[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man by Kate Sedley

Author:Kate Sedley [Sedley, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780708932827
Google: Ae-kAAAACAAJ
Amazon: B000JPO1LU
Publisher: Headline
Published: 1993-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

From St Nicholas Back, I walked through the bustle of Ballance Street, which skirts the great marsh itself, until I could clearly see the spire of St Stephen's Church rising above the houses. From there it was but a step before I swung left into Marsh Street, swarming as it always was at any time of the day with sailors, that fraternity of the sea who live largely by their own rules and pay little heed to the rest of us landlubbers. But they were not entirely lawless. I was later told that a levy of fourpence a ton on all cargo arriving at the port provided homes for a priest and a dozen poor mariners whose seafaring days were done, and whose prayers were offered regularly twice a day for all those still labouring upon the oceans. I wish I might have known it at the time, for my heart would not have hammered quite so fast as I crossed the threshold of the ale-house.

It was dark inside, there being no windows, only rushlights and tallow candles which could easily be doused in the event of a visit from the sheriff or his sergeants.

A beaten-earth floor was dotted with long wooden tables and benches, and casks of ale, two rows deep, were ranged against one wall. There was a second door opposite the one by which I had entered, opening on to the quayside. A narrow stone staircase led to the upper storey where, presumably, Humility Dyson lived. The landlord himself was a huge man in a leather apron, black-bearded and with arms on which the muscles were knotted like fists. Alderman Weaver had not described him to me, but his air of authority was unmistakable.

As I paused in the doorway, there was a disturbing quiet. Men who, a moment earlier, had been chatting with their fellows, fell silent, and all heads were turned in my direction. There was a definite air of menace in the room.

I stood my ground, however, unable to see much at first in the sudden transition from light to dark, and tightened my grip on my cudgel, ready to lay about me if necessary.

But gradually, as the drinkers took in my size and the way I was dressed, the babel of talk resumed. I was no longer being watched, at least not overtly; but I knew one false move would place me in immediate danger. I waited, therefore, until Humility Dyson approached me.

'And what's your wish, Master?' he grunted. 'Our ale's good, I grant you, but you'd do better supping at some of the other inns in the city.'

I ignored this unfriendly opening and said, 'I was recommended to come here by Alderman Weaver. He thinks you might be able to help me.'

Humility Dyson scratched his beard while looking me up and down. 'Alderman Weaver, is it?' he muttered presently. 'Well, and in what way does he think I can be of assistance?'

'I'm looking for two men, Padraic Kinsale and Briant of Dungarvon.'

The already small eyes seemed to contract with suspicion even as he watched me.

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