The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 5

Philip Underdown would have given chase, but I restrained him. It was still dark outside and there could be little hope of finding anyone with such a head start. All it would achieve would be to disturb the monks and rouse the other sleepers, drawing attention to ourselves and what had happened. He agreed reluctantly, relit the rush-light, placed it on the floor between our beds and sat down on the edge of his own cot, facing me. After a moment, he stooped and picked up the fallen knife, turning it over and over in his hands. Not once did he ask how I was, although he must have realized the pain I was suffering.

'Who was it?' he asked. 'That creeping plague-spot, Silas Bywater?'

I eased myself full-length on to the mattress, propping myself up on my elbows. 'I didn't get a proper look at him, but somehow I don't think so. He was too tall and too slender. More the build of that man who was watching us at supper yesterday evening. I think perhaps the Duke was right and you're in danger from… from people anxious to prevent this letter you're carrying reaching Duke Francis, in Brittany.' I hesitated, then added: 'And there maybe others, for different reasons, who… who wish to see you dead.' He shrugged with every appearance of indifference, but conceded gruffly: 'It seems the King's tame pet of a brother was right to appoint you my guardian, after all.' He stretched and yawned. 'I'm tired. I'll see if I can bar the other door and then we'll be able to sleep soundly until morning.' It was the nearest a man like him would ever come to thanking me for saving his life.

There was indeed another trestle at the opposite end of the room and Philip Underdown dragged it across the doorway.

Both entrances to the Infirmary were now barred, and we slept, if a trifle fitfully on my part, until the first pale shreds of daylight filtered through the slits of the window. Wearily I forced my aching limbs from bed, roused my companion, gathered our things together and went in search of the Abbey lavatorium. Here, we washed and scraped the stubble from our chins as best we could in the icy water before standing in line yet again for a bowl of thin gruel, a hunk of the previous day's bread and two oatcakes. Thanks to our cleanly habits, we were almost the last to arrive in the refectory, the only person later than ourselves being the well-dressed stranger.

That he was well-dressed, I now had a chance to observe; a polite, quiet man with a long, thin face and a rather lugubrious expression, who gave the impression of being unable to say boo to a goose. But I knew from experience that such an appearance could be deceptive. I invited him to sit with us, wondering what his reaction might be, but he accepted with every indication of pleasure, I did my best to engage him in conversation, but found him unforthcoming. Apart from learning that he had spent the night in the seclusion of the Abbot's parlour, he told me little else.

Sitting opposite us were the two friars, one of whom was having trouble tearing his hunk of bread into manageable pieces. Glancing up, he asked the stranger, who was sitting immediately facing him, if he could borrow his knife. 'For, as you know, my son, we are forbidden to carry them.'

My new acquaintance fumbled at his belt, hesitated and looked flustered. 'I'm sorry. I seem to have mislaid it. I must inquire if it has been discovered before I leave.' Philip Underdown's head turned sharply at this. 'Lost your knife, have you? We found one, didn't we, Roger? Show it to the gentleman. It could be his.'

I stooped down and untied the bundle at my feet, producing the knife, its blade wound round for protection with a scrap of woollen cloth torn from the square. 'As you see,' I said, pushing it towards the stranger, 'it's a good one. It has a silver handle.'

He hesitated, and I could almost feel the itch in his palm as he restrained the impulse to claim it. But: 'No,' he said resolutely, shaking his head, 'that doesn't belong to me.

Mine has a handle inlaid with enamel. You should place that in the keeping of one of the brothers. It's valuable.'

'So you can reclaim it later,' I thought to myself, satisfied that he was indeed the owner. I surreptitiously pressed Philip's foot with mine, and he returned the pressure with interest. 'We'll see it's properly bestowed before we leave.' I said aloud. 'Which reminds me, we should be on our way.' I swallowed the last of my ale and glanced pointedly at my companion's still full cup, then turned again to the other man. 'Are you travelling south? If so, would you care to join us? Three are always greater protection than two against misfortune.' I added mentally: 'And we can keep you under our eye.'

'Er — thank you, no. I shall be riding north-west to Tavistock. I have business there. But God be with you both. Have a safe journey.'

Philip had swilled down his ale in almost one gulp, and now rose to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'We intend to,' he answered shortly, 'make no mistake about that.' He inclined his head towards the two friars, who raised their hands in blessing. 'I'm ready,' he said to me. 'Let's be going.'

We made our way to the Abbot's stables, where we found our horses already fed and watered and only waiting to be saddled. When this was done, we led them into the courtyard and mounted, Philip springing up easily, myself hauling one leg painfully after the other, the injury of the past night adding itself to my other woes of stiffened thews and sinews.

Philip watched impatiently, suddenly anxious to be gone and put as many miles as possible between us and the man we were both now convinced was his attacker. If we could reach Plymouth well ahead of time — for neither of us had any real doubt that he would follow us — we might be able to go to ground until tomorrow, when the Falcon should arrive in Sutton Pool to take Philip on board and carry him safely to Brittany.

As I settled myself as comfortably as I could in the saddle, I reflected that today must be the first of October and tomorrow was therefore my birthday. The Duke of Gloucester's also. We would both be twenty-one years old, but there the similarity ended. He was Constable and Admiral of England, Warden of the West Marches towards Scotland, Great Chamberlain and Steward of the Duchy of Lancaster beyond Trent. He was the King's strong fight arm, a husband and a father. Whereas I was a humble chapman, a failed monk with no kith nor kin to call my own. Yet our paths had already crossed twice. Perhaps our lives were destined to intertwine.

My reverie was interrupted. 'Are you going to sit there all day, like a stuffed chicken?' my companion demanded rudely. 'For God's sake, let's be off.'

I nodded and dug my heels into the rouneey's sides, but just at that moment the gate into the stableyard burst open and Silas Bywater appeared. He reached up and grabbed Philip's bridle.

'You haven't seen or heard the last of me, you know, so don't think it. Here! I've got this for you.'

He was trying to push something into the other man's hand, but Philip hit him in the face, sending Silas sprawling in the dirt, jerked his horse's head around and vanished through the gateway, calling to me to follow. Before I had sufficiently gathered my wits to do so, however, Silas was on his feet again and standing at the cob's head. He raised one hand to mine, his battered features contorted with rage and hatred.

'Here, you give it to him,' he said. 'Tell Philip Underdown one day I'll catch up with him and then he'll be sorry. I know too much about him.'

Once more I gave my horse the office to start, but as the animal moved forward, I glanced down curiously at the thing in my hand. It was a trailing plant stem, with small clusters of white flowers at intervals along its length. Being country born and bred, I recognized it immediately as a common weed of most cultivated ground, which flowered from midsummer until late into the autumn. And it was because of the arrangement of those flowers that it was known as knotgrass.

We reached Plymouth by mid-afternoon, having travelled harder and faster than the day before. In other circumstances, I would have protested and insisted on taking more rest; but with our nameless adversary probably close behind us, I did not dare, and put up with my aches and pains as best I could.

I cursed that I had not asked the fellow his name, but Philip shrugged and said it would have been pointless.

'He would only have given you a false one, which he will change when he gets to Plymouth, so that any inquiries you might make will meet with no success. Forget it. We shall lie at the Turk's Head, where the landlord is a good friend of mine and will see that no one comes near us. He will bring us word, too, the moment the Falcon drops anchor.' With this I had to be content, and in any case conversation was necessarily limited. I was forced to concentrate on guiding my mount along the rutted Dartmoor tracks, if I were not to fall off and hinder our progress by injury. It was a beautiful day, as clear and transparent as a bubble, the October sun rimming the tots and distant uplands with fire.

Occasionally we passed an isolated farm or tiny hamlet, whose turf-thatched dwellings threw black wedges of shadow across the sunlit grass. The plaintive call of a solitary bird could now and then be heard high above us. We met very few fellow travellers, and then only those coming in the opposite direction. No one overtook us; and although I kept glancing back over my shoulder, the moor remained empty of pursuers.

Of necessity, we stopped at midday to answer calls of nature and to buy bread and cheese and ale from the goodwife of a nearby cottage. While we ate and drank, sitting in the sun, our backs propped against the rough grey stone wall which surrounded the enclosure, I showed Philip Underdown the stem of knotgrass and asked him what it meant. He stared at it for a moment, then spat.

'How do I know? The man's mad and should be locked up. He tried to give it to me before I took my hand to him. And that's what you should have done, not meekly accepted such rubbish.'

His vehemence, bordering almost on fury, told me that the knotgrass did mean something to him, something he would rather not be reminded of; but as I had little hope of discovering what that was, it was better to hold my tongue. I stared down curiously at the weed I was holding and tried to remember what, if anything, I knew of its properties. The only memory which came to mind was that of my mother seizing a stalk from my mouth when, boy-like, I had started to chew it. 'Don't,' she had said, 'it's poisonous.' But my mother had not always been correct in her knowledge. Like many country women, she had been extremely wise in some things, but also a prey to all kinds of old wives' tales, passed on from generation to generation, accruing a little more misinformation with each retelling. And I had never, either before or since, heard knotgrass spoken of as poisonous.

Suddenly, the plant was snatched from my hand as Philip tossed it away.

'I told you,' he reiterated fiercely, 'Silas Bywater's mad! Forget him. He won't trouble us again. I'll be gone from Plymouth before he can catch up with us. He's on foot. It'll take him all of today and much of tomorrow to get home.'

'Was what he said true?" I asked. 'Had you promised him and the Speedwell's crew more money?'

I expected him to turn on me again, but he only shrugged and laughed.

'You'd promise the Devil your soul when you're battling up the Channel with a leaky ship in a storm. Only a fool would take you seriously.' He added, cutting the conversation short: 'Come on. If we go now, we can be in Plymouth in time for supper. The food at the Turk's Head is plain, but plentiful, and I'm hungry. Return the beakers to the goodwife and let's be going.'

I resented his tendency to treat me as a servant, but suppressed my anger. The Duke trusted me to see that his letter got safely to Brittany and that was all that mattered.

We reached Plymouth just in time for supper. The fourth hour of the afternoon was being cried as we entered at one of the gates. The town has no walls, its only danger coming from sea-borne invasion, of which there has been much in the past hundred years. But the four main roads converging on the place all lead to gateways with short stockades on either side, so that people entering and leaving can be noted by the porters, and undesirable elements turned away. This of course is the theory, but in practice there are a dozen paths in and out of the town, and all sorts of rogues and vagabonds come and go at will. Most of the buildings lie along the edge and to the west of Sutton Pool, and the Turk's Head stands in one of the maze of narrow alleys close to the harbour. Its landlord in those days was a Comishman from across the Tamar, John Penryn; a black-haired, taciturn man, who made it his business to give good service, but never to inquire into the concerns of his guests. He knew nothing, saw nothing and heard nothing. As long as he was paid in full, that was all that mattered. Even if murder was committed beneath his roof, the Sheriff and county officers would receive no help from him.

Philip Underdown greeted him as an old friend, and I gathered that their association went back a long way, to the years when Philip and his brother were trading in and out of the town and had used the inn as their headquarters. There was a great deal of noise coming from the ale-room as we passed, but we were shown upstairs to a decent-sized chamber whose only door immediately faced the stairhead.

'You'll be comfortable enough here,' the landlord said, and I fancied there was a hidden meaning to his words.

Philip Underdown nodded. 'We'll take supper and breakfast in our room, if it's all the same to you. I don't wish to be seen more than necessary below stairs.'

John Penryn inclined his head. 'Moll can look after your meals. She's a good girl and doesn't complain at extra work.' He paused with his hand on the latch.' Is there anyone you want me to watch out for?'

'Anyone who's a stranger. Particularly someone who's well-dressed, thin of face, dark-haired. Oh, and keep a weather eye cocked for Silas Bywater, though I doubt he'll be back in Plymouth before I leave tomorrow, unless he gets a lift from a passing carter. He's been to Buckfast for the St Michael's fair and our paths unfortunately crossed.' The landlord curled his lip. 'So that's where he was. I thought I hadn't seen him around for the past week. He's a born trouble-maker. He'll overstep the mark one of these days. I'll watch out for him, don't worry.'

He disappeared and I heard him whistling as he went downstairs. I glanced about me and decided that the room was probably the best the inn afforded. There were two beds, I was happy to note, as I had no wish to share a mattress with my travelling companion, a large carved chest for clothes in one comer, and the rushes on the floor looked fairly clean with no sign of fleas hopping among them. The supper, too, when it came, was plentiful and wholesome, although mainly fish, it being a Friday. Philip grumbled, having had fish broth the previous evening; but, like me, he was too tired from the long day's ride to be very interested in what he was eating. And when the obliging girl called Moll had removed our dirty dishes and brought us our 'all-night' of bread and ale, we both, of one accord, pulled off our boots, removed our outer clothing and fell into bed, sinking thankfully into the comfort of the feather-filled mattresses.

Nothing happened that night to disturb our rest, and the morning sunlight was rimming the shutters before I was even conscious of closing my eyes. As I sat on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching, I reflected contentedly that today would see me rid of my charge and free to return to Exeter to pick up my pack and resume my normal life, secure in the knowledge that I had successfully carried out the Duke's commission. Philip Underdown would be equally glad to see the back of me as he embarked for Brittany on board the Falcon.

John Penryn had promised to let us know the minute the Falcon was sighted as she made sail into the Cattewater beyond the Sutton Pool barrier. It was a fine day with the sea like a millpond, and there seemed to be no reason why the Master should not bring her in on time. But the morning passed, its brightness fading slowly into a more overcast afternoon, and still there was no sign of the ship. As four o'clock and supper-time approached once more, and as Philip Underdown and I grew yet more frustrated and edgy, we threw caution to the wind and went down to the harbour to ascertain for ourselves that the Falcon had indeed failed to arrive..

'Where the hell is she7' Philip demanded through clenched teeth. 'The Duke assured me that the Master had his orders and would be here on Saturday with the tide.'

I had no words of consolation to offer, and was busy reconciling myself to another evening and night in Philip Underdown's unwelcome company. I was quite as distressed by the turn of events as he was, and moved away abruptly before I showed my feelings too plainly. As I did so, I thought I saw a figure withdraw furtively into one of the alleys which ran between the houses lining the quay. But although I moved swiftly, when I peered into the noisome little street, its gutter thick with the rotting detritus of everyday life, I could see no one. At that time of day, with everyone at supper, all was as quiet as the grave.