Kate Sedley - The Plymouth Cloak

He nodded, and I gathered my black-handled knife from the table and my bundle and cudgel from beneath the bench, where I had placed them at the start of the meal. In silence, but uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes upon us, we made our way to the refectory door. As we reached it, Silas Bywater shouted: 'Don't think you've heard the last of this, Master Underdown! I know things about you that you wouldn't want made common knowledge, and don't forget that! I'll get you yet, you hell-hound!'

It was already dark and the bells were ringing from the Abbey church for the last office of the day. I should have liked to share in the brothers' worship, but I dared not leave my companion's side, and instinct told me that Philip Underdown was not a religious man. Of course, he believed in Heaven and Hell like the rest of us, but I guessed that he would have to be in extremis before he seriously considered the state of his soul.

'Do you know where the Infirmary is?' I inquired.

He shook his head. 'No, but we can always ask.' One of the brothers, late for Compline, flapped towards us out of the gloom. In answer to our query, he pointed towards a building which stood a little apart from the others and confirmed that, at present, all the beds were empty, the aches and chills and agues of autumn not yet having begun to take their toll of the community. We thanked him, and I led the way across the courtyard. The door of the Infirmary creaked slightly as I opened it and edged inside.

The interior was very dark, and the only thing I could make out immediately was the cruciform window at the farther end. But as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I could just discern the shape of a trestle, set back against the wall to the right of the doorway; and it was only a matter of moments before my groping fingers encountered what they were seeking, a rush-light in its holder and, nearby, a tinderbox. I managed to strike the flint against the steel and the tinder burst into flame. I lit the rush-light and held it aloft, its flickering, uncertain beam faintly illuminating the two rows of beds which faced each other down the length of the room.

As I knew only too well, the single concession religious houses made to ill health was a thin palliasse fitted inside the wooden frame.

Philip Underdown advanced and began prodding one of these straw-filled mattresses with an air of disdain. He made no comment, however, probably reflecting that we at least had our privacy, and that the Infirmary cots were better than the floor of the Abbey guest-house, surrounded by the smells and sounds of our fellow diners. He removed his doublet and shoes, relieved himself in a comer of the room, checked the contents of the leather pouch attached to his belt and flung himself down on one of the beds, all without saying a word.

I followed suit, but before lying down checked that my knife and cudgel were both to hand, and dragged the trestle across the door, which opened inwards.

My companion snorted derisively. 'You're not afraid of that windbag, Silas Bywater, are you? He's all bluff and always has been. He'll do me no harm. I'll see to that. But in fact, he won't even try.'

'It's not a chance I'm prepared to take,' I answered, trying to adapt my bulk to the narrow frame of the bed. 'The Duke trusts me to see you safely to Plymouth, and I have no intention of betraying that trust if I can help it.' I had blown out the rush-light, but I did not need its pallid rays to see the sneer on Philip Underdown's face. I understood him well enough by now to know that he despised feelings such as loyalty and friendship. What he did, he did for money and for no other reason. I went on quickly: 'You're familiar with these parts, then. Plymouth and its neighbourhood.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Silas Bywater. You recruited him and the rest of the Speedwell's crew from here. Or did I misunderstand him?' There was a slight pause before he replied: 'No. My brother and I traded out of Plymouth as well as Bristol and London. We took on a fresh crew each time, because months, perhaps even a year or more, could elapse between voyages while we assembled a full cargo. Dwarfs were the items that fetched most money, and, as you surmised, they were not always easy to find. Sometimes it meant scouring the country as far north as the Scottish Border. It would have been impractical to keep a regular crew kicking their heels all that while.'

'And when you were in France or Italy? You had to keep your men idle then.'

'Those trips were necessarily shorter. A matter of weeks only. We sold what we'd brought and used the money to restock the ship'. If we found someone like Paolo, as we did that last time, we considered ourselves in luck, but the demand for dwarfs has never been so great in this country as it is abroad, particularly in Italy. But I've told you all this before, although God knows why! You're here to protect me, not pry into my affairs. So I suggest you hold your tongue and go to sleep.'

He hunched himself sideways on his pallet, turning his back towards me. I linked my hands behind my head and stared up at the dimly-seen ceiling. I did not like Philip Underdown and there was something about him which made me uneasy. But I was tired. It had been a long day since I awoke in the shelter of someone's barn, just outside Exeter, early that morning; a day which had not gone as expected, but which had set me instead on the road to Plymouth in the company of this unpleasant man. I dropped one arm over the side of the cot and my fingers closed comfortingly around the handle of my knife, where it lay on the floor beside my cudgel. My senses were swimming and I, too, turned on my side, disposing my long limbs as best I could and nestling my shoulder into the mattress. I was almost across the borderline of sleep when my eyes, flicking open for a brief moment, informed me that there was another door at the opposite end of the Infirmary from which we had entered. There was quite likely a trestle there also, with a rush-light and tinder-box on it, and I knew I should get up and investigate, barring that door as well, if possible. But my body refused to respond when I willed it to rise. My arms and legs were still aching in every sinew and craved rest. If I were to mount that rouncey, now fed and watered and asleep in the Abbot's stables, tomorrow morning, with anything approaching cheerfulness, I had to sleep. My eyes shut obediently, and once again I headed towards the brink of unconsciousness. Philip Underdown was already snoring…

I have no idea what woke me, but suddenly my eyes were wide open. It was impossible to tell how long I had been asleep; long enough, fortunately, to turn on to my other side, facing in Philip Underdown's direction. Someone, a man, was standing over his sleeping form, the right arm raised, the hand holding a knife. Even in the darkness, I could see the pallid gleam of the blade.

I was out of bed before I was even conscious of what I was doing, my right arm locked about the assailant's throat, my left knee in the small of his back. He gave a kind of choking cry and dropped his knife with a clatter on to the stone floor, waking Philip, who immediately sat up, reaching for his dagger. Before he could come to my assistance, however, the man I was holding gave a sudden kick backwards with his right foot, catching me, more by luck than judgement, full in the genitals and causing me to loosen my grip. While I was doubled up in pain, he wrenched free, eluded Philip Underdown's lunging arm and fled for the open doorway at the far end of the Infirmary. A moment later the heavy door slammed to behind him and we were alone.

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.