Pip Vaughan-Hughes - Relics

Thus I was not surprised when the gig returned without him, to collect Gilles and Rassoul. Before he swung himself over the rail, Gilles gathered the crew around him.

There will be shore-leave when I return,' he announced. The men were silent, but I could feel their taut excitement. 'Pavlos will organise a roster for the watch. I will be back shortly.' And with that he was gone.

The crew burst into life. We had felt the scorbutus lift its foulness from the ship as soon as the fresh meat and good kale of the island was inside us, and our gums were beginning to heal. Not so stiff and agued now, the men almost danced about the deck. Good clothing appeared magically from sea-chests, satchels, even parcels of oil-cloth that had been wedged God knew where for the past months. Beards were trimmed or shaved. Men stood in little clusters, untangling each other's hair with combs of whale-bone. Sword-belts were greased until they shone, weapons polished and, I noticed, given a new edge. Although not one of us had more on his mind than the taverns and bath-houses that awaited us on shore, the men of the Cormaran were preparing as if for a fine tournament.

I was no exception. The blue tunic that Gilles had given me that night at the White Swan, and which had come off worst from my last meeting with Sir Hugh, emerged from Dimitri's sea-chest, miraculously restored. 'A little sea-water,' he grunted, 'and a deal of scrubbing. Too good to throw away,' he added, watching with a flicker of pride as I fingered the place where Thorn had stabbed me, now all but invisible save for a faint spider's web of tiny stitches. I almost hugged the man in my joy, but did not dare. Instead I took his hand and wrung it while I poured forth a veritable fountain of thanks, and I swear that his butchered face almost blushed. So now I wore my tunic, a cloak of deep blue edged in red silk, a good long-caped hood of black wool, some fine black hose that Abu offered to lend me and my soft leather shoes, given to me by the Captain my first day aboard but never worn for fear the salt-spray would devour them. Thorn rode upon my hip, her hilt of green stone glimmering with a vaguely malign light. You look like a Rostock pimp,' Horst said, approvingly.

Anna was fretting. Poor doomed Mikal seemed fated to spend his last night on earth dressed in the same shabby sailor-rags he had worn to cross the Sea of Darkness.

'I will not go ashore in this shoddy,' she hissed to me. 'I am a princess – I wish to pass at least this one evening in the guise of a prince. Instead I will be spat upon and mocked by every whore in this pox-ridden village, kicked and sent upon errands. I will not do it, I say!' And she stamped her foot. I trod upon it, hard.

'Shut up!' I hissed in turn. 'In a few hours you will be rid of Mikal for good. You will be the precious Princess Anna again, never fear. Now put your tongue back in its scabbard and be easy. The trick is almost played.'

She harrumphed, and gave me a look sour as bad vinegar. Nevertheless she took my counsel and bit back the anger that was ready to master her. 'Be easy yourself,' she sniffed. Then she looked me up and down. 'For a monk and a sheep-worrying peasant, you look almost gentle-bred. Don't get too cosy with the wenches on shore, my fighting-cock. Tonight, you may meet a noblewoman down on her luck. And she might well be very, very grateful for your help.' With that, she pinched my behind, not gently, and slipped away towards the bridge.

Anna and I were in the party chosen to go ashore first, as we knew we would be. So were Elia and Pavlos, who had vowed not to let their princess out of their sight, although to myself I wondered how soon she would put that vow to the test. We stood in a gaggle waiting to climb into the boat, the other men, those who had to wait their turn, thronging around us and filling our ears with bad advice and filthy jokes. But they were not in good humour, and we lucky ones merely nodded and chuckled, knowing that men so long at sea might be glad to vent their frustrations then and there, a brawl in sight of land being almost as good as one on solid ground.

Once aboard the overloaded gig, it seemed we were running the keel up the river-beach in an instant, so frenzied were the oarsmen to escape the Cormaran. Anna was the first to scramble up onto the wharf, slinging her fat canvas satchel, which I knew held her woman's clothing, up ahead of her.

"Whoa, Mikal!' bellowed Snorri. 'Leave some trollops for us!'

'Make do with my leavings,' she laughed back, swinging the bag over her shoulder. I clambered up the weed-smothered sea-steps, feeling the bladder-wrack squish and pop beneath my feet. Then I was beside Anna. I looked around to get my bearings.

This Bordeaux was a comely city, built of yellow stone, with many proud buildings rising behind the wood and plaster warehouses that lined the river. Smoke rose from countless chimneys. Weathervanes of bright copper and brass flashed against the dimming sky. And everywhere, far and near, armed men were strolling, marching, running. Here came a band of foot-soldiers with long pikes across their shoulders and kettle helms upon their heads. They carried short-swords as well, and by the look on each hard face they would delight in close work with those swords when the time came. A couple of knights perched high on their great war-mounts cut across the pikemen's route, ignoring them. These men wore bright sur-coats and each had a long-sword at his side. Out of habit I noted their crests: a green oak-tree on one, three crows over a red arrow on the other. I did not recognise either device, of course, but to see English heraldry again after so long made my heart race a little. Now a bigger band of men-at-arms approached. They marched in step, and were led by a tall, proud-stepping man in a suit of bright steel mail. On his surcoat of pale blue shone a yellow bird. The same device fluttered gaily on a banner that whipped above the men. These were yeomen at least, not the murderous cutthroats who carried pikes. They were well armed and dressed. Some wore kettle-helms, others old-fashioned pointed helmets with nose-guards. Most of them seemed to possess at least one piece of chain-mail. They marched as proudly as their leader, and for a moment I thought that there must be worse occupations than that of man-at-arms.

Then a gnarled bowman carrying a heavy sack knocked into Anna.

'Out of the road, you little bloodworm,' he hissed in the fiat voice of a Bristol-man. I saw that he carried his unstrung bow like a fighting stave, and my hand dropped to Thorn's hilt. Glancing about me, I saw that we all had weapons to hand, and the bowman saw it too, and backed off hurriedly.

'Foreign fucking bloodworms, all of you,' he growled. 'Fucking cowards and sodomites.' He spat towards Elia's feet. 'Stick together with your thumbs up each other's arse-holes, don't you? If my mates were here…'

'But they are not here. So fuck off before I show you what your kidneys look like,' said Snorri calmly, for all the world like a man giving directions in the street.

To his credit, the ugly Bristol-man stood his ground for a moment, glaring. Then he shrugged his shoulders. 'I'll be looking out for you, boys,' he informed us, and walked away.

'Fucking English,' muttered Snorri. 'Begging your pardon, Petroc.' 'I liked him,' I said, nudging Anna. 'He had an honest face.'

That set us all laughing, and we forgot the scowling bowman. There were more interesting sights to entertain us as we left the teeming wharves and entered the narrow streets of the city itself, choosing a little opening some way to the left of the looming, crenellated jaws of the Great Gate, which dominated the wharves like a castle in its own right. Almost at once, Snorri and John of Metz disappeared into a tavern, the first one we passed. Before long I was left with Anna and the Greeks, the others having darted into bath-house and alehouse, cook-shop and knocking-shop. I had a mind to defer my pleasures a little longer, and I could not believe that sheer convenience would be a substitute for quality. I required the finest ale in Bordeaux. I had dreamed of it, rolled its ghost over my tongue and around my mouth day after thirsty day for months, and I determined to let nothing past my lips until I had the object of my quest before me.