The Devil's Domain

the excitement, Moleskin. I want you to take me along the Thames and find a Venetian ship.’ Moleskin led the friar down the green mildewed steps and into his stout wherry.
    ’Why a Venetian? Are you going to flee Southwark?’
    ’No, I want to ask the captain a few questions.’
    Moleskin concentrated on manoeuvring his craft, for the river was busy with barges and fishing smacks. They reached the far side and Moleskin began to go slowly by the sterns of the moored ships: massive, fat-bellied cogs from the Baltic, merchantmen from the Low Countries and royal warships getting ready to put to sea. At last he found a Venetian galley which lay low and rakish in the water. Its raised, gilded red and gold stern was surrounded by bum-boats selling fruit, sweetbread and other items from the city markets. There was even a boat full of whores who stood shrieking up at the sailors, trying to entice them with their charms to get aboard. Moleskin, skilled in the ways of the river, managed to catch the eye of the officer responsible for maintaining order along the decks. The boatman jabbed a finger at Athelstan and, making a sign, asked to come on board.
    The officer agreed. A rope ladder was lowered and Moleskin, his boat bobbing beneath him, helped the little friar up. Such attention provoked the jealousy of the others milling round the great Venetian war galley. There were shouts and imprecations, rotten fruit was thrown. Athelstan yelled at Moleskin to wait. The boatman took his craft away and sat watching the scene. Now and again a friend or acquaintance would pass in a hail of good-natured abuse and raillery. Moleskin undid the little chest in the stem of his craft, took out a linen cloth and gnawed on a piece of salted bacon, taking deep draughts from the water bottle which he had filled with ale. He sat wondering what the little friar wanted with a Venetian war galley, but there again he shrugged, for Athelstan was a strange priest. If he wasn’t looking after those I rogues at St Erconwald’s, he was scurrying around after Sir John Horse-Cruncher, the great and high lord coroner of the city. Moleskin narrowed his eyes. He must remember that. He loved baiting the coroner, and next time Sir John hired him, Moleskin would charge him double because of his weight.
    He finished his bacon, growing slightly impatient because the swell of the river was becoming more pronounced. Then he noticed movement on board the galley and glimpsed the black and white robes of his parish priest. Moleskin turned his craft and brought it in, using the oars to fend off rivals. At last he was beneath the rope ladder. Athelstan clambered down with a sigh of relief and took his seat in the stem.
    ’What was all that about, Brother?’ Moleskin asked as he pulled away.
    Athelstan smiled contentedly. ’Do you know, Moleskin,’ he said, leaning back, ’there are certain pleasures in life one feels truly good about.’
    Moleskin pulled a face.
    ’Oh, not that!’ Athelstan laughed. ’I think I’ve just trapped a red-handed assassin! Moleskin, you are my champion among boatmen. Our next stop is the holy nuns at the convent of Syon!’
    Moleskin bent over the oars. Nuns, assassins, Venetians, he S thought. What on earth was this little Dominican involved in? It was all Sir Jack’s doing! Everyone along the waterfront said where Lord Horse-Cruncher went, trouble always followed.
    They swept upriver and Moleskin brought his boat along the quayside steps.
    ’Do you want me to wait, Brother?’
    ’No, you’ll be pleased to know after this I am going to meet Sir John.’
    Athelstan offered some coins but Moleskin shook his head.
    ’For you, Brother, it’s free. Just remember me and my boat at Mass. I mean, if you can bless a collection of rat-catchers, cats and ferrets...’ He looked hopefully up at the friar.
    ’I think it’s a very good idea. Moleskin,’ Athelstan replied. ’What we’ll do is wait for the feast of some sailor, or a Sunday when the gospel mentions Jesus going fishing with His apostles, then I’ll come down and bless you and your craft. Perhaps we can give it a name?’
    Moleskin’s smile widened.
    ’What about St Erconwald ?’
    Moleskin’s smile faded.
    ’Or,’ Athelstan added quickly, ’the Rose of Southwark ?’
    ’I like that, Brother. I knew a sweet girl called Rosamund. The only problem is, so did half the boatmen along the Thames !’
    ’Then we are agreed.’ Athelstan sketched a blessing in the air