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looked on in obvious amusement.
There were other things. Some of the sailors had gone to several of the passengers on board for cures to
minor ailments rope-burns, chilblains and the like, and the oldwives had been happy to cure them with
the Dweomer they possessed. Friendships had sprung up between sailors and passengers as a result;
after all, a large proportion of the crew were, so to speak, in the same boat as the Dweomer-folk:
frowned upon by the Church and the authorities. Again Ortelius had protested, and this time Murad had
backed him up, more out of devilry than for any real motive, Hawkwood suspected. No good could
come to a ship which tolerated the use of Dweomer on board, the priest had said. And sailors being the
superstitious lot they were, it had cast a pall over the entire crew. For many of them, however, the
Ramusian faith was just another brand of Dweomer, and they did not stop their fraternization with the
passengers.
There was a weather-worker aboard, Billerand had informed Hawkwood, one of those rare
Dweomer-folk who could influence the wind. He was a mousy little man named Pernicus and had offered
his services to the ship s master, but Hawkwood had not dared to use his abilities. There was enough
trouble with the priest and the soldiery already. And besides, now that the wind had veered and was
screaming in over the quarter, the ship was sailing more freely. They were logging over twenty-five
leagues a day, no mean feat for an overloaded carrack. If, God forbid, the Osprey found herself on a lee
shore, then Hawkwood would not hesitate to call on Pernicus services, but for now he felt it was better
to let well alone.
Especially considering what had happened today that damned stupid soldier having a shit in the
beakhead while the waves were breaking over the forecastle. He had been washed out of his perch by a
foaming green sea, and they could not heave-to to pick him up, not with a quartering wind roaring over
the side. Murad had been furious, especially when he had learned how many ribald jokes the incident had
given rise to in the crew s quarters.
There was a change about the lean nobleman that Hawkwood could not quite define. He gave fewer
dinners and left the drilling of the soldiers to his ensigns. He spent much of the time in his cabin. It was
impossible to keep a secret on board a ship less than thirty yards long, and Hawkwood knew that Murad
had taken two young girls from among the passengers to his bed. Apart from anything else, the noises
coming through the bulkhead that separated their cabins were confirmation enough of that. But he had
heard the soldiers gossip: that Murad was somehow enamoured of one of the girls. Certainly, the man
had all the symptoms of one lost in love, if one believed the bards. He was snappish, distracted, and his
already pale face was as white as bone. Dark rings were spreading like stains below his eyes and when
he compressed his thin lips it was possible to see the very shape of the teeth behind them.
A packet of spray came aboard and drenched Hawkwood s shoulders but he hardly noticed. The wind
was still freshening and there was an ugly cross-sea getting up. The waves were running contrary to the
direction of the wind and streamers of spray were tearing off them like smoke. The ship staggered slightly
as she hit one of them; she was rolling as well as pitching now. No doubt the gundeck was covered with
prostrate, puking passengers.
Billerand hauled himself up the ladder to the quarterdeck and staggered over to his captain.
 We ll have to take in topsails if this keeps up! he shouted over the rising wind.
Hawkwood nodded, looking overhead to where the topsails were bellying out as tight as drumskins. The
masts were creaking and complaining, but he thought they would hold for a time yet. He wanted to make
the most of this glorious speed; he reckoned the carrack was tearing along at nine knots at least nine
long sea miles further west with every two turns of the glass.
 There s a bucketful on the way, too, Billerand said, glancing at the lowering sky. The clouds had
thickened and darkened until they were great rolling masses of heavy vapour that seemed to be tumbling
along just above the mastheads. It might have been raining already; they could not tell because of the
spray that was being hurled through the air by the wind and the swift cleavage of the ship s passage.
 Rouse out the watch, Hawkwood said to him.  Get one of the spare topsails out across the waist. If
we have a downpour I d like to try and save some of it.
 Aye, sir, Billerand said, and wove his way back across the pitching quarterdeck.
The watch were prised from their sheltered corners by Billerand s hoarse shouts and a sail was brought
out of the locker below. The seamen made it fast across the waist just as the clouds broke open above
their heads. Within a minute, the ship was engulfed in a torrential downpour of warm rain, so thick it was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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