‘We have come to fetch James Josselin from Shyam,’ I answered. ‘Two of us will go in and find him, while Withypoll waits for us in Colchester.’
Scotschurch shook his head. ‘Madness, but I wish you well. Rid us of Josselin and we can all go home.’ He rearranged his mouth and let his eyes hang heavy such that I feared he might fall asleep.
I cleared my throat. ‘The town gates are all locked.’
‘Aye, Mayor Flanner insists, and I don’t blame him,’ Scotschurch exclaimed, eyes open wide for a moment. ‘They seek to keep the Pest at bay. He has walls and I have a river.’ He leant over the right arm of his chair and groped for a bottle. ‘He controls the road to Shyam besides. They know you are coming and plan to deny you passage.’
‘How will they prevent us?’ I asked, hopeful.
Scotschurch snorted, spitting wine onto his shirt. ‘With fine words and sound argument. They have been practising.’
‘Practising? We received our orders just three days ago.’
‘Aye, so you found out three days ago.’ The captain lifted the bottle to his lips and took a mighty draught. ‘Doesn’t mean it wasn’t decided beforehand.’
‘But Josselin fled London only a week ago.’
‘Josselin’s been in there two weeks,’ Scotschurch replied, releasing
a great sigh of strong fumes. He noticed me flinch. ‘Strong drink protects against the plague,’ he mumbled. ‘Which be why I encourage all my men to consume as much as they are able. Four have died since we came here, and none of them drank sufficient.’
If the townsmen tried to deny us passage, then Withypoll might attack them. ‘Do they have arms?’
‘Aye, so they do,’ Scotschurch nodded. ‘And mad men commit mad deeds, but Arlington insists you must go to Shyam and so we will enforce it. My men will escort you to the barricade.’
I scowled. ‘You saw Josselin yourself?’
Scotschurch shook his bleary head. ‘Before we arrived,’ he answered.
‘You have men in the town?’
He shook his head again. ‘The townspeople are terrified that any man who enters will transport the Pest with him, and that includes my men. If I needed to gain entry I could, but I don’t wish to stir them up. Flanner is an unpleasant fellow.’ He belched again. ‘So I leave them alone.’
‘How do you know Josselin isn’t in there with them?’
The captain shrugged. ‘Because he is at Shyam. He cannot be in two places at once.’
‘The Mayor would deny us passage,’ I considered. ‘Suppose he denies us access for fear we would discover that Josselin is not in Shyam at all. Perhaps Josselin hides in Colchester. They talk of him as a hero in these parts. Of course they would shelter him.’
The captain plunged his thumb up his nose and stretched out his nostril. ‘Aye,’ he conceded. ‘Could be. I don’t know where he is, nor do I much care, so long as you fetch him out.’
‘Then we must search the town and make sure he’s not hiding,’ I insisted.
‘Flanner won’t like it.’ The captain pursed his lips. ‘But that’s for you and he to debate. Tell Benjamin you wish to enter the town and that he is to take you there.’ He held up the bottle, half full of what looked like claret. ‘I will write it down as an order to give to him.’
‘Who is Benjamin?’
Scotschurch scratched his groin and reached for quill, paper and seal. ‘You will find him on the shore.’ He took his time scratching out his command in loose, spidery hand. Then he waved a hand and settled back in his chair with his eyes closed. He lifted his leg and broke wind, emitting the foulest of smells. ‘Good fortune and farewell.’
Good fortune indeed if Josselin was hiding in Colchester.
Chapter Eleven
Men shall be apt to put confidence in feigned friendships which shall profit them nothing.
I clambered back into the boat flushed with a sense of wild optimism. Josselin’s sole objective was to hide from Arlington. What better strategy than to persuade the townsfolk of Colchester to spread false rumour as to his whereabouts?
My excitement lacked contagion. Withypoll interrogated me with derision, snorting like a sneezy goat when I told him of my idea. He settled back, contenting himself with a long stare, huddled up beneath his jacket, shivering. Dowling sat silent, as he had been most of the day.
Back on shore I walked next to Dowling, seeking an opportunity to poke him in the ribs and discover what ailed him, but Withypoll stayed too close.
The first couple of soldiers we spoke to were too fuddled to
think. The third tottered about in an unsteady circle squinting into the distance against the sun, gaze fixed on someone in the distance. Following his stare I spotted the soldier we encountered before, the fellow with a sty so large he couldn’t see out of his left eye. He caught me staring and ducked out of sight.
‘Hoy!’ Withypoll saw him too and took off. We followed through the crowd, spotting the tail of his coat disappear up Magdalen Street. Strands of long, black hair bounced upon his head and flapped about his ears. He was the only sober soldier in the harbour, the only man capable of running without falling over.
‘Stop, Benjamin,’ Withypoll shouted. ‘Stop where you stand, else I shall slice off your ears.’
Benjamin ran on awkwardly, short legs struggling to carry his substantial bulk. Halfway up the hill he gave up and turned to face us, still grasping the barrel of his musket. His face glowed so bright I feared he might collapse at our feet. ‘What do you want?’ he panted.
Withypoll handed him the directive with moist palm. ‘You will escort us into the town,’ he said, prodding his sword into Benjamin’s belly. ‘Take us past the gates.’
Benjamin frowned, attempted to ignore the weapon, and took the letter.
‘Why did you run?’ I asked, wiping sweat from my own dripping brow.
‘I’ve had enough,’ he snapped, angry, still reading. Two more soldiers wandered down the hill, blank expressions on dull faces. Benjamin looked up and scowled. ‘Everyone is drunk and Scotschurch is the drunkest. None of us are allowed into the town. No one is posted to watch who enters or who leaves.’
‘Read the orders,’ Withypoll commanded, his body waving gently
from side to side. I wondered if he was about to drop dead on the spot.
‘Your company is here to make sure James Josselin doesn’t leave,’ I explained. ‘Now we’ve come to collect him. You will be sent home soon.’
Benjamin shrugged, a thoughtful expression clouding his eyes. ‘Not I. I live here. When the army leaves I stay behind.’ He glanced at Withypoll. ‘Why do you want to enter the gates? To go to Shyam?’
‘Lytle here persuaded your captain Josselin might be inside the town,’ Withypoll replied. ‘What do you think of that?’
Benjamin stared at me like I was a strange prophet.
‘Scotschurch said you arrived after Josselin entered Shyam,’ I said. ‘Maybe he didn’t go to Shyam at all.’
‘I didn’t arrive after Josselin,’ said Benjamin. ‘I was here already, but I didn’t see Josselin arrive. I heard about it next day. Josselin persuaded Flanner to allow him passage to Shyam is what they said.’
‘Would the townspeople protect him?’ I asked, excited.
‘Aye,’ Benjamin nodded, pensive. ‘He always was a liar. All this nonsense about wriggling through walls and withstanding torture. He was nine years old; he carried no special message. They tortured him, but he didn’t know what to tell them, else he would have told them in the twitch of a mouse’s whisker. The rest is nonsense and allowed him to take advantage of every gullible fool who heard the story.’
‘You were one of those fools, I suppose,’ Withypoll mocked him.
‘Not I,’ Benjamin replied, clenching his fists. ‘But I watched him at work. His family lived here for ten years while his father sought to regain his estates. It wasn’t until the Restoration that the family’s fortunes improved. James Josselin is the most idle man I ever met.