The King's Chameleon by Richard Woodman

Author:Richard Woodman [Richard Woodman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2013-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

The Home-Coming

March 1662

During the passage of the Velsa, Faulkner had consoled himself that his troubles would be over when they boarded the Blackamoor, but the presence of Judith redoubled his woes, bereft as he now was of the assistance of Armerer and his colleagues. Once the cabin door closed behind them Judith exerted all her strength and withdrew her arm with such ferocity that the release sent her reeling across the cabin. It was a confined, tapering and narrow space, sparsely furnished, as one would expect of an impecunious commander like Sackler. A small, lightly-partitioned sleeping-space led off on the starboard side, the small windows were shuttered and a dim lantern threw more shadows than light. As Judith recovered her balance the Blackamoor heeled to the wind: they were under-way. The sensation of movement released a flood of relief throughout Faulkner’s body. Sackler might consider that the older a man was, the less sleep he needed, but Faulkner was dog-weary. He would have injudiciously tossed off a pint of wine had one been to hand, its ownership notwithstanding, but no such supply was visible. Must he sit guard over his wife for the hours it would take to reach Harwich? Were they going to Harwich, or directly to London? He chid himself; he should have asked Sackler. And had he not ordered old Toshack to meet them at Harwich? He expelled his breath in a sigh of utter exhaustion, slumped into a chair, and withdrew the wheel-lock from his belt, placing it beside him and regarded his wife.

Judith stood, one hand against the bulkhead, the other to her mouth. The sight almost brought a smile to his face: Judith was going to be sea-sick! A moment later the Blackamoor came to his assistance and lurched to leeward before coming upright. They were in the process of going about, Faulkner realized; the pink hovered ‘in-stays’ for a short while and then obligingly lay down on the opposite tack. A thin stream of vomit escaped Judith, who gave a short cry of mortification and slumped back into Sackler’s sleeping-space and fell into the crude bunk. Faulkner got to his feet, discovered a pewter bowl and shoved it into her hands. Pulling the curtain across the entrance he resumed his chair. Ten minutes later he was fast asleep.

Faulkner awoke with a start. The lantern had gone out or been extinguished and light filtered through the window shutters. There was a light knocking at the cabin door. His first thought was for Judith. He leapt to his feet, moved swiftly to the sleeping-space and drew the curtain back. She lay asleep, one hand across her mouth, the bowl beside her. She had fouled Sackler’s bed-linen, and the air stank of vomit. The knock came again at the door, and he went to open it. A small man in a serge jacket and frock confronted him.

‘Cap’n Sackler’s compliments, sir, we have made a fast passage. We’re approaching the Sunk, and would you an’ her leddyship require some breakfast?’

Faulkner shook his head to clear it.

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