To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [170]
They were boats. These were the fishing-boats Martin had glimpsed only that morning; perhaps two hundred makeshift small craft tilting and dipping at anchor, their lines streaming drowned in the sea. Beyond them, alone, was the three-masted ship. It looked small.
The lookout saw it, and let out a shout. The word passed from side to side and down to the boat, where Mogens stopped rowing and started to turn. Then the lookout bellowed again, causing Martin to hammer his fist in delight on the rail. The ship they were looking at was not the Pruss Maiden, it was de Fleury’s. The Pruss Maiden had gone, perhaps without ever sighting the other. De Fleury’s ship was intact, or so it would seem from the way it was riding. Its men would be fresh. But the Svipa was half his own size. There were no laws and no codes among pirates. The Banco di Niccolò’s vessel was his. Together, of course, with all the fish it had caught in the meantime.
Everyone knew they had a prize in the offing. The Cologner smiled. Svartecop looked over for orders; already the excitement had spread through the ship. Mogens, from below in the sea, was calling in Faroese, and the master, handing over the helm, began to bellow instructions. He stopped. The fellow Sersanders, standing up in the skiff, had raised his voice and was contradicting him loudly. The bowmen, who had started to hurry, stood still.
Martin sighed. He caught Mogens’s eye. For a moment, he contemplated the merits of deafness. Given the simplest of signs, Mogens would be happy, he knew, to render Sersanders senseless. On the other hand, Sersanders’s uncle was one of the syndicate, and his niece was on de Fleury’s ship.
Martin hoped, if there was a Hell, and if it were near, that it was preparing to accept two strongly tipped candidates. He nodded and turned, and to a stupefied audience issued new orders. The ship was to stand down its armed men from the foredeck, prepare a defence, and await his command. It was safe. They were not yet within bowshot range of the Svipa. Martin didn’t care if the girl died, or Sersanders, but the Baron Cortachy would. And at the moment, he had no one to blame.
Mogens and the boy came on board. Martin was thinking out what to do next when the voice of Sersanders reached him again. He was still in the skiff, calling Martin. Martin said, ‘What?’
Although he might seem a youth, in fact Anselm Sersanders was his uncle’s agent in Scotland. One had also to bear in mind that, although short, he was an excellent jouster, and a man well enough respected in Bruges. Standing in the well of the boat shouting up, he looked cold and determined and angry. The oarsmen were huddled behind him. He said, ‘I’m going to row over and fetch back my sister. Drop anchor and wait. Then you can do what you like with the Svipa.’
Svartecop looked at Martin and away. ‘Why,’ said Martin. ‘What an excellent notion. Of course, they may try to keep you as hostage.’
‘He won’t trouble,’ Sersanders said. ‘And if he does, at least I’ll be with her.’
‘Of course, there is the boat,’ Martin said. ‘If you don’t come back, we shall have lost a good boat.’
‘Buy another. Go and do what we planned, and go home. So long as you don’t provoke Nicholas, he’s not going to want to make trouble. I’m sure there’s enough fish for all.’
‘Except stockfish,’ said Martin thoughtfully. ‘I rather wondered about the shortage of stockfish. Does it look to you as if the Svipa is laden? Of course, the fish may have been bought by the Maiden. Ask him, Master Sersanders. If you get the chance, ask M. de Fleury.’
From the deck, Martin watched the skiff leave, threading its way into the distance. None of the creaking small boats tried to stop it. He watched until it prepared to round the far side of the Svipa. The young man’s eyes were fixed on the ship, which showed no particular sign of awareness. Indeed, the only sounds to be heard were those of a number of lethargic voices combined in some