Chapter Seven

On the road to Normandy April 1096

Colin marveled at the sheer beauty of the White Cliffs while standing on the stern. I will wait for you, echoed through his mind. She was just a child. He never asked her to wait for him nor wanted her to wait for him. If he survived this journey, he would return to Amelia if she would have him. He never dreamed he could ever live the life of anything but a slave, but he could see it now. He would return home a great adventurer and wait for him would be Alison… no Amelia and they would marry and have many children. True love was within his reach, Amelia. Perhaps he would make his fortune and return to her. He closed his eyes and imagined coming back to Amelia. He stared at the wharf and saw little Alison who waved a final goodbye and blew him a kiss. However, his heart took control. He noticed Alison as she walked away into the crowd. “I will return” absentmindedly slipped from his mouth. He shuddered. He meant Amelia, but it was Alison that he saw when he closed eyes. It was sweet little Alison. She was the only one that said she would wait for him. He may never return. He may never even make it to Normandy. The chances are that he would most likely hang for treason if returned to England.

Knowing that she would wait for him gave him comfort and hope, and for that, he felt guilty. Colin shuddered.  He told himself the shiver came from the cold but in his heart, he knew it was from something else.

The ship skipped on the channel’s waves. Poor Colin was not accustomed to the rocking as oarsmen rowed the ship to the constant beating of cadence. He carefully maneuvered himself to the bow of the ship and watched Calais in the far distance. After a few for hours, Calais seemed no closer than when he first saw the town on the wharf in Dover.

“How far is Calais from Dover?” asked a middle-aged person in the front row.

“Far? Oh, sorry, it is about twenty-one miles. You can see Calais from Dover on clear days.”

Colin’s eyes misted over. The thought of Alison always made him melancholy. He dabbed a few tears with the swipe of a finger.

General Grant scratched his chin and sipped from his wine glass. “You can travel twenty miles in about two hours or less nowadays. How long did it take you?”

“It took considerably more time back than especially when I was possessed with the Harcourt luck and a cursed letter,” Colin said smiling.

“I imagine the voyage did not go as planned.” He said as he refilled his glass.

“That might be an understatement…”

A gloomy cloud billowed in the distance racing toward the ship. Within minutes, the storm attacked with a demonic fury. The waves tossed the boat like soap in the bathwater of a three-year-old. Colin was still on the bow of the ship when a giant wave loomed overhead. A rough hand grabbed him just as the wave was about to heave him overboard.

“You might want to take shelter in my quarters,” the captain said holding Colin upright with his strong hands. “These squalls come up from hell itself. They’re as unholy as the devil himself. They seldom last long. The Hope has withstood the worst. All will be safe soon,” shouted the captain. “Means whilst let Digger here escort you to my quarters.”

Colin’s face paled. He gave a faint nod of his head.

“Master Harcourt, there be a bucket in the corner. If you get my meaning, sir. Some do not have the constitution for a storm such as this. I’ll fetch you after the storm blows over.”

Digger escorted Colin to the captain quarters where his wobbly legs gave out as the door closed behind him. He crawled to the corner with the bucket between his knees for what seemed like an eternity. Colin’s wretched, as he violently spewed chunks of his breakfast, as perspiration drenched his shirt. He grasped onto the pail and bunk bed as the boat pitched forward. Bile flew with every dip. The so-called safety of the captain quarters drained strength.

The thrashing upheaval of the boat abated and slowed until it drifted like a lazy swan upon the water. Colin flinched as the door opened, “Master Harcourt,” Digger said, “It be safe.”

Colin forced himself to his feet only to fall flat on the floor again. With all his strength, he pulled himself up on the wall and weaved toward the door, handing Digger the bucket as he passed him. Digger looked at Colin, smiled shook his head. “Just as I figgered,”

The sun was setting on the starboard side. Colin shielded his eyes and marveled at the incredible sunset. Far distant he could see the White Cliffs sitting in a halo of purple and red. The captain joined him and pointed to the bow of the ship, “Saints preserve us. That be Calais just ahead. We shall go ashore soon. I suggest you freshen yourself. You have a bit of the sea on the corner of your mouth.” He laughed and patted Colin on the back.

“A bit of the sea?” asked Sally.

“Uh, yeah, well, I missed the bucket.”

Sally sat for a moment then her face squinted, “EEW,” she shrieked.

“Sorry, Sally; I tried to be discreet.” Colin’s face reddened.

“So it took…” General Grant said, counting his fingers.

“Ten hours, General. It took almost ten hours. I left Dover just after sunrise. It was now sunset, and Calais stood before me. I would soon be in a foreign land. I didn’t speak the language. I have no idea where Normandy is or how to get there. It would soon be night. Have I said I was a fool before? Well, I would soon walk down that gangplank a fool on a fool’s errand.”

“Do you have an escort from the church?” asked the captain. “Or a place to spend the night? Trust me Calais is not a place to walk about in darkness.”

Colin shook his shoulders and raised both palms upward. “Not to my knowledge. The mission is rather secret. I haven’t thought about a place to spend the night. I was hoping to leave immediately.”

“Ah, so how are you planning to get all the way to Normandy on your own, and tonight?”

“I will manage. How far is Normandy from here and in which direction?”

The captain shook his head, “You did not know how to get to Normandy? The good Father sent you on a mission without directions or a map. Rouen, the capital of Normandy, is about two hundred kilometers southwest. Surely you knew that before you left on this fool’s pilgrimage?”

Colin shyly shook his head, “No.”

“Tell me you were chosen because you speak the language of Calais or Normandy?”

“Depends. Do they speak English?”

“You might get lucky and find one or two, but most speak Dutch.”

Colin frowned as the crew threw the ropes to workers on the pier. He heard the workers shouting in a language he didn’t understand. “Do they speak English in Normandy?”

The captain smiled and said, “I’m afraid not, they speak French. From here on you will find very few that speak your language.”

“What am I to do now?” asked Colin disheartened as he sat on a box.

“Well, if you be a praying man, I would say it’s well pastime you said your prayers. You best wait until morn. Only a daft fool would hazard the streets at night.” Captain Flainbard took Colin by the shoulder and pointed his tanned, weathered finger at a dilapidated shanty. “That be the A du Cheval Blanc, not much to look at, but warm. A word to the wise, keep your distance from the wenches. They all be infested.”

Colin glanced over the side of the boat, the letter in his hand, and silently cursed the letter and the archbishop. It was the second day of April. He was already late. No one could blame him if he returned to Dover and disappeared. Amelia might warm up to him if he was persistent and there are worse things than working at the inn. It was not Amelia’s face that came to mind. It was Alison’s, and Alison would not love a man with a damned soul. He must deliver the letter to save his soul. The archbishop said so.

“Good luck, Colin,” the captain said shaking his head.

After they had lowered the gangplank; Colin knew what he needed to do. “Thank you, Captain. You have been most kind.” He took a deep breath. The sea air filled his nostrils. Without looking back, Colin wobbled down the walkway and into a crowd of foreigners.

Day broke with a drizzle. High gray clouds dampened Colin’s spirits. Brushing hay from his hair, he sidestepped sailors who passed out from the night’s whoring and drunkenness. Fat and ugly prostitutes lay naked by their sides. Then he stumbled out into the nearly empty streets.

Trying in vain for hours he searched for somebody that understood him. He stopped everyone and asked for their help. Most of them wouldn’t even stop and turned away from his grasp. Others just raised their shoulders and scooted away. Some might have sworn at him judging from the hand gestures. He walked and asked for help until he was lost. Hungry, tired, and defeated he leaned against a pole ready to give up his quest.

“Pardon me, you are looking for travels to Normandy, no?” came a voice from behind him. Disappointed, he pivoted and saw no one. A tap on small of his back startled him, “Pardon?”

Colin turned, this time, he looked down, “Yes, boy. Do your parents speak English?”

The boy frowned and folded his arms. His bright yellow tunic and bright green britches stood out in the now crowded streets. “My mother is long dead. I never met my father. He was some Norman soldier who dallied with my mother when he was passed through with Duke William on his way to England to show you Englishers some humiliation.”

Colin’s overlooked the derogatory comment. “Impossible. That would make you my age.” Then he stared closely at the boy’s face. It wasn’t a boy’s face at all.

“Are there no little people in England?” asked the boy. “I’m thirty years old and although my mother and father were of average height. I was blessed with a more diminutive stature.”

“I have heard of them, but have never met one. Perhaps you can be of assistance. My name is Colin Harcourt, and I have urgent business in—”

“Normandy,” the midget interrupted. “I heard you. I am Rango, no surname, just Rango. Might I be able to assist you, no. We are thespians and travel the countryside village to village. We have plans to perform in Rouen later this coming summer.”

“Summer? I am already late. I must be there sooner.”

Rango smiled, “You got a better offer, yes?”

“Thus began a friendship between Rango, the midget, and myself. It also solved my dilemma. I joined a group of traveling performers as their fool – the role was well suited for me it seems. I was already late and was no other choice. I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t speak the language. They warned me it would be unsafe to travel alone. With the circus folk, I would get there late but would get there, hopefully in one piece. First, the troupe stopped in Blois, then Lower Lorraine, Flanders and finally Normandy. On the first day of August, my faithful friend and I stood outside the castle of Robert Duke of Normandy.”