Post of the Month

~ August 2008 ~

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The Sheriff ~ Written by Esther. Posted on the HoS Yahoo group March 2007.

The ferry bumped against the clinkered hull of the Annunciata and the ferryman man hurriedly shipped his oars. Robert de Rainault stood, climbing his way to the front of the narrow boat. The trading cog was not a large vessel, but even so her sides curved high above him, blocking out the sky.

The ferry man stretched himself out to lean heavily on the side of his boat, tipping it low against the water line so that he could grab at the rope netting that covered the ship's sides. He drew the ferry against the larger craft and hooked his arm inside the ropes to hold it steady. De Rainault reached out with him to find hand holds in the coarse rope.

"If you wait my lordship, they'll heave out the beam and lift you aboard," the ferry man said.

De Rainault barely acknowledged him as he slipped his boots into the webbing to find footholds and began the climb upwards. The ferry man was a fool if he expected him to sit patiently while a bucket was winched down for him to sit in. He had worn a short robe and hose to avoid such an ignominous arrival.

He had seen men who could not - or would not - climb themselves, hauled up in the wide, deep-sided bucket that most ship's carried and that was used to lift livestock aboard. The crew were never gentle in hauling the makeshift basket up on deck, to the amusement of their fellows who would hang over the sides to watch. He would not submit himself to that.

Above him, he could make out a low break in the planking of the ship and in the railing that lined her sides. He changed direction slightly to one side and made for the gap. He felt a tension and pull to the rough rope beneath his hands and glanced downwards to see Ailmaar leaving the safety of the boat and beginning the climb behind him. The boy's naturally pale face furrowed in concentration as he pulled himself up the netting.

As de Rainault came level with the deck of the Annunciata, a dark face topped with black curls appeared at the railing and a hand reached down and gripped him under the arm. If his position at that moment had not been so precarious, he would have shaken the grip off. Instead, he found himself hauled over the gap and onto the wooden boards of the trader's ship.

He glared at the man who had helped him and shook out the dark blue sleeve of his robe that had wrinkled during the contact. The sailor grinned back at him, yellow teeth glinting in the failing light. The strong reek of fish washed over the Sheriff. Fastidiously, he pulled a cloth from his belt, and held it to his nose, breathing in the bitter scent of the herbs that kept his clothes free of the fleas that infested The Otter. Anything was preferable to the stench the man was breathing over him now.

Behind him came Ailmaar's heavy breathing and a moment later the boy appeared over the railing and thudded to the deck beside him. De Rainault raised his eyebrow at the squire speculatively, for Ailmaar was out of breath from the climb. The lad was young, he thought to himself, plucked fresh from climbing trees and playing childish games about the castle walls.

If a short climb up the Annunciata's sides was enough to wind the boy, he would have to see about sending him for some intensive training under one of the sergeants when he returned to Nottingham. Then he caught a glint of metal beneath the lad's tunic and realised that the squire had not thought to leave off his mail. Lucky for Ailmaar that their ferry had not tipped them into the river or he would have sunk without a trace. The thought amused the Sheriff enough to make him forget the apparent unfitness of his squire.

The sailor who had aided him over the side still stood, grinning inanely at them.

"Where is the ship's master?" de Rainault demanded of the man, wondering if he was dealing with a simpleton.

The sailor grinned even more widely and jerked his head at a square hole in the ship's decking. "Cap'n's below, sir."

Imperiously, the Sheriff took a step towards it, but the sailor stepped up to block his way.

"Nobody goes below decks without the Captain's say so, Sir," he said. "And the cap'n will be with you directly." The grin never left the man's face, and it was clear that he relished the thought of using physical force on the Sheriff if neccessary.

De Rainault cast him a baleful look meant to convey his disgust and moved away slightly to give himself a better view of the ship and some fresher air whilst he waited. For a merchantman, the Annunciata was a fair sized vessel, able to take a crew of around forty he guessed. About half that number of men was visible to him now, busy at tasks on the deck.

Two men nearest him scrubbed at the boards with a holystone and sand, others were busy sewing canvas or were engaged in knotting rope. Above him – no more than silhouettes against the darkening sky - several men swarmed over the rigging that held the sail in place, presumably checking it for faults and weak spots. The men were engrossed in their own raucous conversations, but every so often a curious gaze or interested glance came his way as he waited.

At each end of the boat rose a small wooden castle for archers to stand upon in defense of the vessel should she be attacked. Six great oars had been beached, three on either side of the deck, ready to be used if the wind died whilst the ship was at sea. He nodded in approval for the deck had the scrubbed, bleached appearance of a well maintained craft. Everything had its place. Every man had a task to occupy his hands – for boredom of a crew was the bane of a captain's life and could lead to no end of trouble at sea. An orderly ship meant an orderly captain and that was exactly the sort of man de Rainault was hoping to find himself dealing with today.

There came a thudding of feet from below decks and a large, blond head appeared through the square in the planking. It was followed by wide set shoulders as a giant of a man emerged from the hole in the deck. The sailor stood aside from de Rainault and nodded deferentially to the newcomer.

"I am Captain de Voors," the blond man said as he approached, his accent heavily clipped although he spoke the Norman tongue flawlessly. "Forgive me for not being here on your arrival. We expected to have to winch you aboard and that can take a while."

The man's skin, burnt from the sun and the wind, was peeling pinkly from his nose and cheeks. His face at first seemed arranged in a permanent expression of surprise until de Rainault realised that the impression was given by the man's eyebrows - so pale in colour as to be almost invisible on his face. Bright blue eyes regarded the Sheriff humourously out of a face heavily seamed and lined from a lifetime spent outside in all weathers.

De Rainault gave a forced smile at the man. "I have waited here several weeks for you," he said, then gave up the battle to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "A few extra moments has made little difference."

The other man gave a deep rumbling laugh that seemed to come from within his belly rather than his throat. "Ah, yes, we have had quite a journey," he said.

Another sailor appeared behind the captain carrying a lighted taper with him and set about igniting the two lanthorns that hung nearby. The oiled wicks flared into life, creating as pool of light around the two men.

"We hove to near Rome and almost had our boat appropriated for this latest damned crusade - as if Annunciata has not done enough in that service." De Voors turned and affectionatly patted the votive box attached to the thick mast to his right, a relic of the times when his ship had carried pilgrims across the seas. "Some Norman bastard wanted her to carry his men to the Holy Land. Worse than the Pirates they were. We were forced to hide out on one of the islands until we were sure they had ceased their pursuit." De Voors' sharp, blue gaze travelled appreciatively over de Rainault's clothes and took in his carefully barbered beard and hair. "Not that I have anything against the Norman's or their holy wars you understand," he added with a grin.

The Sheriff, who had spent more of his life in England than within the rapidly shrinking borders of Normandy, decided to take the jibe against his former home with good humour. The Norman's were ever unpopular outside their own country it seemed, despite the fact that their power was undeniable.

"Of course not," he answered, agreeably. "But I have come to collect my cargo. If you would be so good as to allow me to inspect the goods…"

De Voors nodded. "Of course. We will go below decks," he said and turned, making his way back to the hole in the deck, down which he disappeared with surprising speed. The Sheriff, unimpeded this time by the curly haired sailor, made his way to the edge of the gap and peered into it. He could hear the Captain's movements below him, but could make out nothing in the gloom.

Behind him, the grinning, black haired sailor unhooked one of the lanthorns and held it over his head. The wick fizzed and spat as oil splashed into the flame, then settled, so that he could make out the top rungs of steep stairs set into the floor.

As he set his feet upon the first step, a light flared into life below, illuminating handrails on either side of him and he put a hand to each of them to help guide himself downwards into the ship. So steep were the stairs, that he could not see where to place his feet and still had to feel out the steps with his feet, despite the two lights about him.

At last, one foot found the boards of the floor and he found himself in the cramped space of the ship's mid deck. The roof was low and he bent to pass within without knocking his head against the great beams that supported the deck above him.

Behind him came the tentative tread of Ailmaar's boots as he too felt his way feet first down the ladder, then more light flooded the compartment from above as the dark haired sailor with the lanthorn followed the squire.

De Voors awaited him, bent almost double in the confined space. "The hold for the cargo is further down," he said. "Come."

Ailmaar stayed close to the Sheriff's heels as they moved through the ship and was dismayed to learn that they must descend yet further. It would, he realised, take them to the part of the vessel that lay below the water level.

The oil lights sputtered and spat, casting ever moving shadows over the curving boards to his right. Great twists of rope had been turned and bundled away against the beams. He wondered what they were for until they passed one that had been unwound and strung like netting between the ceiling planks and saw a man lying within it, one leg cast lazily over the side. This, he guessed, must be where the crew lived and slept. It was a mean, cramped place that stunk of the closeness of men and of the sharp, salty dampness of the sea.

They descended down another steep ladder. The damp smell became thicker and there came a constant creak of timbers as the ship swayed in the pull of the tide and a dull rhythmic sound that Ailmaar took to be the slap of water against the hull. He shivered, liking neither the smell nor the darkness that the light from the lanthorns barely penetrated.

The ship's hold was half filled with barrels and bales and goods. The small group of men picked their way through until de Voors halted and drew back a water proofed canvas. The flickering light of the lanthorn in de Voors' hand was reflected back at them dully from the goods that the canvas had covered.

De Rainault stepped forward to rub his hand over the shimmering bales of silk that the Captain had revealed. He found a loose end and gripped it lightly, feeling the cool cloth slip away through his fingers, as soft as flutter of a moth's wing against his skin. Perfect colouring and condition, he thought to himself admiring the lustre of the cloth as the flames played over it.

He signalled to de Voors to bring the lanthorn closer. No patches of damp had marred its perfection. The warp and weft were perfectly spun, no snags or runs in the delicate threads.

He reached for his dagger and slipped it from his scabbard, slicing a small strip from the corner of the bale nearest him. He heard Ailmaar gasp at the action, but de Voors grunted in approval and passed him the lanthorn.

Crouching down, de Rainault placed it at his feet and opened its covering, passing the strip of silk over the flames, until they leapt and caught at it. A smell, like the acrid burning of hair, filled his nostrils and the silk disintegrated into a fine white powder against his fingertips. He blew at them gently and watched the ash swirl and settle at his feet.

"Finely spun isn't it. From the Far East, I'd reckon," de Voors said. "None of that rubbish you find the Crusader's bringing home with them."

"Fine quality indeed," the Sheriff answered. From what he could make out in the gloom of the hold, there was a large amount of silks stored there. They would fetch a fine price on the market. Enough to pay off King John with some left over to weight his own purse. "They'll be loaded off ship tomorrow? I have a buyer who is most anxious to see the goods."

De Voors drew the canvas back into place over the bales, careful to tuck it right under the precious cargo. "I will be docking at first light and will have to register with the customs. As soon as that is done and the duty paid, the cargo is yours. You may collect it from the warehouse off Watergate Lane."

The Sheriff nodded, smoothing a hand over his beard in thought. The cargo of silks solved his immediate problems with the King, but he had high hopes of taking home more profit than the leftover change from the sale of the cloth. His other hand strayed to the purse at his belt and he slipped the precious, well thumbed parchment into sight. "There is another matter I wish to speak to you upon," he said, sending a questioning glance in the direction of the sailor.

De Voors, followed his gaze. "There's few secrets on board a ship," he said. "Speak free in front of this man."

Reluctantly, de Rainault handed the parchment to de Voors, who raised the flickering oil light and tilted the document towards it. He scanned the letter quickly then grinned at de Rainault.

"Ah! I had wondered if this cargo might be forgotten. A shame, I could have fetched a good price for it myself."

He made his way forward, beckoning the sailor with him until they reached the narrowing space at the far front of the hold. Ailmaar hung back, torn between wanting the light and hating the dark enclosed space. Something skittered along the planking nearby and he hurried towards the others, hoping that it was not a rat.

A creaking,tearing sound filled the air and de Voors drew back a large panel of wood. De Rainault leant forward eagerly and could make out four sacks in the darkness of the secret compartment, revealed by the Captain. The space, he noted was wide - enough perhaps to hide a man, albeit a very cramped one. De Voors, took up the lanthorn he had put aside and muttered a word to his sailor who leant forwards to drag the sacks out, one by one, into the hold.

De Voors turned to the Sheriff. "You followed the instructions in the letter I gave your lad here?"

The Sheriff nodded and Ailmaar was reminded of Tostaux and the sergeant, wending their way through the crowded London streets with their horses. The reply he had taken back to the Sheriff had been sealed, but he could think of no other business that the Sheriff might have sent his two soldiers about. There had been little other business to occupy the Sheriff beyond the arrival of this ship and the pieces of parchment that Ailmaar had observed him reading at moments when his master had forgotten his presence in a room.

"Good. We'll take these sacks to my cabin and you may study their contents at your leisure. You boy..." De Voors gestured at Ailmaar. "Take one of these for your master."

Ailmaar stepped forward and lifted one of the bags. It was lighter than he had expected, with a give to the contents as he held it in his hands. The sailor drew up two of the other sacks and de Voors picked up the fourth, then pushed his way ahead of them to light their way back up to the mid deck.

He led them past the ladder they had first ascended, through the sleeping quarters of the crew and to a narrow door set into the far end of the ship. A young boy waited outside, straightening up as he heard their approach.

"To the galley with you, lad. I want food and wine for my guest and myself," de Voors ordered and the boy scooted off down the corridor. De Voors thrust open the door and Ailmaar found himself looking into a curving room. It was as wide as the ship itself with a narrow set of windows set high in its back wall.

Despite its wideness, the room was as cramped as the rest of the ship. De Voors stood stooped shouldered within it, his head and shoulders brushing the beams above him. He took up much of the space, in what must be his private quarters on this vessel. Even the sheriff, of a much shorter stature than the captain, was forced to keep his head lowered so as not to hit the thick overhead beams. Ailmaar, his neck cramping from his own efforts not to crack his head on the ceiling, stifled a snort of laughter at the thought of how funny all three of them must appear huddled over like old men.

A rope bed, like those he had seen below, was strung out of the way above his head. Below it, stowed against one side of the room, stood a wooden chest similar to the one de Rainault travelled with. A round table dominated the centre of the room, covered by charts and a set of metal objects, one resembling a sun dial in the shape of a ship. De Voors placed the lanthorn on the table and set about rolling up his parchments to clear a space for the bags.

Ailmaar deposited his own bag and stepped back to wait, but the sailor had turned to leave the room and the look on his master's face clearly told him he was expected to leave also. He followed the other man and hesitated outside the door, but the sailor had no interest in him and went off up the ladder taking the lanthorn with him.

Plunged into darkness, Ailmaar rested his back against the wooden walls. A strange thing, a ship, he thought, not sure that he could ever become used to the confinement of space. He wondered how many men lived upon it. If those rope things were beds, then he had seen at least thirty slung away on the beams, perhaps more. What must it be like to sail the vast seas on such a frail thing as this? To be confined with so many men in such a small place with nowhere to go if you wished to escape them?

He thought of the Sheriff's hard faced soldiers and was not sure that he would like it at all. From within the Captain's cabin came the low murmur of the Sheriff's voice and the louder, rumbling laugh of de Voors. Straining his ears to ascertain that he was alone in the dark, Ailmaar casually changed his postition, so that his head leant as close to the door as it could without touching the wood.

His curiosity about the hidden sacks was piqued. He had spent enough time around de Rainault to know that little excited the man more than wealth. The bags had not been heavy enough to contain coin, but they must hold some great treasure for the Sheriff to have spent so much time thinking about them.

The Annunciata was made of thick, Northern pine and thwarted his efforts at making out the mens words - the voices were audible but the words indistinct. Disappointed, he slumped back against the walls. The ship itself seemed to thrum strangely, as though with a life of its own. Left alone in the darkness with only the light edging the door beside him to light the gloom Ailmaar shivered again. The darkness pressed against him, the cloying stench of men and fish and dampness smothered his lungs, the eerie buzzing, thrum filling his ears.

He started suddenly at the slap of barefeet against the boards, but it was only the captain's lad, returned with a tray of food and a carafe of wine. Unbothered by the dark, the boy thudded his elbow against the door, by way of announcing his presence and disappeared inside the room. De Rainault's laugh echoed out of the door before it swung shut again on the boy's heels, cutting off the brief light.

The Sheriff, in such a jovial mood now his mission on board had been successfully accomplished, would make the most of any fare the captain set before him. Ailmaar knew he could be in for a long wait.

For some moments, he stood outside the door to the cabin shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another as the Annunciata creaked and groaned around. Then, his mind made up, he turned and felt his way back towards the hole in the deck. Cool, clean air breathed in through it and he stood for a moment, bathed in the light from above, listening to the murmur of the crew who worked there. He thrust himself quickly up the ladder and pulled himself back onto the deck of the Annuciata.

A cresent moon had risen, a narrow sliver of white, covered now and then by swift moving clouds. The wind had freshened whilst they had been below decks and blew from the landward side, carrying the taint of the city with it. Still, it tasted fresher than the stink below decks and Ailmaar drew in deep lungfuls of it.

The eerie, humming noise was louder now and as he leant on the ship's rail he could feel the vibration of it through the wood. He turned about, trying to locate its source, then tipped his head back to gaze up the length of the great mast, crisscrossed with the heavy ropes that held the cog's single sail in place. He sighed at his own foolishness as he understood where the noise emanated from. The wind, catching at the ropes, caused them to tauten and slacken, passing its vibrations down through the mast and through the body of the ship and creating the strange, buzzing hum.

Relieved to have found the source of the noise, Ailmaar turned his gaze landward once more. The Sheriff would not be best pleased that he had abandoned his post by the cabin door, but the relief of being out in the fresh air, with the space of the river around him was worth it and he pushed any thought of consequences to the back of his mind.

Perhaps the Sheriff would be drunk enough not to notice his defection when he finally emerged from de Voors cabin. Ailmaar hoped the captain served a good table - and a good wine. His thoughts returned to the sacks that de Voors had hauled out of hiding for the Sheriff and the exciting possibilities of what they might contain.