round the room, never meeting your eyes for quite long enough.
He looked every inch like one of the scavengers who swarmed around great men, scrawny, hungry, feral cats waiting their chance to dart in and snatch a piece of wealth and glory.
'Be grateful for the storm,' Raffe said sourly. 'At least you won't be looking over your shoulder tonight. Neither John's men nor any other will be prowling the island on a night like this. It'll be a different story when you get to Norwich. You'll have to sleep with a knife in your hand there, that's if you dare risk sleeping at all.'
Raffe had no intention of making the man feel at ease. If he could add to his discomfort, he would.
'If we reach Norwich,' the man said. 'The Frenchmen on the Santa Katarina, they did not, I think.'
Raffe's head jerked up. 'What do you know of that ship?'
The Frenchman shrugged. 'That an ambush was waiting for her. It is rumoured there was a man on board called Faramond. He was well known in France for his services to Philip. You know of him?' The man kept his voice low, glancing up at the trapdoor.
'I know of nothing save that every passenger was lost,' Raffe said.
But Raffe knew the name of Faramond only too well. Elena had repeated it when she had spoken of the conversation she'd overheard in the manor. It was this Faramond Hugh had come to meet the night the Santa Katarina burned. That louse Hugh had fought for John once, and been rewarded well for it too, but he thought nothing of betraying him to the French.
There was silence for a moment, then the Frenchman persisted, You are sure Faramond did not make land?'
'Tell me about him,' Raffe said. 'Friend of yours, was he?'
'I did not have the pleasure of meeting him myself, though he was known to me. But if he was betrayed, how am I to know I will not be also? These boatmen you hired, you trust them? They are loyal to our cause?'
'I don't work for your cause!' Raffe blazed. 'I am doing this only because I must. As for the boatmen, they're loyal to gold. And that's the only loyalty you can count on in most men these days.'
'And what of these men I am sent to meet?' the Frenchman asked quietly.
'I told you, I know no one,' Raffe said.
It was all he could do to stop himself adding that if he did, they would already be in irons. But he was supposed to be helping this little piece of French shit. Lady Anne's life and his own depended on delivering him safely to Norwich. Raffe had to disguise his loathing for another few hours at least.
Raffe glanced over at the little Frenchman. 'I don't even know your name. What would you have me call you — spy? In spite of his resolve Raffe couldn't help himself loading the word with the disgust he felt.
The bench creaked as the Frenchman shifted his weight. 'Martin,' he said without any sign that he had taken offence at the word.
Raffe hesitated. Could he ask this Frenchman directly if he was coming to meet Hugh? If he admitted to it, then it would be the proof Raffe needed that Hugh really was the traitor. But if Hugh found out Raffe was asking about him, before Raffe was able to act on the information, he could easily turn the tables on him. No one would take the word of a man like Raffe over that of a nobleman. Besides, Hugh had already been to the brothel once; what if he did remember where he'd seen Elena before and realized she was the girl who had been listening outside that room the night he talked of Faramond? One word that he was suspected might be all it would take to convince Hugh that Elena was a threat to his life and had to be silenced. Raffe couldn't risk that.
The Frenchman's gaze darted once more round the room as if he was trying to memorize all the doors and windows in case of attack. Finally, ignoring the empty pallet, he drew his legs up on to the bench and settled himself in the corner, prepared to sit out the night. He made no attempt to extinguish the oil lamp, so finally Raffe was forced to rise once more and blow it out, leaving only the faint ruby-red glow of the damped-down fire to give any shape to