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Somewhere between Angers and Reims, when John Halfpenny was out of hearing, Estela asked Dragonetz, ‘Do you believe it of Aliénor?’
‘It’s possible,’ he replied, without needing time to think.
‘Do you care?’ she risked.
‘No.’ Then he paused and thought. ‘Not for myself,’ he amended, smiling. ‘I’ve been replaced by the donkey’s arse. But such allegations are not good for Aquitaine – or England. I wonder what they will make of their new queen – if Henri wins.’
What indeed, Estela wondered. And what did Henri think of his wife’s reputation? Would he find it less entertaining after they were married than before he gained Aquitaine? Aliénor’s belly would decide much about her status. A son would bring her the respect she’d never had as Queen of France and mother of two daughters.
Musca. The pangs of separation clawed at Estela again and once more she assuaged her guilt by writing her journal.
The Ideal Traveller
Travel is of its nature arduous, trying, and wondrous, by turns. You will meet men of all persuasions and humours, and travelling companions who will test your patience and your goodwill. Should you hold to opinions that you wish to enforce without contradiction throughout your travels, travel will bring on an excess of choler, which should be combatted by carrying the stone chalcedony, which is strong against wrath. A person prone to such imbalance is not best suited to travel and will be healthier for remaining in a familiar land.
Hardships are likely to include foul weather, lameness in a pack-donkey or toll-brutes with stout sticks, who try to extort coin from unwary pilgrims and travellers. A companion who can impose on such criminals by his fighting strength, skill and an even stouter stick or other weapon, is to be recommended. Travelling in a large party has advantages for those who have the patience required to endure, or even enjoy, the variety of human faiths and frailties.
Wonders there will be aplenty for those open in spirit, in all aspects of man’s work and of nature’s. I have crossed mountains where wolves howled and bears shambled into the forests with their young. In the Frankish north, I have seen artisans’ and shopkeepers’ houses exquisite as paintings, with exteriors of black beams across white walls bearing wrought iron signs for carpenter or cobbler.
At table, I have been served fish big as Jonah’s whale and peacock that was surely stolen from Juno, so heavenly its taste.
Such adventures leave a trace on your soul so that all travel is a pilgrimage, if you treat it as such.
John Halfpenny was in high spirits at the prospect of going home at last and Estela pumped him for information about the Isles of Albion. He confessed he had never been into the wilds of Gwalia, which was a disappointment, but he could talk for England about small beer, wool and coins. Estela grew bored listening to the superior quality of English sheep and wool but noted the importance for trade. She was more interested in coins, because of what they showed about politics, and the subject allowed her to follow her own agenda.
‘Gold,’ she began. ‘The gold coins of England. I’d love to hear all about them.’
The Mintmaster looked at her, open-eyed with shock at her ignorance. ‘There be none,’ he told her. ‘English mintmasters do have more sense! Gold’s a terrible metal to work with and far too valuable for trading use. You put in all that work to make coins and all they be good for – if they turn out all right – be for stashing in some lord’s treasure hoard. I want my work in the marketplace, changing hands every day and lasting forever! No, silver be the metal for coins, every time. And weighed true!’
‘Oh,’ was all Estela could say, disappointed. Whatever the Gyptian’s prophecy meant would be no clearer from listening to John Halfpenny. Not that the prophecy meant anything.
There was no polite way to ask the other question of interest. ‘What did you do?’ she asked. ‘Why did you have to leave the country?’
‘Stephen’s men caught up with me.’ Estela noted that King Stephen had no title in the moneyer’s eyes, so he’d been for Matilda in the wars – which meant he would support her son, Henri.
‘The barons all grabbed what they could while Stephen and the Queen fought their wars and each of them did want his own head on his own coins. I had a family... I made coins for whoever forced me. Until Stephen’s men found out. I had warning and ran.’
‘If they didn’t catch you making them, how did they know you were the moneyer.’
‘Because I was stupid. I rushed the work and did not blunder my name enough.’
‘Blunder?’
‘Beat out the shape.’
‘What will you do when you go back?’
‘Find my family.’ There was a silence. Both knew the darker possibilities. ‘When Henri’s king, I’ll go back to Winchester – the King’s Mint – and offer him my services. I’ll recall every one of those damned irregular coins and hammer my name out of them all! And I’ll deface all those which depict Stephen!’ For the first time, Estela saw beyond the funny little foreigner to a proud artisan, whose work had pleased kings. Before disgrace, forgery and dungeons. His eyes guarded shadows. When Estela had touched him to wake him or call him for food, he flinched instinctively. She’d become more careful, spoke to him first.
‘What if he loses? What if Stephen wins?’ The open road was as good a place to talk treason as any.
A shrug. ‘He’s weak. Henri will win.’
‘What about Stephen’s sons?’
‘They are their father’s sons. They won’t withstand Henri. I’d bet all my money on Henri for king.’ He gave a weak smile at the bad joke.
What if he loses? Like his mother had. She and Dragonetz would be far from home, at the mercy of some barbaric Welsh prince, surrounded by hostile Marcher Lords, in a land at war with itself.
She kicked herself, mentally. They would be in exactly the same situation if Henri won.
Money
As you travel north, you will observe different types of coin in use, designated by a local personage on one side and a symbolic design, such as a cross, on the reverse, sometimes with the name of the moneyer and mint. The further coins travel, the more they are regarded with suspicion, so you would be wise to exchange goods or coin as you travel, to ensure that you always have money from a location that can be recognized by those you trade with.
Forgery is a common scourge and if you do not know the coinage, you will not realise that a coin is lightweight, until it breaks or is rejected by men who know their coins better.
In England, silver pennies are customary and a part coin is not to be shunned. Halfpennies and quarters are cut deliberately to make smaller denominations, and are good currency, or ‘sterling’ as English money is named. Englishmen are proud of their coinage and the wise traveller will hide any surprise over the lack of gold dirhams or their like.
John Halfpenny approved Estela’s latest entry and she thought about his name, now she knew more about English coins. A small man, a moneyer: of course.
TEN DAYS’ RIDING TOOK them to their destination: Barfleur. Dragonetz enthused about the fleecy clouds scudding across blue skies, not for their poetry but for their practicality. A fair wind and fine weather would let them leave as soon as captain and ship were ready. Estela followed Dragonetz’ enthusiasm to the harbour: watched the boats bobbing; the glitter of wakes and waves, breaking against wooden hulls; ropes tugging taut, longing to free themselves. Old timbers creaked and the seagulls screamed their greed.
Estela brushed strands of hair from her eyes, smelled brine, waited with John Halfpenny. Dragonetz returned from his errand, energized by action, and accompanied by a man who could only be the captain. Weather-beaten as old oak, any age between twenty and fifty, the captain was in animated conversation with Dragonetz, when they reached Estela.
‘My Lady,’ the man bowed. Estela had grown used to the northern Frankish but this accent was new to her.
‘Captain Robert is an Englishman.’ Dragonetz introduced him. ‘And that is our vessel.’
Just when Estela thought she’d steeled herself for the voyage, her stomach took off with the seagulls. Their vessel was not a ship; it was a boat. As far as Estela was concerned, they might as well cross the seas in a bathtub, for all the protection these few bits of wood offered.
Unable to speak, Estela nodded regally to the captain and allowed herself to be helped aboard the floating prison. She chewed doggedly on the cloves she’d brought, and thought only of the last entry in her journal. It was to be the last she’d write for two very long days.
Travelling by Sea
Those unfortunate enough to be affected by motion sickness should take preventative measures. You must fast before your voyage, consuming only bitter fruits such as quince, orange and pomegranate. Sweetmeats or seeds which encourage belching are also desirable.
Chewing on cloves or nutmeg helps reduce the smell of the sea and its effect.
During the voyage, the wise traveller will sit upright, only moving his head with the motion of the ship, and holding tightly to the supports.
Should vomiting occur, the person so affected should refrain from eating, other than the afore-mentioned bitter fruits, until the nausea has left him.
DRAGONETZ SAT ON A bench at the stern of the small cog, watching the white froth of the wake that trailed behind them in the murky water like a hairy star in a dark sky. Such a hairy star had presaged the doom of Harold of England. No doubt Estela’s Gyptian would read such an omen and predict a new King of England.
Dragonetz needed no skills in divination to predict a new King of England. His mission would become not just suicidal but pointless otherwise. Risking death was part of a warrior’s life but he preferred to do so for a cause that at least made sense to him. He had risked his life for a chimera too often in the crusade and he had grown used to sharing Ramon Berenguer’s vision. Now he was fighting blind. And he was not just risking his own life.
He glanced at Estela, who had spent hours clutching the side, chewing as if her life depended upon it, and was now asleep in a blanket on the decks, overcome by exhaustion. This was no life for a lady, crouching to relieve herself in the pot she’d found, with only a blanket held in front of her for privacy. And yet she never complained. She just wrote her traveller’s guide, for Musca. And she gained men’s respect.
On first sight, the shipmen’s gaze had lingered on her face and assessed her body, but their attitude changed to respect once Estela gave them directions about fruit and spices from the side of her mouth, while still chewing. Before the sea’s motion had taken all her attention, she even marched to the trapdoor, insisted on looking into the hold, screwed her face up in horror and instructed them on how better to stack and secure the cargo of wine.
She pointed out that if all the barrels were stacked sideways, the next layer placed in the hollows of the one before, not only would they take less room and be more stable, but the wine would travel better for being laid sideways. Estela had indeed gleaned all she could from her dinner companion at Angers. There was much laughter at the idea of wine travelling well but the captain made his sailors do as Estela bid.
There was now room in the hold for twelve more butts of wine and the captain promised each of the ten shipmen his share of one such barrel, once they reached harbour, for having done the extra work. This made Estela extremely popular and, after ascertaining that the return cargo was indeed wool, she took the opportunity to lecture them on the importance of waterproof storage and how oiled sailcloth would do nicely. Then, her face took on a greenish hue and she took her place on a bench where she could lean over the side whenever nature required.
The oarsmen took the boat into open sea, the sail caught the wind and their departure was without hitch. Except from the viewpoint of a traveller for whom the sea itself was the hitch. Such was the respect that Estela had gained that when one sailor commented, ‘Looks like the wine travels better than the lady,’ he was frowned down by his shipmates.
Yes, Estela handled herself well, and Dragonetz knew he must draw deep on his self-control to be the match she deserved. He had not gained the scallop badge of the pilgrim who reached Santiago but by God, he walked an even harder path! He was accustomed to risking his own life but risking Estela’s was unthinkable.
Every day he asked himself why he had not forced her or tricked her into staying in Zaragoza, where she was safe. Every day he remembered her accusation that he treated her like a child, not a partner. And, in truth, he was starting to enjoy the adventure more for sharing it with his lover. In addition to the connection between them, she had skills that complemented his. As had Malik and Ramon. To find such a partnership with a woman was not what he’d been brought up to expect, but how could the future be shaped, if it was built on the past? Their mission was to shape the future and, if they defied convention, then so be it.
Which brought his thoughts, choppy as the sea, to the mission itself. Estela had asked him how he was going to persuade the Welsh lords to support Henri. ‘Make myself indispensable,’ he’d told her, ‘then plant the seeds that grow into decisions’. How exactly he was going to do this, he had no idea whatsoever.
Meanwhile, he turned around to watch the large steering oar on the starboard side and the billowing sail. God grant us a kind wind, he prayed, and he wasn’t just thinking of the journey to Gwalia. Once they reached the shore, there would be no steering oar.