Rupert paced from the stern. His head was bent till the hair hid most of his face. His fists clamped and undamped. Amidships, his regard fell on one of the guns. He stopped. Seeking distraction, he ran knowledgeable hands across its sleekness and stooped to heft a ball from the rack beside it.
A thud brought him alert. A hatch cover was tilting off the deck. Who’s that in the powder magazine? he thought, and crouched to peer from the carriage.
Will Fairweather’s head poked up, swiveled around, flashed a smile through gloom. “Nobody about,” he said most quietly. “Liake I reckoned. Let’s leap to it, though.”
He slid the cover aside, scrambled forth, stood to buckle his belt. Nina the maidservant came after, her hair and gown rumpled. “Fasten thy girdle, ninny,” he reminded her. She tittered.
Rupert rose and trod forward. “Buenas tardes,” he said.
Nina squealed. Will jumped, before he emitted a rackety laugh. “Ah, my loard. Thou’st lost no skill at reconnaissance. Nor lost caere for tha needs o’ thy poor zoldiers, I trust.” To the dismayed girclass="underline" “Fear not.
’A can keep a tactical zecret. Do thou taeke caere liakewise, my little messenger pigeon, to let nothin’ drop.
Now, fly along, preen thyself ere thou must attend thy mistress, an’ in thy miand rehearse our next coup.”
He slapped her on the behind. She cast a glance half apprehensive, half roguish at Rupert’s looming form and pattered off. Will replaced the hatch cover.
The prince sighed and shook his head. “How dost thou do it?” he wondered.
“In the usual way, zir,” answered the dragoon. “Or if thou’d’st know how I persuade’em, when I’m no beauty, why, zir,’tis a girt fallacy that women caere for looks in a man as men caere for looks in a woman.
Attention, my general, attention’s what they wish, shy at first for to show respect, brash laeter for to show interest; an’ then, o’ coua’se,’tis tha good acts which recall us to tha staege.” He bowed. “Not that faeme, high birth, an’ handsomeness ben’t useful, zir, moare or less in thic order. But by themzelves tha’ just zit there, doin’ naught. Tha general could’a royalized half England had’a obzarved tha zignal flags flyin’ everywhere around him.”
“Enough prating.” Rupert turned harsh. “How long hast thou been at this?”
“Longer than moast, zir, she tells me. However, there’s another zuperstition, that meare zize—”
“In time, thou dolt!” Rupert sighed and spread his hands. “Oh, no matter.” Stern again: “I’m chiefly shocked to find a soldier of mine using for his lechery a… a powder magazine.”
Will snickered. “Art afeared we’ll touch it off? Zooth, she’s planty hot. We did zeek tha hoalds first. Zir, I can repoart no woman aliave’ll keep tha mood after a dozen cockroaches ha’ run tickle-foot across her belly. Well, Tunis be at peace an’ no pirates looked for. Thus few zailors come by heare; none poake into yon ammunition locker. An’, zir, I can liakewise repoart the smell o’ gunpowder works on women like catnip.”
Rupert gave up an unequal contest. As a Parthian shot, he said, “Thou’st loaded a single breech under sea conditions, and yet durst generalize?”
“I know who’d love bein’ generalized,” Will guffawed, “as well as boarded, berthed, oaver-hauled—”
With an open-handed blow, Rupert knocked him sprawling. “Get out of here before I kick thee hence!” the prince roared.
Will clutched his ringing ear. “Foargive me,” he whispered. “I forgot thine honor, loard.” He crept to his feet and went unsteadily aft, beyond the screens toward the ladders.
Rupert remained among the guns.
I’m sorry, mine old friend, went through him. Forgive thou me. I stoned a harmless rook because he cawed and chanced to sound like words which flayed a nerve. He paced. Oh, I’m no pup; I’ve winded it myself: and Mary was a scentless butterfly whose tints I only dimly can remember. He stopped. Belinda—Jennifer—this quest of mine will likely end in that this pulsing flesh lies quiet, meat for dogs, or that these ribs provide a white cathedral for the fish… Of course, there’s heaven, Euclid-perfect heaven. His fist beat the cannon beside which he stood, up and down, up and down. Or Jennifer—devoted, chaste, bucolic, betrothed to me by hurried heathen rites I scarce recall—a maid from those romances Cervantes laughed into oblivion… And then this ring. I own’tis served me well. But to what final end? The Devil’s wares, or simple Faerie gold, go off like leaves in sudden killing frost and midnight wind, which leave mere skeletons against the sky… What is this ring, and what is she who gave it? Belinda is entirely of our earth. But likewise is Herndn—more woundable—who gave me refuge in a bitter hour—Arghl I must cease this childish whimpering. Is common decency so burdensome? He regarded his hand with astonishment. Why, look, I’ve hammered blood from out my fist. I’d best invent a likely accident.
XVII
Stiff under a mid-afternoon sun, Jennifer walked between Nobah Barker and Sword-of-the-Lord. The clergyman was on her left. He gripped her wrist in such a manner that the ring on her third finger lay always in his view. The youth simply gave her his arm. His face showed more torment than hers, which was frozen. Behind them, in Puritan civil garb as before, paced the rest of the escort, and a hired interpreter.
Frenchmen—mariners, dock wallopers, ferriers, hawkers, chandlers—bustling between high buildings and bare masts, stared at the party but did not interfere. There was too much else to do; here odors of salt and tar blent with those of spices, corn, lumber, dried fish and fruit, all the produce of the Midworld lands. The hot air racketed.
Abruptly Barker exclaimed, then Jennifer screamed. He dropped his hold as if burnt by an incandescence of her ring. Its colors fountained and coruscated, brighter than day. Shouts and callings upon God lifted from the other men.
The girl whirled and ran. Barker yelped an incoherent order and hastened after her. She could outdistance him, but not the four soldiers who collected their wits and pounded in pursuit. Indignation boiled from people thrust aside. In yards, the Englishmen were caught up to Jennifer.
Hands clamped. She wailed like a wildcat, writhed, tugged till cloth ripped beneath fingers. When she could not break free, she turned around to claw, kick, and bite. The Roundheads lost blood here and there before they got her down on the paving.
Their companions arrived, having made a way through the crowd. Most formed a circle, as much to hide what went on as to keep off the French. Sword-of-the-Lord flung himself on his knees beside Jennifer.
She had gone limp, half conscious. Barker knelt likewise, to blurt a quick prayer and take her left arm. The jewel had dimmed a little. He moved her hand around. The brilliance heightened afresh. As it chanced, no ship was tied up at this immediate spot; but not far out, one lay anchored. When pointed straight that way, the ring fairly flamed.
It was no more intense than the triumph on Barker’s countenance. Nevertheless he was careful to tuck the hand with the sigil under a fold of her skirt, before he got up to treat with the guards who approached.
It was considerably larger and more luxurious than the one assigned Rupert: furnished almost like a chamber ashore, save for brass chains to secure chairs, and with an inner door now shut. Long light from the west filtered past curtains to where Duchess Belinda paced.