We also commend to you the captives that Captain Garnett intended to sell to you on this visit. We offer them to you freely, in thanks for relieving us of Garnett and his friends. There are two sturdy men, one young, one in middle years but still strong, and four serviceable women. The youngest we believe to be a virgin. They are all yours, for nothing. We only ask that you treat them well, for they have done no wrong.
Bones really had done his best for us, in more than one way. I left the notice where it was.
The boathouse was secured with a padlock that looked massive but as with Garnett’s strongbox padlock, it was actually quite simple to open. I only took a moment or two over letting us in. Once inside, Brockley and I each held up a lantern and tried to make out our surroundings.
‘There’s their boat,’ said Joseph. ‘Funny looking thing, ain’t it? Foreign, like.’
This was so, since the little vessel had a high curly prow which had been painted gold and shone when the light caught it. There were oars inside the boat, a coiled mooring rope, and what Brockley said must be a bailing bucket. ‘I hope we don’t have to use that!’ said Dale. Brockley commented unenthusiastically that the boat wasn’t much of a size for the open sea but it would have to do and now we had to get it to the water.
We fetched our baggage, threw it into the boat and set to work. Getting it out of the boathouse was the hardest part. The line of rollers extended right into the building and the boat was already on it, but at first we couldn’t move it at all, until we found that it was fastened at the stern to a ring in the rear wall. Joseph borrowed my dagger and cut it loose and after that, with all of us heaving and shoving, we were able to inch the boat forward until it met the point where the slipway began a downward slant. After that, things were more straightforward, though not rapid for the descent to the water was not steep and the boat needed some manhandling. We all strove together, three each side. We were still only a yard or two clear of the boathouse when the quiet night was shattered by something that for a moment froze us all into horrified rigidity.
It came from the sea, and it was the boom and flash of a cannon. Followed by a crash and then shouts, distant but carrying easily over the water from where we knew the big pirate ship was anchored. Evidently, she had a guard on board. The shouts had a quality of fury rather than anguish; by the sound of it, no one had been hurt, but the vessel had probably been damaged.
‘I could hazard a guess as to who arranged that!’ said Brockley. ‘That damned hothead Dick Mitchell!’
Joseph was squinting towards the sea. ‘I think I can make our ship out. I can see her sails against the stars. She’s under sail, moving. Oh, dear God!’
Another cannon had boomed, this time from the pirate vessel.
‘Didn’t get her,’ said Brockley, peering seawards. ‘The bonny Lucille’s all right. Already out of range. Mitchell loosed off at just the right moment. And I could kill him for it! Come on, all of you, we’ve got to get launched and away. That racket’s going to bring every pirate on the island tearing down that cliff path in minutes from now. Come on!’
He was perfectly right. As we dragged and pushed and steadied and pushed again, we heard the sound of voices from high above us, and Sybil said breathlessly: ‘Lights! Top of the cliff!’
But we were there. The slipway ran down into the water and the boat went with it, sliding free of it to bob alongside the jetty. There was plenty of room, since the boats that had brought us and the captain’s party were both gone. Brockley dragged out the mooring rope we had found, and between them he and Joseph fastened our vessel to a bollard. We all scrambled over the side. In our haste, we made the boat rock and Joseph nearly fell in. Sybil caught hold of him just in time and yanked him to safety, with no more than one wet foot.
‘And one foot’s enough! That water … cold as icewater … fall into that and you wouldn’t drown, you’d freeze!’ Joseph gasped as he seized an oar. The boat bumped ominously as though it had touched bottom for a moment. The tide was falling. A little later, and we would have had far more trouble in getting on to the sea.
The shouts from the land were coming closer and we could see lights on the cliff path, moving rapidly downwards. Brockley leant over the side to loose us from the bollard and then sat down, grabbing an oar for himself. He pushed off. He and Joseph started to row. We lurched unsteadily out from the jetty. ‘Trim, trim!’ Brockley barked at us. ‘Sybil, Fran, shift to the other side! Quick!’
His urgency was right, for that was the moment when a crowd of angry pirates, brandishing flambeaux and a hair-raising selection of weapons, reached the foot of the cliff and came running across the little beach. They saw at once that the boathouse was open; for a moment they crowded towards it, and someone saw the letter and had torn it off the door and was shouting something – reading it aloud, perhaps. There were answering shouts in some foreign tongue. Then they saw us, just clearing the end of the jetty, and they poured after us, bellowing with rage.
‘But we’ve not done anything to them!’ wailed Dale.
‘We’re escaping merchandise and the ship we came on has just hurled a cannonball at theirs,’ said Brockley tersely. He and Joseph were rowing with all their might. Kate and I seized another pair of oars and added our strength. None of us was practised at the work and the boat wallowed, refusing to get underway. The foremost man of the enemy was shouting something at the others. He was sprinting forward, leading the way. He plunged into the sea, determined to catch us before we were completely beyond their reach.
I made out that he had a jewelled turban and that, added to the way he had shouted commands and been obeyed, made me think that this was probably Abdul Hussein himself. He thrust his way forward till he was thigh deep in the sea, still carrying a flambeau in one hand, while in the other he brandished a cutlass. He almost reached us. But we were in deeper water by then and suddenly he lost his footing, stumbled and went under, dousing his torch. But not before the torch had lit up his face so that for a moment we saw it plainly.
It was a dark, bearded face, and as Bones had said, his eyes were shadowed, lost in a deep cavern under his black brows, and his teeth, bared in fury, were his most obvious feature, much as they were in the case of Captain Garnett. The two of them were alike, only with this man, it was worse. It was even worse than with Leo. One could at least see Leo’s eyes, however disagreeable they were to behold. But this man’s face was that of someone who had altogether ceased to come forth to meet the world of other people.
We strove at the oars. We saw Hussein break the surface and reappear, snorting and cursing, saw three or four of his followers dive forward and try to swim after us, saw his hand grab our gunwale. He was a powerful man and he moved fast, heaving his body out of the water and sliding over the side, levering himself up with one hand while the other still grasped his cutlass. Behind him, his reinforcements were shouting encouragement and they too had cutlasses.
Then Kate wrenched her oar out of the water, scrambled to her feet, and thrust the oar with all her might straight at Hussein’s starlit teeth. It seemed that she disliked them as much as I did. His head jerked back and for a split second we saw blood spurt from his mouth and heard his snarl of fury and pain. The boat lurched under what was now wildly uneven rowing but Kate kept her balance and thrust again, shouting. He lost his grasp and fell back into the sea, and as he did so his cutlass sailed out of his hand and splashed into the waves. Kate sat down hurriedly and plied her oar once more. ‘Thanks, Kate,’ I gasped, and Joseph said: ‘More than thanks! Reckon she’s just saved us from God alone knows what.’
‘Harder! Faster!’ Brockley panted, plying his oar with all his might. Joseph matched him. Now the boat was responding and the gap between us and the enemy was widening. Behind us, the foe, cursing, was losing the race. Hussein had gone under and when he reappeared, spluttering and raging, he was a good way aft.
‘They can’t stay in this water long, anyhow,’ said Joseph breathlessly. ‘Too bloody cold, sav
ing your presence, ladies.’
‘You should hear the queen, sometimes,’ I said. ‘She can swear with the best.’
‘Hope they all die of lung congestion,’ said Joseph. ‘Think you knocked a couple of his teeth out, Mistress Ferguson. Well done.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Sybil in heartfelt tones. And then, with a gasp of relief: ‘They’ve given up!’
And so they had. Swearing and dripping, they were retreating now from the double menace of depth and cold. They shook their fists and one of them hurled what looked like a spear, but it fell short. ‘Waste of a good weapon,’ remarked Joseph.
‘So now,’ said Brockley, ‘all we have to do is row for the mainland. It’s likely to take us all night. Lucky the sea’s calm.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Travelling On
At the time it was a dreadful struggle, although I now look back on it with pride. We had overcome one peril after another and we had got away. It provided us with the sort of memories that are good to recall, round the hearth on stormy evenings, in a safe, snug house, with a mug of ale or a goblet of good wine in one’s hand.
Brockley had said the sea was calm but we soon learned that a sea that looks quite calm from a distance may not seem calm at all when you’re bouncing over it in a small open boat. We battled along, navigating by the stars. We wallowed in the troughs between rolling waves, took in water and had to bail.
When dawn broke, we were well away from Lundy, and there was no ship in sight, neither the pirate vessel nor the Lucille. Dick Mitchell had perhaps done well by us after all, since he had possibly crippled the pirate ships, and the Lucille had presumably got away towards Land’s End. She would have had to go round the end of the island to do so, but in the dark the pirates could not use their cliff cannon. We ourselves were aiming straight for the mainland. We were exhausted. The wind and the savagely cold spray seared our faces and made our whole bodies shudder, and Joseph’s wet foot had seriously pained him until Sybil took off his shoe and his cloth sock, rubbed his foot hard with her skirt and helped him to unearth fresh socks and shoes from his saddlebags. We had nothing to eat or drink and no prospect of anything for the foreseeable future. And land, though visible, still seemed far away.
I think that after all, we might at last have been defeated by the Bristol Channel except that suddenly a ship came into sight. She was certainly not the Lucille. She was a big three-masted vessel, coming up the channel as though homeward bound from a voyage. We stood up and waved, and after a time, we saw men aboard her waving back. We made towards her. Within half an hour, we were clambering stiffly up a rope ladder to her deck, and our little boat was being hoisted up as well.
She was a merchantman, home from the Mediterranean, laden with casks of red wine, bales of silk and stone jars full of spices, and she was headed for Bristol. She had no passengers, her cheery and amiable Captain Cox informed us, but she had accommodation for them, and he had a couple of cabins we could use.
It was magical. Suddenly we were surrounded by friendly faces. There were shocked exclamations when we told our story, and then we were being shown to the cabins, one for Joseph and Brockley and the other for the ladies; there were woollen dressing gowns and soft slippers so that we could get out of our soaked and salt-stained clothing; there were hot drinks that tasted of honey; there were meat pies and freshly made bread; there were bowls of warm washing water, and comfortable bunks … there was warmth and sustenance …
And sleep, blessed sleep.
We were landed at Bristol the next day and Captain Cox wouldn’t let us pay anything for our passages. We had presented him with a nice little shoreboat, he said, worth quite a lot, and that would suit him very well. He said he would name her the Generous Gift and she would be recompense enough. He liked the curly gold prow. He’d have the prettiest shoreboat in the whole of English shipping, he said.
In Bristol we found a hostelry. Brockley went off with Joseph in search of a hiring stables where we could obtain a wagon and horses for the journey to Hawkswood, which meant travelling across most of the width of England. Hawkswood it would have to be, I decided. I had a report to make for Walsingham and Cecil but I wanted to go home so much that I couldn’t even contemplate going first to Hampton Court – where I might in any case find that the court had moved somewhere else, possibly even to Greenwich. Besides, I wanted to give careful thought to the wording of the report. From Hawkswood it could be sent by messenger.
After that I must take Kate back to Dover and retrieve the horses we had left with the Fergusons, but for that purpose, Hawkswood was on the way; Dover would just be a continuation of our journey, after a break.
Our choice of transport was controlled by the strain of the last few days. Joseph and Kate said they were recovered and could manage on horseback, but I still felt too tired and stiff and I was quite sure that Sybil and Dale were worse than I was. No, it was to be four wheels for everyone. Brockley and Joseph found a stable that was part of a chain, providing wagons and changes of horses at regular intervals, all the way to London. Getting to Hawkswood meant veering away from London for the last leg, but we would get the horses back to their proper stables later. For the moment, our destination was Hawkswood, dear Hawkswood and home.
Wagon travel is never rapid. The journey took five wearisome days. I was glad, so glad, to arrive. Little Harry came running out to me the moment I was in the courtyard and to pick him up and put my arms round him was a joy for which I have no adequate words. Many others came out to welcome me, too; Adam Wilder and John Hawthorn beaming broadly, old Gladys, cackling with joy through her brown fangs.
Yet there was no chance yet for a real rest. On the following morning, I despatched Simon to drive the wagon to its London stable with Rusty, our remaining saddle horse, tied behind the wagon so that Simon could ride back. Netta didn’t like the idea of him being away overnight but she would have to get used to these things, I told her, as patiently as I could. It was a worry to me that most of our horses were still in Dover. The sooner we got our equine belongings back from the Fergusons, the better.
So much still to be done. The report on our adventures for Sir Francis Walsingham and Lord Burghley came first; that was urgent. I must also write a separate letter to the queen, for my report would contain information which should lead to the seizure of the Lucille and all aboard her when next she put into an English port, and I wanted to plead for Bones and Clay. I wished them to be pardoned. There was nothing now that I could do for Christopher Spelton. He, poor man, was lost. But I must help those I could. If I could.
As well as pleading for Bones and Clay, I also wanted to protect Duncan Ferguson. I knew I must explain what had happened to Count Renard, but I must emphasize how justified Duncan had felt when he insisted on his illegal duel. And I would not, I thought, actually name the Fergusons. They had better be just a Catholic household in Kent. And I must write to Kate’s parents, to tell them what had happened, but assure them that she was safe and that I would in due course bring her home. I had too much to do to leave for Dover at once. I decided that I must send someone to fetch our horses and the letter could go with him, or them. Probably them – there were six horses to retrieve. I’d take Kate home myself, when everything was settled. All the letters would need the most careful wording.
There was something further, nagging at the back of my mind. Wearied by my adventures, I didn’t want to face it though I knew I must. I was not too surprised when, as I sat in the little room that Hugh had once used as his study, nibbling the end of my quill while I tried to assemble the words I needed, the door opened to admit Sybil and Kate.
‘We’re sorry to interrupt,’ Sybil said. ‘But …’
I laid down my quill. It had come. I had been too thankful to be back at Hawkswood with Harry and too overwhelmed with all the things that must be done forthwith to add this to my burdens straight away, but now it was to be added by others. ‘Ambrosia,’ I said.
‘It’s only a little more
than two weeks since Ambrosia started her journey to Edinburgh,’ said Sybil.
Just over a fortnight. It felt as though we had travelled to the moon and back since we left Dover, and as if we had lived through an eternity of danger in that time.
Sybil was continuing. ‘We don’t know how long her voyage took. She can only have been there for a short time. Even if they do try to marry her off, even if she gives in to them, she surely won’t be married yet. There hasn’t been time. Mistress Stannard … Ursula …’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s been in my mind too. But even if we go to Edinburgh at once, we don’t know the name of these Ferguson kinsmen. Are they called Ferguson too? And where do they live? How do we find her?’
‘That is no problem. I’m a Ferguson,’ said Kate helpfully. ‘I know who they are and where they live. I can lead us straight to them.’
I was still looking at Kate as though she were some kind of betrayer, when the door opened and in hobbled Gladys, without knocking, which was normal in her case. ‘I heard that, I did. Heard something about Edinburgh, too. I seen maps in Master Hugh’s office, once or twice. That’ll be a thousand mile away!’
‘Four hundred, roughly,’ I corrected.
Gladys snorted. ‘Too damn far by half, and when you get there, if you ever do, the state you’re all in, sleepin’ late and creepin’ about as if you’re lamer than I am, it’ll all be for nothing, you wait and see.’
A Perilous Alliance Page 22
