James Forrester - The Roots of Betrayal

“So,” said Alice grimly. “The Robin Hood of the High Seas is floating out there on the waves somewhere. Possibly forever more.”

The child threw his stick out of reach and started crawling toward it.

“I presume that’s Amy’s son? Is he better now?”

“He’s Amy’s. Raw’s too-or so Amy says. That’s why he’s called Ralph.”

“Raw’s? But…he never said anything about a son.”

Alice shrugged. “If Raw had acknowledged all the children he’d fathered, he’d soon forget which ones he’d acknowledged and which weren’t his. As he saw it, he’d never really know if this boy was his or not, unless he grew up to look like him. He loved all children dearly-he went out of his way to help a girl we found aboard the Davy -but he would never take responsibility for one of his own. He thought looking after children was a woman’s job. He thought quite a lot of things were women’s work. It’s what comes of him being brought up in a whorehouse.”

Clarenceux felt guilty, having left Carew out at sea, not having gone to search for him-having practically abandoned him.

Alice sighed. “I feel very sad. When all is said and done, he was my oldest friend and the man who did more to help me than any other man I ever met in my life. He gave me shelter, he gave me purpose and friends, he gave me money, and he protected me. I know he killed people, stole, blackmailed, murdered, seduced-I know all that. But he loved, cherished, protected, helped, and gave hope too. When we sailed with him, we knew who we were and that we were in the hands of a good commander. I am going to miss him terribly.”

“I am sorry,” said Clarenceux. “But he did think of the three of you when he knew he was facing death. And who knows? He may still be alive, on a beach somewhere, recovering his strength. Maybe in a few days he will walk through the door of this inn.”

Alice dried her hands on a towel at her side and stood up, steadying her large frame on the edge of the tub. “You don’t believe that, Mr. Clarenceux, and you saw him last. Your coming here has been a brave thing. If I thought for one moment you had betrayed him, I would have torn you to pieces with my bare hands. But you would not have come here to tell me of his loss unless you felt that you had to. I know it is your conscience that moves you.”

Clarenceux leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands together. “In that case, if you trust me, I need your help. Raw made me promise something else too. To help the other prisoners-Skinner, Francis, Stars, and the other men that Sir Peter Carew is taking to London. Sir Peter sailed three days ago; maybe they are already there. Maybe Sir Peter is sailing up the Thames with one man hanging dead from each of the yards of his ship-I don’t know. But yesterday, as we sailed to Calshot, Carew said the wind would be holding him up. If I can borrow a horse strong and swift enough, I could get to see Sir William Cecil and ask him to pardon the men.”

“Why would Sir William Cecil agree to pardon our friends-even though they be your friends and you a gentleman? He thinks they are pirates.”

“Because I will go to him and tell him that I know what he has done. I will tell him what he is guilty of. I will show him that his immortal soul is in danger.”

Alice looked down at him. Putting two fingers under his chin she lifted his face, making him rise to his feet. “You are going to have to do better than that. Sir William Cecil is a man of power. You understand power, don’t you? It is a sort of religion. It demands total obedience. It requires men to make the ultimate sacrifice. It makes a man think differently about his soul-and gives him the authority to kill. I doubt Sir William Cecil will take kindly to your request.”

“But we have to do something!” Clarenceux exclaimed.

“Indeed, we do. I will find you a horse, and you will set off as soon as you can. But damn it, Clarenceux, when you go to see Cecil, make sure you have something stronger on him than telling him to his face what he has done. He already knows that-and if he feels guilty about it, the easiest way to stop you reminding him is to add one more name to the list of those to be hanged.”

“You will find me a horse?”

“You are talking to Alice Prudhomme,” she said, pinching his jowl between her thumb and forefinger. “And I can make anything happen. If I wanted you to do something, believe me, sooner or later you would do it.”

Clarenceux tried to smile.

She looked at him and suddenly laughed. “You don’t like subtlety, do you, Mr. Clarenceux? You’re afraid of it. Think it smacks too much of deceit. Take some advice from a woman, if you can. When you go to see Cecil, be subtle. Not deceitful- subtle .”

Clarenceux nodded. “If Carew comes back here, I want to know. If he does, will you send me word?”

“You know that he does not write any more than I do. It was his mother’s greatest wish that he should learn, and also of the women who looked after him after she died, but, you know…”

“You knew him back then, didn’t you?”

“What-in Calais? Of course. I’ve known him all my life. I worked in the same whorehouse. Too fat to do the fucking, they said; I got to do the laundry.”

“Why was he so keen to destroy Denisot? I mean, he told me it was because Denisot betrayed Calais, but there was more to his hatred than that. He also said it was because of religion-but Carew did not really care about anyone’s religion.”

Alice heard Ralph splashing his stick in her tub of soapy water. A moment later she saw him trying to tip himself forward into the tub. She went and picked him up, kissed him, and set him down further away from the water. She then came back to Clarenceux.

“He hated religion, hated it because of what happened in Calais. Denisot was a fervent believer in the old religion, a Catholic among Catholics. No doubt that was why Mary appointed him to survey the walls and defenses of the town. He did so, in great detail. But while he was making his survey, something happened. It was in the whorehouse-not that I saw it. I was washing sheets at the time. Denisot had an argument with a Huguenot gentleman customer who denied the primacy of the pope and a number of other things that provoked Denisot. There was a fight. The women, who knew and liked the Protestant gentleman, threw Denisot out in a state of partial undress. He left angrily, accusing them of favoring Protestants. A few days later he had handed a copy of his survey of the town to the duke of Guise, by which the duke learned all the weak points of the town. The town fell easily as a result. What should have been a measure to preserve Calais ended up with the town falling to the French. The young men had to leave-and so did most of the women. Raw and I lost all our friends, our protectors, and our home. Raw also lost all the women who had looked after him after his mother had died and who had tried to help him with his lessons. Denisot led the French troops to the whorehouse and told them to set it alight. The house was old and made of wood. The walls were covered with painted cloths and every bench and bed had cushions on it. The place went up so fast it almost exploded. Only two women escaped. Raw returned to see it on fire. In his dreams, he said, he still heard their screams; they were like the waves of a sea on which his life floated. And when he felt like crying he did not shed tears but the blood of his enemies.”

“I remember him saying that about tears.” Clarenceux turned to the boy, once more splashing his stick in the water. “I see now. I could not have turned the other cheek either, even though Christ would have wanted me to.”

“We are all human, Mr. Clarenceux. Whatever the Bible says about forgiveness.”