Talbot waved his hand dismissively. Yarmouth folk aren't interested in men, only goods they can tax. They'll not look twice at the passengers, not unless John's men get wind of it, of course.'
At the mention of the king, anger welled up in Raffe again. 'I won't do it. I won't meet this man. I can't give aid to England's enemies.'
Talbot's fist shot out and grabbed the front of his tabard. You bloody will, you old bullock. That priest meant what he said about spilling all. He's nothing to lose and a great deal of favour and money to gain. You might not have told him about my role in this, but there's no knowing what he might have learned on board the ship. Besides, I want Hugh's head on a pike, and this French Skegg might just be able to give us the proof we need to see him die as a traitor. If not. . .' His eyes flicked up to the beams above and he lowered his voice to a whisper, 'no matter what her upstairs says, I'll use that lass of yours to nail him, even it does see her hanged for Raoul's murder into the bargain.'
Talbot wasn't a man to make idle threats. Raffe's friendship with him went deep, but was it as deep as Talbot's hatred of Hugh? Besides, Talbot's warning was sufficient to remind him of what else lay at stake if the priest chose to talk. The one name he could be certain the priest did know, besides his own, was Lady Anne's, and he couldn't risk him uttering that. Raffe nodded weakly.
Talbot let go of his tabard and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. 'That's more like it. Now, give the boatman this.'
He grabbed Raffe's hand and tipped a small tin emblem of St Katherine into Raffe's palm, just like the one the priest had sent to Lady Anne.
'He'll ask you where the cargo comes from. You're to tell him Spinolarei in Bruges. He's expecting that answer and he'll know you're the right man and not one of John's spies.'
Raffe was aware that Bruges, eager to keep the lucrative trade with England, was known to favour England against France, so no suspicions would be aroused should anyone chance to overhear the remark.
You got money?' Talbot asked. The man's been paid already but he'll expect more. They always do, the greedy bastards.'
'And you do it for love, I suppose,' Raffe said sourly.
Talbot grinned, but was instantly serious again. 'Be there, Raffe, for all our sakes, especially that lass of yours. I'd hate to see her pretty little neck stretching on a rope.'
Elena cautiously opened the door and eased herself into the small chamber. Master Raffaele was standing at the casement, staring up at the white clouds drifting across the brothel garden. The bright morning light washed his face, rubbing away, just for a moment or two, the wrinkles and sagging fat around his jaw.
Catching sight of him in profile, Elena glimpsed the ghost of the beauty that had once made her mother see an angel in him, but then, just as rapidly, it vanished, leaving behind only the wreck of flesh, the awkward, ungainly proportions of the too long limbs and the massive buttocks. Elena gave a little shudder.
'Master Raffaele . . .' She shuffled uneasily, not knowing whether he had heard her. Had he finally come to take her away? Why wouldn't he look at her? She meant to wait for him to speak, she really did, but the silence in that room was too much to bear.
'My Athan, is he well? Have you seen him? And my mam —'
'They told me about Raoul,' Raffaele cut in.
'I didn't do it, I swear.' Sweat burst out on Elena's forehead. 'I couldn't have . . .'
'But Talbot says you knew how he had died before you were told. That's not easily explained away. Elena, tell me the truth. For once in your life trust me. If Raoul hurt you, if he ... if he forced himself on you, I wouldn't blame you for killing him. It would be natural that you wanted him dead, honourable even, but I must know the truth.'
Elena's hands were clenched so tightly it hurt. She didn't want to talk about it, especially to him, but she knew Raffaele would go on questioning her until she did.
'I hated him for what he did. I hated him touching me. He was revolting. I felt