The Tapestry of Time

Chapter 2-1

Baudet left his cottage at first light with heavy heart. Mother had wept as she put bread, cheese and cooked meats into his pack to sustain him for at least the first few days of his journey.

“Please don’t cry, mother, there’s no need. I’m not going away for ever, I’ll be back before you know it, once I’ve made my fortune!”

She wiped her eyes on her apron, went up to her son and hugged him tightly, saying softly: “I don’t know about that, but God speed and keep you.”

Walking down the track towards the jetty, he deliberately didn’t turn around. He had shown a brave face but, inside, he was frightened and wondered whether this was the right thing to do. He wasn’t sure but one factor that left him in no doubt was that his future did not lie in Vordan, he pondered as he trudged up to the wooden construction.

“They’re fine people and I will miss my friends. I have never gone hungry and my mother and sister love me deeply, Of that I’m sure. But, do I want to hunt boar for the rest of my days? No, I do not. So, we will see what tomorrow brings. I’m taking father’s spear with me – a reminder of my past but, for unexpected danger, it might prove a handy weapon.”

“They’re fine people and I will miss my friends. I have never gone hungry and my mother and sister love me deeply, Of that I’m sure. But, do I want to hunt boar for the rest of my days? No, I do not. So, we will see what tomorrow brings. I’m taking father’s spear with me – a reminder of my past but, for unexpected danger, it might prove a handy weapon.”Reaching the jetty, he was surprised to see, so early, a friend sitting on a bollard, idly swinging his legs, his fishing line held loose in his hand. He looked up and smiled broadly,

“I didn’t expect to see anybody here at this ungodly hour. I’ve got a spare line if you care to join me?”

“N… no, but thanks anyway, I can’t stop.”

“What do you mean?” his friend asked casually.

“I’m leaving Vordan.”

“Well, you kept that a secret! Where are you going to?”

that “Marseilles.”

“That’s the other end of the kingdom, if I’m correct!”

“You’re correct, but I’ve made up my mind and must say goodbye to you, my friend. Good luck with your fishing – they say that early morning is a good time for basking sharks.” He joked, then slapped the lad on his back and walked off, following the Petit Rhône’s course.

The sun had by now fully risen, bathing the meandering river with warmth that brought out hovering dragonflies and nymphs floating, but motionless, on the surface of the water. To his left, the meadows glistened and little spirals of mist swirled upwards like ballerinas dancing on ice. The singular beauty and serenity of the scene was enough to elicit gasps and praises raised to the Good Lord, he decided. “Why am I feeling so moved by simple green fields? It’s likely I’m in a state from leaving Vordan, but it means nothing. ‘How wrong you are, my son,’” rumbled a voice in his head.

Why am I feeling so moved by simple green fields? It’s likely I’m in a state from leaving Vordan, but it means nothing. ‘How wrong you are, my son,’” By dusk, he reached the halfway point between Vordan behind him and Arles ahead – a riverside hostelry where, he had been told, they had rooms for the night.

“You’ll sleep well tonight, young man,” the rosy-faced buxom landlady informed him. “The room has a fine feather bed and I’ve never had no complaints.”

Baudet smiled and replied: “I’ll take it, missus, but first pour me ale and I’ll dine with you tonight.”

“Of course. Choose your table, pray. My husband will wait on you. Albert!” she bawled loud enough to raise the roof.

The husband shortly appeared, placing a tankard of foaming ale in front of his customer.

“Best ale in these parts, young Sir, even if I say so myself.”

“I’m sure it is.” Baudet took a long draught then smacked his lips. The man topped up the tankard and left him in peace.

The landlady was an excellent cook and he ate the best fish stew he had ever tasted. Equally, her assurance of a good night’s sleep on the feather bed proved correct.

The next morning, he ate his breakfast of milk and freshly baked bread, settled his bill, and set off again on the Petit Rhône pathway with another day’s march ahead to make Arles before nightfall. He was now in high spirits and the gentle autumnal sunshine aided his journey. The closer he came to this town, more people passed him, so it was clear he was not far away from the important junction where this gentle river met the mighty Rhône and where he would head south towards Marseilles.

Round a bend and an awesome sight confronted him. Powerful mysterious waters rushed fast and deep in front of him and the calm soporific swirls and eddies of the Petit Rhône became a thing of the past. The beast growled at him like a lioness protecting her young, warning him to keep his distance for fear of retribution. Four times as wide as the lesser river, its flow was strong, dark and menacing and the boats sailing downstream were stout, broad-beamed barges and cargo ships, in the main, with tall masts and billowing sails.

Sitting on a fallen tree trunk on the riverbank he ate some of the bread and cheese his mother had packed for him and watched, with great curiosity, the activity before him, catching his breath and thoughts. He doubted, momentarily, whether he had made the right choice to leave Vordan, but the prospect of a new life and adventures drove away such negative considerations.

He was fascinated by these craft, carried southward by the current, and boats tacking left and right upstream under sail or pulled by carthorses plodding along the towpath. Swarthy deckhands, bare-chested and with bulging muscles, hoisted canvas sails; captains in blue reefer jackets tugged on the tiller to correct their course; lads, no older than himself, perched on the prow, kept watch for flotsam or wayward boats that could, in a second, cause fatal damage. The more he saw, the more he anticipated his journey of several days down the Rhône with relish and any regrets he might have harboured dissipated.

Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he set off with a spring in his step. Entering the first tavern he came across, he again took a room for the night and ate supper there, and he hoped to profit from the local folk’s knowledge to secure passage on a boat, courtesy of some sympathetic captain.

That evening, he drank and moved from one table to another. Before long, he was successful –even if it cost him several tankards of ale to allay one particular man’s suspicions.

“You can’t be too careful nowadays. I’ve taken on hands who’ve tried to rob me… run me through with a cutlass for all I know… but you don’t look like that sort.” The captain stared hard at Baudet as he spoke. “He’s one not to cross,” the young lad thought.

“He’s one not to cross,” “As it happens,” the sailor resumed, “just yesterday I had a hand make off with some of my best pewter from the galley. I knew there was something amiss with him, so I can use a strapping youngster like you. Where are you bound?”

“Marseilles,” Baudet answered.

“I can take you as far as Port-Saint-Louis,” the captain explained but then noticed the puzzled expression facing him. “It’s the last port before yon river flows into the sea. From there, you’ll either try to find a boat sailing along the coast or go overland, but the marshes there are treacherous if you aren’t familiar. However, you’ll get there somehow, you seem a determined soul.” That assessment of Baudet was, indeed, accurate. He concluded their meeting with: “I must get back to my boat now. See you tomorrow, at first light. You’ll find me easily, I’m the only one moored at the jetty. I wish you goodnight.”

The next day brought a clear deep-blue sky with hardly any wind, not that this diminished the fast-flowing turgid waters of the ancient river Rhône.

“Welcome aboard,” the captain greeted Baudet.

“Thank you,” he responded. The confidence in his voice belied the nervousness he felt. He’d never before set foot on a boat but it was necessary to reach his goal and begin his new life.

“There’s a bunk for you below the forehatch so take your bag and… He held the spear in hand and ran his hand admiringly up and down the fine straight shaft and pointed iron tip, “Where did you find this?”

“It belonged to my late father. He used it when we went hunting boar…” His voice trailed away and he was transported to the morning in the woods when they had found a beast snared in their net. He saw Father dispatch it with this very spear.

“Is that so? Anyway, take it below deck and report back here.”

He climbed the ladder down into the bowels of the barge, where it took a short while for his eyes to adjust to the near-pitch-black darkness. He made out two mattresses, one with a cloak folded at its head, the other vacant, evidently for him. It was not ideal accommodation, musty and uninviting, but it would serve its purpose and it was for only one night, he accepted. He went back up the ladder on hearing the captain shouting commands.

“Cast off forward!” the skipper ordered from his position at the tiller, then, “cast off aft!” Two burly ebony-skinned goliaths waved an acknowledgment, untied their mooring ropes from the bollards and jumped aboard, pushing off as they did so. The current soon seized the broad-beamed barge and propelled it downstream and the men promptly disappeared below deck, Baudet assumed, to perform their duties. Then he saw a boy seated at the prominent prow, pointing to starboard. The captain raised his hand in acknowledgement and hauled on the tiller to steer the boat to port. Seconds later they glided past a long tree trunk, only just breaking the surface of the water – had they collided with it, it could easily have holed their vessel. Leaving the obstacle in their wake, they regained their original course.

“That was a close call,” Baudet observed.

“No, it wasn’t close at all. The lad’s there as a lookout for that very reason – he has the eyesight of an eagle.”

Baudet nodded, feeling stupid to have made such a comment. “No matter, come, sit by me. Now, mark, I’ll not be giving you any coin, it’s me doing you a favour. You’ll work on the boat, not that you’ll be with us for long, and get your passage and supper tonight as wages. Is that agreed?”

me you “It is, Captain, and I’m grateful.”

“Good. Your job is down in the forehold. It’s black and grimy from a cargo of coal I carried recently. At Port-Saint-Louis, we pick up a load of salt cod and sacks of barley, so the cleaner the hold and cargo is, the better my customer will think of me. Fill a pail from the river, take it below, where you’ll find soap and a brush – I’ll send a lad to light a lamp for you. I want you to scrub clean as much of the hold as you can. When I call you, it’s time for you to join me in a little refreshment. Any questions?”