Free A Spy for the Redeemer by Candace Robb Page B

likely was it that Rokelyn would believe Owen and Martin were merely friends, not political cohorts?
    So Owen was testing Rokelyn’s word, seeing whether the archdeacon would have him followed to Porth Clais. Then he would know whether he might seek out Martin Wirthir.
    Captain Siencyn was not on the waterfront. In fact, it was quiet for such a clear morning. Some fishermen far out at the westernmost edge of the inlet sat on the shingle working on their nets, two children played nearby under the gaze of an old man who avoided Owen’s eye. Not far away, a woman stood quietly, looking out to sea. She wore a heavy cloak, the hood thrown back. Her hair was tightly braided about her head. ‘That is Glynis,’ Jared said. ‘She is rumoured to be the mistress of Piers the Mariner.’
    ‘God go with you, Mistress,’ Owen said in Welsh, hoping that might put her at ease. He had to speak loudly to be heard above the roar of the sea. ‘Would you know where I might find Captain Siencyn?’
    The woman turned round, nodded up the rock face. At first Owen saw nothing, then his eye made out a stone building tucked into a ledge.
    ‘The path begins just behind you,’ said the woman. She did not wait for his thanks but, picking up her skirts, hurried away towards the fishermen.
    ‘Seems we have sprouted horns,’ said Jared. ‘The folk were warmer a few days past.’
    ‘Before I arrived.’
    ‘Aye,’ Jared said absently. He was staring up the cliff. ‘That cottage? Is that where she pointed us?’ He did not understand Welsh.
    ‘It is.’ Owen studied the steep, winding path that led to it. Ever since losing the sight in his left eye he had disliked walking narrow ledges. His accuracy in judging depths and distances had improved in ten years, but the doubt remained. When would not quite perfect not be good enough? Why was God so sorely testing him?
    ‘Captain?’ Jared called down, already halfway up.
    Owen began the ascent. The path was not as precarious as it looked from below. It was well worn, with deeply indented footholds. He avoided looking down and, within moments, was on a ledge on which scraggly tufts of grass valiantly stood up against the salty breeze. The cottage seemed a tentative structure, three walls of loosely piled rocks enclosing the hillside, a sod roof sagging above them. Smoke drifted out of the cottage’s low door and numerous chinks in the rocks.
    Jared bent, peered in the door. ‘Captain Siencyn,’ he called.
    ‘Who wants me?’ a man grumbled in reply.
    Jared stepped inside. Owen followed.
    The room within was faintly lit by a smoky fire and a lantern near the door. Blinking against the smoke and the sudden dimness after the bright daylight without, Owen felt he was a target for anyone whose eyes were adjusted to the gloom. He gradually picked out a large man seated in the middle of the room, bootless feet propped up on a stone so close to the fire it was a wonder his stockings were not scorched. To one side of him lay a large cat, to the other side the remnants of a meal. Behind him stood an incongruous wood-framed, cloth-draped bed. How had he brought it up that path, Owen wondered. Captain Siencyn slowly raised his head, nodded lazily. The firelight gave his heavy features a menacing look. The frown he cast towards Jared did nothing to soften the effect. Then suddenly he grinned, causing a dramatic transformation. He looked almost boyish.
    ‘Jared, lad. You have saved me the bother of a journey up, over and down.’ He spoke English, with no Welsh accent. With his Flemish name he was likely from the area round Haverfordwest.
    ‘Captain Siencyn, this is Captain Owen Archer,’ said Jared, stepping aside.
    ‘Is it?’ Siencyn thrust his head forward, squinted up at Owen. ‘The patch, aye, they did tell me that about you.’ He shifted his feet from the stone, hooked one foot round a bench nearby, dragged it towards the fire. ‘Sit. I have something to tell you.’
    Owen shifted the angle of