Captain John Sutton, aide to the King's Lieutenant in France, was no more. Now he was plain Jack Langdon,
A merchant who travelled the length of western France and saw plenty to report
on his travels that his other masters found of use.
The questioner's face brightened, radiating
honesty that immediately made John suspect
trickery.
Then it is fortunate we meet, monsieur. I
heard what that useless son of a putain told you back there, but he is misinformed.
I'm Petrus Nevez. I am Captain of the Sant Christophe. I transport cargo via the coastal route back to my home in Roscoff. I am setting sail round the coast at first light. My ship is a small vessel, but if you can pay then I have room, monsieur.
John considered the offer. Roscoff was not as
close as he needed to be, but it was a damned sight closer than he was now. From there he could find another ship, or if necessary, travel by land to St Malo.
You are happy to travel at this time of year?"
Nevez grinned slyly and John wondered if the
Sailor's cargo was legitimate or not. That might be Something to investigate as he travelled.
Smugglers could be useful in a war, if they had the appropriate sympathies.
What are your terms?"
Nevez named a price that caused John to Wince inwardly. He however, so with feel, he shook had little choice, an enthusiasm he did not entirely hands and memorised the location of the yessal
Sant Christophe.
Nevez skulked away towards the port. Not
wishing to follow the Captain, John changed his mind about seeking out somewhere to drink and returned to the inn that had been his lodging for what felt like eternity. He settled on to a bench as close to the fire as he could manage and called for wine and something to eat.
Jeanne, the youngest
daughter of the innkeeper, sashayed over bearing a tray, hips moving enticingly and shoulders pushed back so her breasts jutted forward.
She greeted him witha smile that John felt was almost genuine. Did you find your ship, Monsieur Langdon?"
she asked as she handed hin a steaming bowl.
John ate a couple of mouthfuls of the creamy fish stew before answering. It was excellent.
Yes, I did, mademoiselle. Please tell your fa-
ther I shall be leaving at first light.
Jeanne pouted and held the wine cup out.
"That's a pity. I shall be sorry to see you leave.
As John took hold of the cup, she quickly
moved her hand so that her fingers were resting against his.
She gave him a coy smile that belied
the hardness in her eyes. Perhaps you do not wish to spend this night
alone?
John sighed inwardly and disentangled his fingers, placing the cup beside the bowl on the table.
Thank you, but, no. My answer is the same as
it has always been and always will be. I want no Woman in my bed.
Along with the other daughters of the innkeeper, Jeanne had made the same offer every night since John had arrived.
When he rebuffed her every night, she accepted the rejection with-
out rancour and did not waste much tỉme before seeking out another potential customer.
This night, she placed the wine flagon on the table and lingered beside him, regarding John with her glinting dark eyes.
Monsieur Langdon, you look at me with longing in your eyes, but refuse, even though my price is fair.
How long is it since you last had a woman
in your bed?"
Too long, was the answer to that question.
His grief could have sent him down two paths:
spending himself in the lap of any willing woman until their faces and bodies blurred, or provoking fights to make his blood rise and leave him with tangible aches. John had chosen the latter path
and it had been a year at least since he had last tumbled into bed with a too-expensive whore in La Rochelle, drunk and unable to resist the lust that consumed him. Two more before that since he had last woken in the arms of Margaret, the wife he still missed.