The Waste Land (Savage Book 2) by Tim Hodkinson

Author:Tim Hodkinson [Hodkinson, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Acett Enterprises
Published: 2014-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 42: Bordeaux

Even though it was not long after sunrise the harbour of Bordeaux was a swarm of activity. Ships of all shapes and sizes lined the quays, loading or unloading cargoes. It was mostly wine that was leaving – the full effects of the terrible weather had not yet been felt by the wine merchants who were still exporting barrels of their produce that had been laid down over a year before. Lean years were ahead, but being businessmen, they were adjusting their prices for future compensation. Others doing well amid the misery were the fishermen, who being the one source of reliable food had found their profits rise dramatically. Masters of fishing vessels, formerly barefoot and barely clad in rags, now strutted around the docks and quays dressed in the latest, two-coloured hoods over brightly dyed tunics, ostentatiously better fed than everyone else. The fact that they still walked barefoot and with a lolling gate to counter a ship on the waves, betrayed their somewhat humbler past.

Coming into port were weapons, armour and soldiers, barrels of newly made arrows; sheaves of staves for axes, coats of mail and lean, hungry men: veterans of many conflicts, who knew that the best place to survive in times of hardship were lands of war where they could take what they needed, came streaming off recently docked boats. Regardless of the famine and the weather, the affairs of men continued. King Louis of France waited just over the border, slavering like a hungry wolf to regain this part of his kingdom, and English-held Gascony needed every single one of them.

The harbour master in Bordeaux was an important man, and another of those who found no hardship from the continuing famine. As comptroller of customs, Guymer de Bertenac oversaw the importation and taxing of goods arriving at the harbour and the collection of mooring fees. This included the many fishing vessels that unloaded their wares on the quays. Berths were at a premium and in these straitened times he was more than happy to accept backhanders in terms of fish or wine. Guymer had been a very corpulent man before the famine and incredibly he had retained much of his bulk, though he was heartily sick of eating dried fish.

He had been up since just before dawn and now, with the early morning sunshine streaming through the window, the harbour master stood at the tall writing desk in his office at the entrance to the harbour, munching his way through a bowl of fish potage, a sour scowl of displeasure on his face that deepened with every mouthful. The sound of the door opening made him look up. A woman entered his office. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her. She was not a young girl in the first flush of youth, but she was still undoubtedly good looking, although her white skin was tinged with a grey pallor and her eyes were rimmed with red. She looked exhausted. Her long dress was ill-fitting and the hem was clotted with muck from the town streets.

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