Fair Blows the Wind Read online

  I sipped my wine, and made no reply. What did he want?

  “Such stories could destroy the man.”

  “Or make him even larger.”

  He glanced at me sharply. “Did he pay you to write the piece? Was that his intention?”

  “He did not pay me, and I do not know his intentions, except…”

  “Except?”

  “Does not every man wish to grow larger? To improve his lot? I have heard rumors that since the piece was published some of his enemies have yielded and come over to his side.”

  He changed the subject and began to talk casually about troubles with Spain. I listened, offering no comment. He seemed to be merely thinking aloud but I had a suspicion he was trying to lead me into some comment that would give him a hint or two about me. For some reason I disturbed him and offended his sense of order.

  Why was he interested? How had I disturbed him?

  And then, like a sudden shaft of light into a darkened room, it came to me.

  He—this man here—must be Rafe Leckenbie’s protector!

  Many men in high places, or climbing to high places, had utilized the services of such. It would be very convenient to have thieves at one’s beck and call, to steal papers, to frighten, to murder.

  Now, at least, I had a theory, an inkling of what might be the truth. He needed Leckenbie, and I therefore represented a threat. Or perhaps he felt Leckenbie was growing too independent and he wished to know more….

  John entered with a tray bearing two plates of cold meat, cheese, and bread, and two glasses of wine. One plate, one glass, were placed before me, the others before my host.

  Suddenly of one thing I was sure. I was not going to drink that wine.

  CHAPTER 21

  MY HOST LIFTED his glass. “Your health!” he said, cheerfully enough. I picked up the remnants of my malmsey and drank, then put the glass down. There was some irritation in his glance as he watched me but he said nothing. I made up my mind to leave as soon as chance offered.

  This man I did not like, despite the fact that he had befriended me long since. What was on his mind I did not know but I suspected he wanted to see what might be among my clothes, and if I had any message that would tell him more of me or what I was about.

  “I have come at your summons,” I said at last. “I do not know what you wish. I thank you for the food, but I shall be going now.”

  “Sit,” he spoke sharply, commanding me. “You have written a piece about Rafe Leckenbie. I believe that you conspire with him, but whatever you do, I wish no more of this.”

  At a stir behind me, I arose so that none could come at my back. “I have nothing to do with Leckenbie or any other. I am my own man,” said I. Then I thought to warn him off. “Although I have friends enough who wish me well. I shall write what I please.”

  “He will see you dead!”

  I laughed. “Once he has tried to kill me, and several times he has promised it. Think you that another warning will matter?”

  My hand rested on my sword. “I bear you no ill will, whoever you are, or whatever you do. I shall go now. Do not send for me again.”

  “You do not trust me?” he asked, smiling.

  “I will trust you,” I said, “if you will drink that wine.”

  His eyes were not pleasant to see. “That wine? I drank my wine. I want no more. What has wine to do with it?”

  “Then let your man drink it.”

  “There is no need for that,” my host protested.

  “Very well then. I shall go.” Then I spoke to John, who barred the door. “Do you stand aside.”

  John made no move. “He seems a good, trusting man, this John of yours.” I spoke quietly. “If you wish not to lose him, have him stand aside.”

  “Bother him,” said John. “Let him come at me.”

  “I do not wish to kill your man,” I said, “but I fought more than half an hour with Leckenbie.”

  John looked at his master.

  “Stand aside then, John,” said the man. “This can be done another time.”

  John stood aside, and I walked past him, ready to turn upon them if need be, but neither moved. When I was outside upon the dark street I ran a dozen steps quickly and dodged into a lane. Within minutes I was far away, still puzzling over it all but sure of one thing. The man was somehow allied to Leckenbie, and probably his protector.

  If I had enemies I wished to know them and from what corner they might strike. So it behooved me well that I find out this man, and know his name and strength.

  Tosti Padget was nowhere about when I entered the inn, but Jacob Binns was. I went to him at once and recounted my experiences. Binns himself had changed. He had filled out somewhat, his eyes were clearer, and for all his years, he was much more agile. He was rested now, of course, and eating with more regularity.

  He listened without question until my story was complete, then asked several questions. Finally he said, “I know the man.

  “There is always,” he began, “a struggle for power, for a place close to the center. In England Queen Elizabeth is the power, make no mistake about it. There are some who believe it is this minister or that, or some favorite or would-be favorite, but such is not the case. The good Queen Bess has things very much in hand. Any who wish to use her had best examine their position with care.

  “There is much pulling and pushing for power. There are some who believe that no woman can be strong, that if close enough they could manage her. They delude themselves. She is an uncommonly shrewd woman.

  “The man we speak of is one of those reaching for power. Leckenbie is a convenient tool. Four persons who would have blocked that man’s reach for the throne have had accidents. One, a woman, was struck by a horse racing through a lane and killed. A man fell into the Thames and drowned. At least two others have been killed in duels.”

  “Duels?”

  “Aye, this man of whom we speak has several swordsmen who are in his pay or who owe him service. One of these is a Captain Charles Tankard. He has killed five men in duels in England, another one or two in France and Italy. He is a skilled swordsman.”

  “Better than Leckenbie?”

  “Who knows? They have not fought, nor met each other, I think, although they serve the same master.”

  He changed the subject suddenly. “You spoke once of wishing to make a small venture in trade. Are you still of such a mind?”

  “I am.”

  “There is a vessel being prepared for a trading voyage to the north coast of America. They are not looking for gold but for something more simple. They seek to trade for furs and will bring back a few ship’s timbers, also. The master is a solid man, the vessel a good one.”

  “I have only a few pounds.”

  “It is a start.”

  “Very well. Whom do I see?”

  He wrote a name on a slip of paper. “This woman.”

  “Woman?”

  “Aye, lad, and a shrewd one she is. Her husband was a ship’s captain who set himself up in trade, and when he passed on, becoming ill after a surfeit of pickled herring and Rhenish wine, she took up the trade herself. Go to her. She has a number of small ventures and will take yours. I have spoken to her.”

  “Her name?”

  “Delahay. Emma Delahay.”

  It was not until after I left that I realized I had not learned the name of the white-haired man.

  Emma Delahay lived in Southwark and had a place of business there. She was a handsome woman of perhaps forty years, with large dark eyes and a lovely skin.

  At a desk near her sat a man whom she presented as Mr. Digby, who was her keeper of accounts, runner, and general helper. He was a small man with a dry, wrinkled skin and bright, birdlike eyes.

  She gave me a receipt for my money, and when I commented that two pounds w
as very little, she shrugged. “I know some who are now rich who began with less.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “You are young. Would you consider going upon a venture yourself?”

  “Not at present, but I have given thought to it.”

  “Give more,” she said. She was studying me as we talked. “You did the piece on Leckenbie, did you not?”

  “And some others.”

  “It was good. We have had no trouble of him yet, but it will come.”

  “Delahay,” I said. “It is an uncommon name.”

  Her features bore no expression, but her eyes were cool. “So is Chantry.” She frowned suddenly. “I have heard the name but once…it was something told me by my husband.” She continued to frown, trying to remember. “Ah, yes! I do recall! It was something about a man lost at sea, some inquiries about him. But,” she gestured, “that was long ago.”

  When I returned to the inn, I learned that Jacob Binns had gone. In the months that followed I saw no more of him, nor of Rafe Leckenbie, although his name was spoken abroad now and again. All went quietly with me. I wrote several small pieces and attempted a play, which came to nothing.

  Discreetly, I made inquiries of Fergus MacAskill, but could learn nothing. If he had been lost in the Hebrides I did not know, or killed in battle.

  My first small venture at sea was a success and my money was tripled. Adding two pounds more I then divided my investment between two ventures to lessen the risk.

  I was quite sure Emma Delahay was Irish, but she spoke not of that, nor did I, for to be Irish in England at the time was to be suspect. No good could come of it being bruited about.

  Certainly, I was making my way, yet what I had put by was so little that life was ever from hand to mouth. My clothes were neat but not rich. I ate with some regularity and had a bit over for the theater from time to time. My second attempt at a play was also a failure. Nonetheless, I sold a ballad on the hanging of a highwayman, and another about a pirate.

  In all this time I had altered much from the boy who left Ireland behind, for I had grown several inches and was close on to six feet high, tall for my time. My hair was dark, almost to black, and my eyes of a gray kind. But my skin was darker than many, for I was of the Black Irish on one side of the family.

  I maintained my skill by fencing two or three times each week with any man I could find who wished to cross a blade. Often on the greens I would have at Tosti Padget with the quarterstaff, for I found him uncommonly good. And also with another man, a burly fellow who was an apprenticed bricklayer named Jonson. Many a good bout we had, and all to keep my skills sharpened, for I had no doubt the time would come when I would have need of them.

  Knowing that someday I must test my strength against Rafe Leckenbie, I worked constantly to increase my skill and agility. Once after leaving the warehouse of Emma Delahay I was set upon by thieves and used them quite roughly, breaking the jaw of one with my fist and ripping up the second with a dagger.

  Whether Leckenbie was warned by the white-haired man to have no dealings with me, I knew not, but I saw no more of him.

  By lingering along the river front I soon became familiar with various mariners, men of the sea and those who dealt with them. And with some of the members of the Muscovie Company.

  Of these I made inquiry to discover what manner of goods would fare best in trade with foreign lands, for it was here I hoped to make my fortune, if such I was to have. All talk was of piratical raids, the taking of treasure galleons and such-like, but it seemed to me too chancy to warrant the effort and the risk.

  Trade with America, I learned, was best. Listening to the talk of the savages that lurked in the forests of America, I deemed it wise to acquire a stock of edged tools, needles, copper bells, and brightly colored cloth.

  At that time I also chanced a small venture of my own, exclusive of Emma Delahay. It was a ship to the Baltic lands and I spent a little on gloves of knit and leather, linens, and spectacles of the common kind.

  From these loiterings along the river and talk with mariners I obtained material for a short piece entitled A True Relation of a Voyage Along the Shores of Muscovie, And What Took Place There. It was only a few years since the return of Anthony Jenkinson from Muscovie and there was much interest in those lands. A paper paid me a few shillings, and the trade after a few months returned fourfold. I had done well. Carefully, I put by such small sums garnered here and there.

  I could never be sure of what would transpire in London. Being Irish, I might be at any time found out and forced to flee. Jacob Binns had vanished as mysteriously as he had come, and I was not surprised. I suspected he was a Freemason, although I knew naught of them, only that theirs was a secret society.

  Unusual sightings, miracles, and prodigies of all kinds were exciting to me and I listened avidly for news of them. There had been extraordinary appearances in October of 1580 and again in the spring of 1583. Strange apparitions were seen in the air and evil things appeared in storms. I thought much on these happenings, believing little yet willing to speculate.

  Several times I turned these happenings into items that could be published, and from each made a few shillings. From a seafaring man in the White Hart I obtained a story which I soon published. A True Relation of the Frightful Experience of Shipwreck by Hans Goderik, And the Results Thereof. Then from a Spanish prisoner I obtained a hint of a story which I pursued for some time, resulting in two pamphlets, one after the other, entitled A Recital of Events Following Cruel Murder of Inca King and Vast Treasures Then Buried.

  Only a day after this last publication I was leaving the house of Emma Delahay in company with Mr. Digby when a young girl ran past us, pursued by two rough-looking men. They caught her only a few yards on and commenced to beat her, but before they could strike more than a pair of blows, I was upon them. Seizing the first by the shoulder, I jerked him away and flung him against the side of the house. The other then dropped his hold of the girl and turned on me. He had a sword in his hand in an instant, and he had at me. In no mood to trifle, I parried his blade and ran him through the sword arm.

  He dropped his blade, cursing me with vile words while the first man straightened up. “Ah, what a fool you are to interfere with us! We have those above us who brook no such trifling.”

  “Are you Leckenbie’s men?”

  They were suddenly wary. “And if we are?” said the second.

  “Tell him he would be better attacking men than girls. As for you…if you bother her again, I’ll slit your gullets.”

  “Hah! It is your throat that will be slit. I know you now, and I will speak to those who will have a care for you.”

  “Get on with you!” I replied shortly.

  They walked away, the one trying to bind up his arm, which was bleeding badly.

  Mr. Digby shook his head. “Lad, you’ve but one choice. Be off from London within the hour. The girl was a bawd, one of those forced to pay monies to Leckenbie and his like. They will permit no interference.”

  “If they wish to find me, they know where I am,” I replied quietly. “But what I meant to ask Emma Delahay I can ask you. What news of the Good Catherine?”

  “She was sighted not long since, and should be coming up the Thames within the day.”

  Arriving back at the tavern, I ordered a slice or two of beef, a bit of cheese and bread with a glass of wine, and waited for Tosti Padget. He had scarcely come when another man entered. A tall man, lean and strong. He looked sharply around, then crossed to me.

  “You are Chantry?” His tone was a challenge.

  “I am.”

  “I have read your paltry tales of shipwreck and treasure. They are trash, and they are lies, and you yourself are a liar!”

  Suddenly my initial surprise was gone. Strangely, I was cool. “And your name?”

  “Tankard,” he replied, “Captain Charles Tankard.
”

  “Of course,” I said, “I have been expecting you. What took you so long? Or were you afraid?”

  “I? Afraid?” He was both astonished and angry. “I am Charles Tankard!”

  “Indeed? If I were you I should be ashamed to speak the name. I know of you as a paid murderer, as a creature in the employ of Rafe Leckenbie…and perhaps of others.

  “They tell me also,” I stood up, “that you are a swordsman. Now I have no doubt that you came here to kill me, sent by the masters for whom you run your foul errands. Is not that true?”

  He was angry—coldly, furiously angry. I wanted him so. He was reputed to be dangerous, and no doubt he was. His rage would do him no good, and might make him rash.

  He started to reply, but I was before him. “Please!” I interrupted. “If we must fight, let us do so! Your breath is as foul as your manners, and the sooner we have done the better!”

  I gestured. “There is an inn yard close by. It will be convenient. Be hasty now, for your masters will be awaiting the report from the dog they sent to do their bidding!”

  Oh, it reached him! He rushed at the door. “Come then,” he said. “This is one fight I shall enjoy!”

  “Briefly, perhaps,” I replied.

  Tosti whispered, aghast, “That man is Charles Tankard! He’s killed a dozen men!”

  “Then perhaps thirteen will be unlucky for him,” I said.

  This was what I had trained for. This was the moment I had known would come. And now, would my hours of fence be enough? Or would I die by the blade that had bled so many others?

  Now was the moment.

  The light in the inn yard was ill. There was night upon us, with only the stars above and some light from windows close about. But enough, enough.

  The footing would be bad. There were paving blocks about, roughly squared before being set, yet an easy means of tripping a man. I must be careful.

  Charles Tankard walked past me and turned, sword in hand. He was a handsome man in a dissolute way, a hardy rogue no doubt, and experienced at this sort of thing.