"Let her go," Cavendish said. The room was silent, and his words could be heard plainly.
Hope answered angrily, "When she apologizes for striking a gentleman, you can have your whore, Cavendish."
David rose to his feet, to see the better. He knew he ought to edge out the door before his brother became aware of his presence. But he wanted to see for himself what would happen. In only a few seconds, he realized what would occur. Cavendish hit Hope across the side of his chin, and Hope fell backward into the next table. He steadied himself against it for a minute. Then he shouted, "I'll have satisfaction for that!"
He wrenched the rapier out of his sheath and would have lunged
13
forward with it, but two men seized him from behind. He struggled frenziedly.
"Sit down," Cavendish said to the wench; he patted her backside as she went past him. Her eyes were big as she watched him. "Don't fight, Captain," she said, pleadingly. But Cavendish had turned back to Hope, who had stopped struggling because one of the seamen who held him was twisting his left arm every time he tried to move. His breath was coming raggedly in his impotent anger. Cavendish drew his own sword and motioned with it. "Push those tables back," he said to the circle of men. They obeyed quickly. They saw that Cavendish was ready, and released Hope. The blades crossed, and the wench cried out in terror. David heard George Carey say to her, "Hold your tongue!" Behind David, the door opened and closed with a bang, and David realized that the landlord had sent someone for the night watch. He climbed up on the table to see better, but another man tried to climb up too, and the table began to tremble under their combined weight. David had a brief glimpse of his brother's face before he jumped down again; he heard the click of steel against steel. The room was breathless; the girl cried out again, and again Carey told her to be quiet.
David could see how fast Cavendish moved in the small space. Suddenly there was complete quiet; the stamp of the duelists' feet had stopped. Outside there were cries and voices; inside David saw that the brief fight was over.
"All of my company who are here will go back aboard now." It was Cavendish. He was not far from the side door, and he went to it and opened it. "All of you!" he cried.
In amazement, David watched the quick evacuation of the tavern. It had just been effected when he realized that in a moment Cavendish would see him, and he jerked open the door nearest him and ran out into the street. Other men were running, and he ran too. He caught up to the last one.
"What happened?" he asked breathlessly. "Captain killed him," was the reply.
David slackened his pace; the man ran on down the narrow street. In two minutes David was alone again, walking slowly. It had started to rain a little; off the harbor came a slanting wind. David reckoned he would walk for thirty minutes and then return to the tavern, innocently. He did.
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He re-entered the Lion at ten o'clock. The room was deserted except for the landlord. He regarded David suspiciously. "What do you want? I'm going to bar the doors now."
David didn't ask questions. "I want to see Captain Cavendish," he said.
"Oh," said the landlord. "But, sir, are you Captain Havers, sir?"
"No," said David. "I'm not a member of his company."
"Then I cannot disturb him," the landlord said.
David looked around the room. It had been tidied up a little. "May I wait?" he asked.
The landlord frowned. But David was a gentleman.
"I must see the Captain," David said. "I'll wait. I'll sit over there." He pointed to a wooden bench that ran along one short wall.
The landlord eyed him. Then he sighed. "All right, sir," he conceded. He walked over to the door and barred it. He blew out the last lamp. "Good night, sir," he said, puzzledly, wondering why David didn't ask for a room. "Good night," he said again at last. Then he paused for one last remark. "I'll be glad when the Captain sails," he said sourly.
The bench was hard. Even so, David stretched out, waking and sleeping, changing his position, trying to get comfortable on a wooden bench. He pillowed his head in his arms and slept fitfully. When the first light of the dawn filtered through the windows, he sat up and surveyed himself.
He tried to tidy his clothes. He brushed himself off with his hands, and rubbed the dust off his boots. He went out the back door and found the pump. He washed his hands and face, smoothed his hair back with his wet hands. He wished he could ask for a razor, but he had nothing with which to pay for it. He went back into the common room and saw his brother. Now he must speak.
"Good morning, Tom," he said.
Cavendish swung around in surprise. There was no one else in the room, and Cavendish had been going to sit down at a table for breakfast. He already had ale, and he lifted the tankard to his lips and drank.
"What do you do here?" he asked, setting down the tankard; and his eyes took in David's appearance. "Where did you spend the night?"
David shut the door and came closer. Both men sat down, and David said, "I had to see you, Tom!"
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Cavendish's blue eyes were on him, and David said, truthfully, "I spent the night on that bench, waiting."
Cavendish looked toward the bench and grinned. "Hungry?" he asked.
"I'm famished," David said.
"Go tell the landlord to bring two meals," Cavendish said.
He watched while David disappeared into the kitchen. When David came back, his steps lagged a little.
"Why didn't you bring yourself some ale?" Cavendish asked.
"I'll pay for it," Cavendish said.
"Thank you, Tom." David was silent.
"Why did you want to see me? How did you find me here?"
David blurted out the truth.
"I found you last night, but I didn't want you to see me, because you had a fight with Hope. So I waited until this morning."
Cavendish said nothing, as the landlord appeared, burdened with food. He set it down for the two men, and Cavendish began to eat. David waited.
"Eat," said Cavendish, gesturing with his knife.
"Aye, sir," David said.
"So you found me last night? And what did you want?"
David was chewing a big piece of ham. He spoke through it. "I want to sail with you," he said.
Cavendish nodded. He washed down a mouthful with another draft of ale.
"I followed you from London."
Cavendish picked up a piece of white bread. "You'd not have this aboard for long," he said. "David, do you think a two-year voyage is a pleasant adventure?"
"No," said David. "But I think it's better than rotting in Suffolk!"
"It is useless for me to try to make you understand why I will not allow you to come."
David felt the anger, the old rebellious anger, rising. His face was white. He started to speak; then rigidly he controlled his voice. Under the table his hands were clenched. "Tom," he said slowly, "why cannot I find out for myself?"
There was no answer. David tried for calm. "Tom," he said, "I'm twenty-four years old. For twelve years—" He broke off. "Tom, let me come!"
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"No," said Cavendish.
David said, low, "Is it because you think I'm not—fitted for hardship?"
Cavendish shook his head.
"Tom, let me prove I can do it!" It was an appeal he didn't want to make. And it apparently made no impression, for Cavendish said, "The men who prove their bravery usually die."
David was surprised. It had not occurred to him that he might die. "You'll be there," he said, and then Cavendish suddenly said something that surprised him even more.
"I should not ship you aboard the Desire," he said. "If you sail, you'll sail with Havers."