Later that day, Jean is about to depart the Tower alone on horseback, Raoul’s horse being led behind. Overhead the cloud is clearing, it will turn into another fine day.
Bronwen has come to say farewell. ‘Nigel is fine now, out of bed and improving by the day,’ she laughs. ‘Which is more than can be said for Howard. He will never get over his wounds of hurt pride.’
Jean says somewhat gloomily, ‘Everything turns out for the best.’
She looks at him benevolently. ‘It can still. When Nigel is fully recovered I may have cause to visit The Pale of Calais.’ ‘Oh, where will you stay?’ Jean asks eagerly.
‘Roselyn’s relatives,’ she replies with a grin.
Jean looks pleased. ‘I hope you will find your way soon, and all you are looking for.’
‘I’m sure I will.’ There is certainty in her voice. She reaches up to squeeze his leg. ‘To take away the sadness in your eyes.’
Jean laughs. ‘Better come soon before I grow any more lines around my eyes.’ He moves his horse forward, watching Bronwen as he does.
‘I would still recognise you,’ she answers him, her smile stretching wider with anticipation.
He waves, feeling contentment for the first time in many years. With satisfaction he knows he can look forward to happy visions of the future, all he has to do is dream of her.
When he reaches the gate, Jean turns to look one last time. Bronwen is still standing, watching him depart, her eyes warm, lively, the smile in them creeping down to the corners of her mouth.
He has made a promise to himself. Jean can forget the recent commission and all that has gone on, the shame and dishonour he felt which has brought him to his decision. After a fitful sleep from the turmoil which had been going on in his mind, he awoke this morning feeling liberated, finally knowing what he must do.
***
Although travel weary, Jean rides into Dover in excellent mood, his heart afire with joy and life. The ship is about to be loaded ready for the Channel crossing. Louis who is still dressed in the priest habit following their swift departure from London, is supervising the loading. Vincent is stood next to a magician’s cabinet.
Jean looks around with alarm. ‘Where are they?’
Vincent flings open the cabinet door to reveal the interior. He looks inside, frowns as he shakes his head at Jean and slams the door shut. A loud knock is heard from the inside. Vincent looks curiously at Jean, throws open the door and Raoul grinning all over his face steps out and bows, followed a moment later by Roselyn dressed as a maid, they embrace.
***
The ship is in mid-channel between Dover and Calais. Raoul and Roselyn are stood on the quarter deck enjoying the smell of the fresh sea air. Raoul is tuning his lute. ‘Shall I compose a song to glorify your beauty?’
Roselyn laughs pleasantly, ‘You have your muse back.’
‘Just as it was when we first met.’
They notice as Jean step out of the accommodation onto the main deck carrying his execution sword. He beckons up to Raoul, who passes his lute to Roselyn to hold while he goes down the ladder to join Jean.
‘It’s always best to let love lead,’ Jean tells him. ‘You two can have the life Bronwen and myself missed. Your whole lives are before you.’
‘You still have time.’
‘Yes, if Bronwen comes. I think she would prefer my herbal skills.’
Jean grabs hold of Raoul’s wrist to raise his forearm and drops the purse of crowns into his hand. ‘Develop your song writing. You will soon have a lady wife to support.’
Raoul looks at Jean in wonderment and is about to speak, but Jean walks to the ship’s rail before he can utter anything. He looks up at the sails and the azure sky beyond. He looks down where he holds in his hands the Sword of Calais in its dark sheath, remembering the long, fateful, often tragic journeys they have travelled together. Now their journey is over. Nobody will wield the blade to take life again. State executions are finished. Instead, Jean has his apothecary friend to speak to regarding an ambitious new enterprise.
Jean rests the sword on the rail, watching a moment as the waves pass. He draws the sword out a few inches to take one more nostalgic look at the sword, his companion all these years, then lets the sword slip from his fingers, dropping down on its final journey into the dark waters below.
***
Jean and Raoul are heading toward the apothecary, their hoods up to avoid the late springs falling drizzle which is creating reflections on the wet cobblestones.
The two desperate louts appear suddenly from around a corner, standing in their way, their knives drawn. Jean and Raoul pull back their hoods and the robbers freeze, shocked in recognising who they have stopped and what is about to happen to them.
THE END