Birthright

by David Hingley

  ‘No you haven’t.’ Nicholas laughed. ‘Spain. Tenerife.’

  ‘You were at Santa Cruz?’ Nathan’s tone was impressed.

  ‘First time I saw battle. I’ll never forget it – seven huge Spanish galleons completely ablaze, smoke filling the air, cannon fire raining down on us from the fort onshore. Then their flagship exploded, bloody pieces of men flying everywhere. But the thing I remember most was the heat, like the air itself was on fire. That and the screams of the burning men, of course.’

  Mercia could feel Nathan nodding. ‘They say war is glorious, but I never found it so. Too many innocent people die. Men who should not have been fighting. Women. Children.’

  ‘Yes.’ Another pause. ‘Mercia told me what happened with her brother.’

  ‘Did she?’ Nathan sounded resigned. ‘Then she must like you. It is a wound that never really healed, I think.’

  ‘And her husband?’ pursued Nicholas, almost a whisper. ‘Did he really die in a duel?’

  Had she spoken with him of that? She supposed she must have: she couldn’t remember. Her breathing quickened as she edged round the rough mast, straining to hear the two men above.

  ‘That is not really your business,’ said Nathan. ‘But you are right. A band of Royalists attacked him when he was riding home with some of his men after the battle at Dunkirk.’

  ‘In ’58?’ Nicholas seemed surprised. ‘I was at Dunkirk too, on the Hero.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. Edward Markstone’s ship?’

  ‘Yes. I was looking after the horse by then.’ A pause. ‘What happened?’

  Nathan sighed. ‘There was a fight. William’s men came across this other group. I can only guess there was some slight on his honour, for he insisted on a duel and he was killed. The Lord alone knows how. He was an excellent swordsman. I always think if I had been there, would it have been different? Would I have been able to stop him?’ He blew deeply out. ‘I don’t know. I’d left the army by then, gone back to the land. One of his men came to see me. I had to tell Mercia myself.’

  From her hiding place Mercia swallowed, remembering how she had felt when he had brought her the news. Numb. Unbelieving. Then for weeks – a wreck. But she had survived, as she would survive the trials afflicting her now. She was strong. And not alone.

  ‘Now she has you,’ Nicholas was cajoling.

  ‘I try to be a good friend for her.’

  A moment of silence. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Behind the mast, Mercia was totally still.

  ‘I think you do,’ said Nicholas. ‘I know you think me a common rogue, but any fool can tell how you feel. Even me.’

  Nathan laughed nervously. ‘That is definitely none of your business. And I do not think anything will change anytime soon.’ He drummed his fingers on the rail. ‘Well, I best see to Daniel. Lady Markstone is reading to him, but I do not like him spending too much time with her. She is being exiled, after all, and despite what Mercia says I worry for the boy.’

  ‘Daniel has no need to worry,’ said Nicholas, ‘with you and Mercia looking after him.’

  Nathan clapped him on the shoulder and walked off down the ship, oblivious to Mercia’s presence, leaving Nicholas at the stern. She sat for a while under the creaking wood, feeling her heart beat, feeling the warm breeze, thinking about the past, about the future, about Halescott. And she found herself thinking, for the first time in – how long? Surely an age? – about herself, about her own needs, her own wants. But then she thought, such indulgences were not helpful right now. She had a difficult task ahead, and she could not afford distraction.

  Two days later an excited voice atop the mainmast shouted down to deck. ‘Land ahead! I see land!’

  Mercia dropped her mangled embroidery to rush to the starboard rail, accompanied by a tangled mixture of everyone and everything on the ship, all falling over each other as they leant over the side to try to make out land for themselves.

  ‘There,’ said Nathan, squinting as he looked over the waves. ‘That grey line. Can you see? Land! ’Tis land!’

  He seized Mercia’s hands and danced her around the deck, before doing the same with a visibly elated Lady Calde. Nicholas clapped his hands and joined Daniel in an impromptu jig, while Lady Markstone just stood, holding her hands to the heavens and giving thanks for their safe passage across the ocean.

  ‘Danny, can you see?’ Mercia lifted him up. ‘’Tis America! A new land!’

  ‘Are we going ashore?’ he said, delight in his young voice.

  She whirled him round, making him scream with joy. ‘I am afraid not yet. We have to sail along the shore until we meet the other ships.’

  ‘Here, let me,’ said Nicholas, and he held Daniel up as high as he could. Suddenly Mercia fell to the deck and began to laugh.

  ‘What is wrong?’ asked Nathan.

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘Just I cannot believe that is actually America, that we have come all this way across the sea. ’Tis inconceivable, and yet here we are.’

  ‘Here we are,’ he smiled. ‘America.’

  The ship came closer to shore. Mercia craned her neck, gripping the rail and standing on tiptoe to see what this unknown new world was like. As they sailed closer, the nondescript blur of grey land began to give up its secrets, splitting into tiny beaches, into rocks, into colours, overwhelmingly into trees, a mass of dark green stretching back as far as she could see; and they were good trees, strong trees, promising much to anyone who had dared make the crossing, who had dared pass God’s almighty test.

  For the next three days she could not keep off deck, fascinated by this new place. The swooping, unfamiliar birds; the sturdy cliffs; the frisky waves against the virgin shore – she was amazed by it all, like a child discovering something new. And she realised, we are all still children, that the sight of a new land, the thrill of a new experience, it can all still excite us, and we should let it. For a few hours on each of those three days, she forgot her cares, and she was glad.

  The captain thought they had come to land too far north and turned the ship southwards. And at the end of the third day, the ship rounded a headland to find two others bearing British colours waiting in a bay, two of the three they had lost so many weeks ago in the fog. Sailing joyfully towards them, the Redemption came alongside the two ships, the Elias and the Martin, before the captain ordered the anchor thrown overboard, and the ship, finally, came to a halt.

  ‘Piscataqua,’ Captain Morley enunciated, when he came back from meeting Captain Groves and Captain Hill on the Martin. ‘That is the name of this region, or something like.’ He sniggered as Nathan turned the word over between his lips. ‘You will have to get accustomed to such words now, my friends. Many place names we take from the Indians.’

  ‘Where is the other ship?’ asked Mercia, attempting to bite into a particularly hard biscuit. ‘Is it still to come?’

  ‘It made land further south, near Boston. Colonel Nicolls has dispatched a letter to say he is delayed there on the King’s business, but ’tis not far. They will not be more than a day or two now, so Groves thinks. We are to await the Guinea’s return before the four ships head south again together to New Amsterdam.’ He leant in closer to Mercia. ‘You never told me you knew someone on the Martin.’

  She sighed. ‘Sir William Calde. How is the charming man?’

  The captain looked puzzled. ‘I don’t mean him.’

  ‘Oh? Then who?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was with us. He arrived in Portsmouth after I came aboard the Redemption. But surely, Lady Mercia, you must have known?’

  ‘Captain Morley – who?’

  ‘Why, your uncle, of course.’

  Biscuit crumbs flew from her mouth. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Sir Francis Simmonds is on the Martin. I’m sorry, I thought—He is your uncle?’

  ‘Yes, but—’ She wiped the crumbs from her dress. ‘You are sure?’

  ‘You did
n’t know?’

  ‘No.’ She looked at Nathan. He shook his head, as mystified as she.

  Morley coughed. ‘Groves says the Duke appointed him at the last minute to work with Sir Bernard Dittering. But between you and me, he thinks the Duke doesn’t trust Sir Bernard and is keen that they … have an eye on each other.’

  ‘Appointed him.’ Mercia was scathing. ‘And I was so enjoying this coast.’

  The captain fiddled with the rim of his hat. ‘You do not much like him?’

  ‘Not one bit.’

  ‘Then I am sorry.’ He shuffled in his seat. ‘I have agreed he can come aboard the Redemption with Sir William. They want to voyage the last few days with us.’

  She stared at him. ‘They are coming here? Should they not be preparing the soldiers for the invasion or such like?’

  ‘I think that is the problem, Lady Mercia. After two months at sea with a crowd of boisterous soldiers they are eager for respite.’ He smiled as if in apology. ‘They promise to transfer additional provisions for the crew.’

  She raised an eyebrow at Nathan. ‘Those two, here with us.’

  The captain swallowed. ‘Three. It seems Sir Bernard and Sir Francis had a choleric discussion on the Elias yesterday. Now Sir Bernard wants to … establish his authority with your uncle before they arrive in New Amsterdam. He is coming also.’

  ‘Sir Bernard too,’ she muttered, staring at the floor. Then she looked up. ‘So, Nathan. Three noblemen, begging to come on this ship with us.’ She pursed her lips, considering. ‘Sir William amongst them. Well, I am glad the sailors will get extra, but for once I am more pleased Lady Calde is aboard.’

  The captain was a man of the world, both the old and the new. He stroked his chin and said nothing.

  While they were waiting for the flagship to return, Nicholas declared he wanted something to do, so he offered to oversee the transfer of the promised provisions from the Martin. Mercia’s recommendation to the captain secured him the job, and he spent a day rowing with a group of the strongest sailors backwards and forwards between the two ships. The sailor he had punched to the deck at the beginning of their voyage volunteered to go so he could meet with some of his mates on the Martin, but Nicholas refused him, a wicked smile on his face.

  ‘You should not tease him so,’ said Mercia as Nicholas was taking a quick rest. ‘He will certainly be after your blood now.’

  Nicholas laughed. ‘He can try.’

  She looked at the Martin, anchored at the other end of the bay where a wide river flowed into the ocean. The Martin’s longboat was fetching freshwater enough for all three ships, part of the cargo Nicholas was ferrying back.

  ‘Have you seen my uncle and Sir William?’ She drummed her fingers on the rail. ‘Is it not an inconvenience for them to come here?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Nicholas. ‘The Martin’s a larger ship than ours, better equipped. But the soldiers are bored. They’re itching for a fight. I can see why more refined men would want to leave.’

  She scoffed. ‘Those are not refined men.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled. ‘’Tis only a few days to New Amsterdam.’

  ‘I always worry where my uncle is concerned.’ She folded her arms. ‘I suppose I can try to avoid them, as much as my task will allow.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Nicholas, his eyes roving around the small ship. Mercia laughed, knowing her hope was impossible.

  Three days passed before a cannon sounded out to sea announcing the return of the Guinea. It was a magnificent sight to see the flagship sail into the American bay, its billowing sails straining in the wind, the brightly painted colours on bow and stern betraying little indication of damage from the crossing. Two rows of cannons gleamed out of portholes the length of the ship, while the crew shouted greetings from their stations in the rigging, the huge masts stretching towards the sky under fluttering pennants of red, white and blue.

  Anchors dropped, the four captains were summoned to a council of war on the Guinea with the King’s commissioners and the Duke’s noblemen. When he returned, Captain Morley could not tell all, but he explained that while in Boston, Nicolls had attempted to muster support for the invasion of New Amsterdam from the New Englanders. Some had agreed to help, but the commander had found it difficult encouraging them all to comply. Still, nearly five hundred soldiers already on board the warships would soon put the Dutch to rights, and the pragmatic Governor of Connecticut stood ready to assist, promising to gather a host of armed men at the tip of a place called Long Island. As Morley said, there could be no doubt. Victory was certain.

  Thus the captain’s confidence. It was contagious, and as they again set sail, all on board the Redemption began to think of conquest, of seizing a mighty prize for the King and his brother. In a positive frame of mind, Mercia was even glad the three noblemen had come on board, hoping her entrapment plan was working, although she didn’t know if Nathan agreed, banished with the senior officers to hastily panelled-off compartments at the back of the ’tween deck to make room for the high-ranking courtiers. She watched the noblemen from a distance, even her uncle, looking for any sign one of them could be the criminal she sought. It was unfortunate that Lady Calde mistook her interest in Sir William for something more libidinous, but Mercia could live with her glares, even when their regularity began to feel harsher than the piercing sea rain.

  They ploughed their way southwards, passing shores beyond which she knew her countrymen and women had already begun to forge a new destiny. Now these same shores were to become part of her own life, this captivating land where she had never expected to be. As the majestic Guinea slipped out of sight, the wind in its tremendous sails powering it faster than the rest, the Redemption sailed on around the shoals of Cape Cod, speeding Mercia in pursuit of what she hoped would be her happiness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The late afternoon sun was almost as low as Mercia’s mood. Now Sir William had been on board the Redemption for a few days, Lady Calde had reverted to a particularly hateful suspicion, and Mercia was in vain trying to persuade her of her disinterest in the non-started affair. She had barely managed to tear the mistrustful woman from her journal, when walking down the deck they broke off their dispute on hearing Nicholas’s raised voice.

  ‘I cannot,’ he was saying. ‘I work for Mrs Blakewood now.’

  ‘He is arguing with my husband,’ said Lady Calde. ‘What can the rogue be thinking?’

  Mercia looked over as Sir William leant towards Nicholas, muttering in his ear before pulling away and wagging his finger right in his face. Nicholas ignored the gesture, causing Sir William to shake his head, clearly exasperated.

  ‘You will do as I say when I ask it!’ he shouted, walking away.

  ‘Can you not teach your man respect?’ hissed Lady Calde, her fingertips clawing into her book. She looked at Mercia, a simmering resentment in her eyes, and stormed off after her husband.

  The force of her words took Mercia aback. But she composed herself and called to Nicholas.

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Nicholas folded his arms. ‘I can handle him.’

  ‘Be careful. Sir William is a powerful man. You cannot talk to him as you sometimes do Nathan.’

  He smiled. ‘I like Nathan. Sir William just wanted to make it clear who was in charge.’ He made to move off. ‘Well, I said I would help with the sails.’

  Left alone, Mercia returned to the quarterdeck. The ship had just turned westwards: on the starboard side, a flat-looking island was floating by in the near distance. Fed up with Lady Calde, she slumped her chin on the rail to watch the quickly passing coastline. But not many minutes elapsed before Nicholas reappeared, a resigned smile on his face.

  ‘Mercia, you had better come. I think some of the lads are playing about.’

  She swivelled round to face him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come and see.’

  She shrugged and followed him down to the main deck, passing a group o
f sailors who were half-heartedly swabbing the boards. None of the noblemen were in sight; perhaps Sir Bernard and her uncle were having another heated debate. Then a shout sounded out, or rather a shriek. Ahead of them on deck, Lady Calde was calling out.

  ‘Stop him someone! He will fall!’

  Nicholas frowned. Mercia craned her neck around the mainmast to look in the direction of the shouts. She saw Lady Calde panicking near the forecastle door before disappearing down the steps to the ’tween deck below, crying for help. Feeling something was wrong, Mercia hurried to the front of the main deck, where a number of sailors were now spilling out from below. They stared skyward, straining to see, but the white of the mainsail reflected the sunlight painfully into Mercia’s eyes and she had to turn away her gaze. A general cry went up, and a series of curses from the sailors.

  Nathan appeared next to her, squinting as he looked up at the foremast. ‘Hell’s teeth,’ he swore. ‘Mercia, do not look.’ He pushed her gently away.

  ‘Look at what?’ She turned her face upwards, this time using her arm as a shield from the sun’s glare. It was difficult to make anything out, but as she squinted she could see a tiny object with little arms and legs hanging from the yardarm at the very top of the foremast, blowing in the wind. And just beneath, someone making his way up the rigging towards it. Someone small.

  Her heart plummeted in her chest. Somehow Daniel was high in the narrow rigging, fifty feet up the mast.

  ‘Lord help him!’ she cried. She dashed up the ladder to the foredeck, ignoring the pull of her skirt. Unheeding the difficulties, she grabbed the foremast rigging, intending to pursue Daniel herself. But here her heavy clothing defeated her; she had barely begun when she fell back to the deck, her hands dirtied with the tar the sailors painted onto the rigging to protect it.

  ‘Stay back!’ barked a sailor at her side. ‘You can do nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’