Righting his mazer, he refilled it and sank back into his chair, legs stretched before him, his face taking on a dreamy, faraway look. “I first met your mother when she was but a child. As the daughter of Herr Gottfried de Winter, the great merchant and official of the Hanseatic League, she was precious, not just to her parents, but to all who served Herr de Winter, myself included.”
I knew my grandfather had been an important man, but to hear Captain Stoyan speak of him in such tones imbued him with a significance I’d never gleaned from Mother’s or Father’s conversations. It filled me with a combination of excitement and sadness. I’d never met any of my German or Dutch relatives, except through Mother’s tales . . . apart from Hiske, and she’d spun her own, less favorable stories to counter Mother’s. Listening to Captain Stoyan was an unexpected boon.
“Herr de Winter was not always able to return to his home in Maastricht to see his family. Too often he was called upon to attend to Hanse matters in other ports, other countries. He would ask those of us he trusted to visit in his stead, to take gifts and letters to his wife and daughter on his behalf. I was one of the first to be given the duty. That was how I met your mother.”
I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand. “What was she like?”
Captain Stoyan chuckled softly. “An angel. I still recall disembarking from the small barge I’d hired to sail up the River Maas. I was all of seventeen, a callow youth, and how I’d resented this task your grandfather had forced upon me!” He chuckled and shook his head. “I was determined that I would simply drop the parcels and notes and leave immediately, believing I’d much more important things to occupy me. I even told the boatman not to weigh anchor, but to tie the craft and wait. Stupid, when I think of the currents in the Maas. As it was, I leaped onto the bank and, in my haste, landed heavily, twisting my ankle. I fell over, rolling and yelping like an injured pup. And when I stopped, there was this vision with silver hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever beheld”—he focused on me briefly—“your eyes—standing over me. God bless her, she placed her tiny hand in mine and tried to help me to my feet. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ I’ll never forget that. This sweet child helping me.” He paused, savoring the recollection.
“After that, I volunteered to make the trip, going back many times over the years. Each visit, Cathaline would seek me out, talk to me. I used to bring her not only Herr de Winter’s gifts, but treats I’d found to delight her. There was nothing I would not give to see her smile.” He rubbed his beard.
“Then I was given my own ship to command and sent to the Mediterranean. Years later, I returned, only this time your mother was no child. She was a woman and so comely to behold, she left me speechless. By then, she was already engaged to your father—the Englischer bastard, we’d call him, so envious were we. We couldn’t understand why Herr de Winter was giving her to an Englishman, this prize! We should have known; everything Herr de Winter did was costed and measured and your mother’s husband was no different. She was given to Sheldrake because of what he promised he could do for the Hanse—dominance of the ports along this part of the English coast.
“Your father persuaded Herr de Winter that there was great wealth to be had through importing salt, ale, and wool and exporting beer, cloth, and spices, especially with prices rising so high here and crops failing. That he’d ensure, using his legal skills and connections with a great English lord, that exclusive contracts were granted, shoring up the Hanse’s profits.” He gave a dry laugh and paused to drink. I did as well. Questions burned inside me.
“Over the years, in fact, quite quickly, your father did well; he expanded trade, negotiated excellent tithes in ports, and overall made profit. What I don’t understand is the nature of the agreement he had with Lord Rainford. I never knew . . . It wasn’t until I looked into matters after he died that I discovered the truth . . . that while he lived, Joseph Sheldrake earned an excellent living, but upon his death, everything reverted back to Lord Rainford.” The captain threw his hands up in the air. “It’s perplexing and seems out of character with the man I knew. With the man to whom Herr de Winter gave his daughter.”
A wave of heat swept my body and took my voice away momentarily. I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know about any of this until after Father died either.”
Not about the debts . . . the fact that Father effectively signed over all his rights to any profit . . .
Unaware of my disquiet, Captain Stoyan continued. “Part of me can forgive your father placing his trust in Lord Rainford—what I cannot forgive is that he placed your trust”—he jabbed a thick finger on the desk—“your future, there as well and, in doing so, denied you one. You and Cathaline’s twins.”
What could I say? Captain Stoyan was right, but I knew why. Outside, a dog barked and seagulls cawed.
“So,” said the captain finally. “In your note you mention seeking my help. What can I do for you?”
Gratitude flooded my body. At last, I could steer this ship into what I hoped were less troubled waters. “I have a request to make—”
Ten
Offices of the Kontor, Elmham Lenn
The same day
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV
I told Captain Stoyan my plans. I told him about my meeting with Lord Rainford, his assurances that I would be granted till Hocktide to try and earn enough funds to keep the house. I told him about the brewhouse, Mother’s recipes, the arrangement with Master Bondfield and Master Perkyn, my desire to enter the brewing trade. Then I told him what I’d learned from Master Perkyn about the abbot and the city ale-conners. I also told him my fears that, somehow, the guild, which I’d first thought to seek help from, might also be receiving bribes, that in Abbot Hubbard and the Friary of St. Jude’s lay potential danger.
“And yet, despite telling you this, this miller, he will still grind your malt?”
“He’s a friend.”
“That he might be, but he’s also foolhardy. Not that this is necessarily a bad trait.” The captain gave me a crooked smile.
I placed my forearm on the desk and leaned forward. “All I want, all I need, is the chance to sell my ale, to make enough to pay the lease, maintain the house, keep my family and our servants together. But I’m concerned I may not get that opportunity. And that’s where I need your help, Captain Stoyan.” I sat up, businesslike. “Firstly, I need to know: Is Master Perkyn right? Are the ale-conners in the abbot’s pocket? Is the guild? Because if they are, and the abbot learns what I’m doing, he may ask them to sabotage my business as he has others—accuse me of using incorrect measures, declare my ale unsuitable for drinking whether it is or not, and apportion a fine. If that should happen . . .” I left Captain Stoyan to draw his own conclusions.
I omitted to tell him what else Master Perkyn shared with Adam and me—about the fire, the brutal killing of a pet, and injury to livestock.
Instead, I waited for the arguments as to why I shouldn’t brew: that it was unsuitable, that I would never succeed.