March 1346
Are you telling me there is not one single ship
that can take me to St Malo before the week is
up?"
Captain John Sutton placed both hands on the table, leaned across towards the Harbourmaster seated behind it and tried to keep his temper in check.
You assured me I would not have to wait
more than two days and that was two days past!
The Harbourmaster shrugged in an offhand
manner. He rolled his eyes to the group of menhuddling around the fire with mugs of wine
asif to ask them to bear witness to the unreasonable demands of the English traveller.
GivenJohn's inability to establish the existence of any Ship, it seemed the Harbourmaster's office was
the centre for a nightly social gathering of local
merchants and seafarers rather than a place to organise transport.
John gripped the edge of the table, fingernails
digging into the solid oak in frustration.
A canptain should have command of his own ship, not have to resort to begging for passage on another man's.
Much as he would like to wrap his hands
round this Breton neck and squeeze some sense into the Harbourmaster,
he doubted he would leave the room alive if he attempted such a thing. He was half-tempted to do it anyway and risk the
consequences.
Since the death of his wife, he had
fought the impulse to gamble with his life until
someone ended it for him.
Joining Margaret was enticing when he had little to live for any longer.
Things are difficult at the moment, the Har-
bourmaster said, shrugging once more.
The war with the English has taken its toll on our industry. Many have had to give up their business.
Now with matters in Brittany being as they are.."