He examined Jeanne. She was witty and passably pretty. She might once have been beautiful before years of working on her feet and her back had caused the lines round her eyes and lips to
harden.
He could engage her services and relieve
himself of the physical needs that tormented him.
He had no doubt she would prove to be an able and entertaining companion for an hour or so but what then? She might satisfy the needs of his loins, but would not heal the grief that filled his heart.
I am sorry, Jeanne, he said kindly. I made
a vow that I would have no woman but my wife and it is one I intend to keep.
John reached for the small cross that lay
against his skin and closed his fist round it. He rubbed his thumb over the small garnets set into the front, then the engraved initials
J and M side by side on the back.
Is that your wife's? Jeanne asked. Yes. She waits for you in England?
John's throat tightened. He raised his head
and smiled grimly. 'She waits for me beyond the grave.'devastated embarrassment. have known. back beneath his clothing. gone.
Goodnight, mademoiselle.
I apologise. Jeanne's face was a picture of
John shook his head. No need. You could not
He lifted the cross to his lips, then slipped it
He pushed his bowl away and stood, appetite
He took the flagon with him and went to the
small bedroom in the attic. It cost him dearly,
but having privacy rather than sharing with nine others in the communal bedroom was worth the expense.
He lit a taper and by the dim light he
packed away his belongings. He wrote a short note, detailing what he had discovered on his travels, sealed it with his signet ring and addressed it to Masters Fortin and Rudhale at their Bristol wine warehouse.
This he would ask Jeanne to send via one of the inland ships that travelled the slow river in case he never reached his destination to deliver his report in person.
There was another report for other eyes that he Would not trust to the hands of anyone else.
He possessed a pair of wooden-backed wax tablets, bound together as a book. If it became necessary,
he could apply heat and erase his words. John seratched a few lines swiftly in the code known to no more than twenty men back in and.
He wrapped the tablet book safely in a leather
wallet and put it in a small document case.
That had been a gift from his father, small enouch that he could take it travelling with him without too much trouble, and watertight in case he Was travelling in inclement weather.
Only after he had made all his preparations to
leave did John Sutton allow himself to drain the flagon, lay his head on his arms and let his eyes fill with tears at the memory of his wife who now lay buried beneath the Devonshire soil.
The journey was rough round the end of the
peninsula and as they reached the open seas, but no worse than expected for the time of year. All the same, John was glad when they started keeping the long, sweeping curve of landin view. The cog was similar enough to John's old ship, The King's Rose, for him to feel at home. He spent the time drinking, laughing and gambling with the
crew and found against all expectations that his spirits were high.
It had been too long since he had been merry without the feelings of grief beariny down on him. He'd cut himself off from friends when he had left England in mourning, unable to bear the reminders of happier times. Maybe com-
pany was what he had needed after all, rather than isolating himself and brawling with strangers to jolt the numbness in his heart back to life.
Three days out of Concarneau, the weather
grew worse. By mid-afternoon on the third day of the voyage, the clouds obscured all light and the small cog creaked ominously on waves that were increasingly violent.
Now night had fallern and they were in no sight of the port Nevez had sworn they would make by dark.
John made his way from the small cabin along the planks laid down over the hull to the prow.
Nevez and his first mate were gesticulating wildly at each other and the coastline, which pitched and rolled in the distance.
What is wrong?
A storm. Worse than I expected, Nevez growled. The wind tore at John's cloak with violent fingers, trying to pull it from his body. He shivered and took a deep breath of the chilly salt air.
We could find shelter somewhere, along the
coast, he suggested.
A wave crashed over the prow, tilting the cog and causing the three men to lurch against each other.
Not here.