block and tackle from the masthead by which the heaviest items, like the casks, could be swung outboard from the yardarm. Everybody was busy. Even the two boys rushed up and down the gangplanks with bales of silk, boxes of spices and any other cargo they could carry. Jonathan had hardly