"Nothing, Cap'n, absolutely nothing. I was tired and went straight to sleep."
William sniffed suspiciously. The man did not smell of drink. Besides he had seen the boatswain drink his way up one side of the Barbican in Plymouth, back down the other, and still stand his watch the next day.
"Are you ill, man? Do you have a chill?"
"No, Cap'n. I don't understand it."
"Come to my cabin, if you are finally awake." The captain left the deck.
"Aye, aye, sir," said the boatswain. He noticed the sailor grinning at him. "Brownlow, you lazy wretch. Be about your business or I'll find something for you to do."
"Aye aye, boatswain." The sailor vanished as the boatswain was not noted for idle threats and was quite capable of dreaming up some truly awful task.
The boatswain made his way aft to the captain's cabin and knocked at the door.
"Come in. Last night I had a thief in here. The bastard gave me one almighty crack in the ribs," said William
"The bold rogue. I will strip the back of the whoreson when I find him. What did he take?"
"As far as I can tell, nothing. He seemed to be looking for something specific, rather than just general looting. Are you sure you drank nothing last night after leaving my cabin?"
"On my life, Cap'n."
"I was afraid of that. I slipped my last drink into yours."
"I saw you. Can't stand sherry either."
"You drank it though."
"Ah well, I wouldn't want to insult you, Cap'n." The grin slowly faded from the boatswain's face. "The old opium in the drink trick?"
"It would explain why someone thought that I would sleep soundly, and you did."
"But that means that the thief was part of the supper party. There were only your officers, the gentleman, and the lady present. I trust the other officers with my life."
"As do I," said William. "I cannot imagine why Packenham would turn thief. His family own St. Austell and most of the mines on the surrounding moors."
"That just leaves the Lady Isabella."
"A lady didn't do this," said William, pulling open his shirt. The beginnings of a livid bruise discoloured his ribs.
"'Course, the thief and the cozenor might be two different people," said the boatswain, thoughtfully.
"I want a trusted man on my cabin door at all times, day and night. Arrange it, will you, boatswain?"
"Aye, aye, sir."
The boatswain moved the Swallow onto a northern tack, adjusting the rigging and sails until the master was satisfied that he was getting the best out of the ship. After a few days, Smethwick decreed that the ship had reached the latitude of the Azores and they changed back to an eastern tack to run down the latitude line.
"Land ho off the starboard bow." The cry came from the foremast.
William ran forward and gazed at the horizon. He imagined that he saw a faint smudge of cloud on the horizon. Nothing for it, he needed more height. He climbed up the foremast rigging. The lookout hauled him up the last few feet onto the boards. William breathed heavily; this voyage had wrecked his wind. He heard what might have been a chuckle. William looked suspiciously at the sailor who carefully arranged his face into respectful blandness.
"Over there, sir."
William stared in the indicated direction. There was no doubt about it. A plume of cloud hung over a dark mass.
"Master Smethwick," William yelled.
"Sir."
"Most excellent navigation."
"Thank you, sir." The master gazed up at the captain with a pleased expression. William was a fair navigator himself, which made his praise doubly welcome. In truth, the master had done well. Finding the small archipelago of the Azores in the vastness of the Atlantic was no mean achievement.
The land mass split into separate islands. The Azores lay in a chain from northwest to southeast. The twin islands of Fayal and Pico were to port and Sao Miguel and Santa Maria to starboard. The primary island with the governor's palace was on the island of Terceira on the side of the chain nearest to Portugal. Generally, English ships avoided Terceira so as not to embarrass the governor.
Out to the north west lay the small island of Flores and the islet of Corvo. The Swallow changed course for Flores. By late afternoon, she cruised under reefed sails into the anchorage at Ponta Delgada. Normally, as soon as an English galleon appeared, boats poured out of the anchorage in competition to sell their goods. This trip, the port was quiet and only the Swallow moved quietly over the glassy water, leaving ripples in its wake.
"I don't like this, Master Smethwick. Something is wrong," William said. "Gunner!"
"Sir."
"Load the swivel guns, just in case we have to defend ourselves."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The Swallow dropped anchor and they waited. After some little time, a boat put out from the port and rowed out to the ship.
A badly dressed official in a soiled sash clambered up the ship.
"My felicitations to Governor Santoza," William said in Spanish, bowing to the man. Spanish was the trade language of the southern lands. Santoza was the local customs official but he was politely referred to as the "governor" of the island.
"Ah. Governor Santoza has had an accident. The captain of the militia is in charge until a new governor is sent from Terceira."
"The port is very quiet. Where are all the traders?" William asked.
The official looked at William sideways. "You have sailed in from the Americas, Captain?"
"We have been at sea for some time," said William, guardedly.
The official nodded. "Then you will not have heard. Cardinal Henry has died."
Cardinal Henry assumed the throne of Portugal when King Sebastian was killed in the Battle of al-Qasr al Kabir in Morocco. Sebastian had thought to emulate Spain in a crusade against the Moors, but with disastrous results. Henry had spent every shilling in the Portuguese treasury on ransoming the surviving Portuguese nobles from captivity. He had no money left to bribe the Pope to release him from his clerical vows so he had no wife and hence no legitimate heir. This was a nightmare scenario for a country, and one that haunted the English with their own Virgin Queen.
"So who is now King?" asked William.
The official shrugged. "Philip of Spain has a claim through the female line and Dom Antonio of Crato through a male line from a boy born on the wrong side of the blanket. Terceira has backed Dom Antonio but Antonio's Portuguese forces have been defeated by the Spanish army in a great battle at Alcantara."
"My God, if Spain has got control of the Portuguese Empire and fleet then the Netherlands and England could be hard-pressed," said the master, who had been following the conversation.
"You didn't answer my question. Where are all the traders?" asked William.
"They were frightened by your ship. It might have been Spanish." The official gave another eloquent shrug.
"I will need permission to fill up water casks and I need to buy provisions," said William.
"Help yourself to water. I will arrange for traders to come but it will take a little time."
"You have two days. After that I will take other action." William looked meaningfully at the culverins and then at the town.
The official seemed disinclined to continue the conversation and climbed back into his boat, which rowed raggedly away.
"The old governor was always very helpful to English ships. I wonder what sort of accident he had," said the master, to no one in particular.
"Boatswain," said William. "Start refilling our water casks. I want the shore party fully armed. Everyone else is to stay aboard the Swallow."
"Aye aye, sir."
Traders turned up by the second day but with meagre stocks of food. William protested to the official who promised more would be forthcoming soon.
On the third day, William was hailed from the main mast.
"Sails, at the promontory."
Triangular lateen sails belonging to three ships nosed around along
the southern promontory that protected the anchorage. As the ships cleared the land, their hulls became visible.
"Spanish frigates! War galleys, by God," said William. "Where's the boatswain?"
"Still ashore with the caskmen," said a sailor.
"Get a recall pennant up. Master gunner!"
"Sir."
"Fire a swivel gun to get the shore party's attention. Load the main armament. Any gunner who takes more than fifteen minutes is demoted."
"Sir."
The swivel gun went off with a crash.
"They are perfectly positioned to come in on our stern and shoot us to pieces," said the master. "That papist bastard in a sash has sold us out. He dribbled out just enough food to keep us here, while he alerted the Spanish."
"I can't run and leave the shore party," said William. "Raise the bow anchor and man the pinnace. Get a cable on the ship's bows. We will swing her from the stern."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Master gunner," William yelled across the ship. "The dons have decided to give your men some target practice. An extra share of loot to the first gun crew to put a shot into a Spaniard."
The gun crews cheered and went about their work with redoubled vigour. The galleys lowered their sails. Oars unshipped and the beat of timing drums carried across the waters.
"What is happening, Captain?" Isabella appeared on the rear deck.
"We are about to fight, madam. Master Packenham, get the lady below where she will be safe.
"Signalman," William yelled. "Raise the bloody flag. We must give the dons fair warning in case they want to run away, eh lads?"
Another cheer greeted this sally.
"May I not stay and watch, Captain? I have never seen a naval battle and your men seem supremely confident," said Isabella.
"Madam, all the advantages lie with the galleys in this sheltered anchorage. They will try to use their oars to manoeuvre into the Swallow's unprotected rear and shoot the ship to pieces with their heavy frontal cannon."
"I see. Does this mean that you will have to surrender?"
"Surrender? And spend the rest of my life as a slave manning the oars yonder?" William gestured at the Spanish ships. "No, madam, I intend to fight. Drake has devised a trick that may yet serve us well."
The galleys cruised in towards the rear of the Swallow, their oars rippling like a centipede's legs. The pinnace crew rowed against the inertia of the galleon's weight. Slowly, the Swallow pivoted to point its broadside at the attacking galleys.
"Run out the starboard guns," William ordered. "Fire as they bear."
The gun trolleys ran out on their pulleys with a great squeal.
A galley crew fired. Four cannon went off one after the other. Three plashes to the Swallow's rear marked the fall of shot.
William stood legs apart, hand on hips, and laughed. "Three misses and a lost ball, gunner. What say you to shooting like that?"
"The dons are improving, sir. They'll soon be almost as good as a Danish merchantman."
"Stand by," said the rear culverin gunner. The crew opened their mouths and covered their ears.
The culverin went off with a great concussion. The gun recoiled inboard, to be caught on its ropes. The shot fell between two galleys.
"Range excellent but more care needed on the bearing, gunner."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The men worked furiously to recharge their weapon. The next culverin fired, and the next. The fourth to fire was echoed by the first firing again. Shot whipped up the water but, end on, the galleys presented a difficult target. The galleys fired continuously. Balls struck all round the Swallow. A sail snapped and split as it was hit.
"Captain, boat putting out from the shore," said a sailor. The figure of the boatswain manned the tiller, urging on the rowers.
"Hard pounding, sir," said the master.
"Aye, Master Smethwick, but we'll see who can pound the hardest."
The artillery exchange reached a crescendo. A shot smashed through the rail and blasted splinters across the deck forward, felling sailors. A second shot glanced off a culverin in front of William, eviscerating one of the crew and spraying blood and gore across the deck.
"Damn them, gunner, these are my best breeches. I'll trouble you to punish the Spaniards for that assault on my wardrobe," said William. The captain was drenched in blood from the waist down.
A shot ripped open the front of a galley. Another smashed down a mainmast. "Oh good shooting, gunner," William said.
The galleys broke first and turned away to row out of arc, presenting their vulnerable sides. The gunner took over a culverin and aimed carefully. The shot smashed through an oar bank and the galley seemed to fold in on itself as the sea rushed in. A cheer rolled across the Swallow's deck.
"They must build those things from paper," said the boatswain.
"I see you have decided to join us," said William. "If you have finished your holiday ashore, boatswain, mayhap you could raise the sails and get us on our way."
The two remaining galleys turned back into the attack as the Swallow slowly picked up speed.
"Alter course to port," William said.
The course change lined the Swallow up for the open sea. It also took the ship right past the galley flotilla. More shots hit the Swallow at minimum range, killing sailors but doing little damage to the ship. The Swallow's culverins crashed out a reply in a single broadside. For a moment, billowing white smoke hid the targets. It slowly cleared. One of the galleys was gutted from end to end. William could see figures struggling in the water as the Swallow headed out to sea.
"Some of those poor bastards are probably English slaves," said the master.
"I know," said William. "But if it were me, I would rather take my chances with King Neptune than live as a slave."
The ship ran past Ponta Delgada and the gunner yelled up at William. "Shall I put some shot into those treacherous bastards?"
"If I could be sure each discharge would hit one of the swine who tricked us I would have you fire and damn the consequences. But we would only probably kill a few poor fishermen and smash up their cottages. English ships will pass this way again and I would not leave a legacy of hatred for us. As for handing out a lesson . . ." William gestured aft where a single serviceable galley picked up survivors from the water. A powerful fighting squadron had been smashed in a bare hour by the firepower of a single English galleon. The message would ring clearly among those who lived their lives by the wide ocean.
"Master Smethwick."
"Yes, Captain."
"North, Master, go north. Take us back to England. Take us home."
Act 8
The River Thames
"I'm fed up with being closeted here in the countryside," Lucy stamped her foot. "It's no wonder I can't find a husband. I have never even been to London."
Lilith observed with fascination. Humans were so complex. They had such little minds but the convoluted complexities of their emotions were rich beyond the politics of the People. Lucy was one of the inferior sex, and young. She was so far down the social pecking order that her opinions should be of no consequence, but she had Walsingham, the great statesman, entirely on the defensive. Lilith noticed that Simon had buried his head in a ledger and was pretending not to hear.
"Can't find a husband?" asked Walsingham, utterly nonplussed. "Lucy, you've had the pick of half the eligible bachelors of southern England, plus one or two roving bucks from the north, and rejected them all. There was even a Scotsman, as I recall."
Lucy gave him her stealy look. "I just sit here vegetating like some—some marrow. You are going to the theatre without me." She stamped her foot again. "You are even taking your secretary—your secretary and not me."
"But Lucy, it's business. You know that. Tunstall is coming because I'm working," said Walsingham, reasonably. "The theatre is in Southwark, not a suitable place for a young lady." He gave Simon a meaningful look. Southwark was on the other side of the river across London Bridge
so it was outside the jurisdiction of the Mayor of London. It served as the entertainment playground for the City of London. Gentlemen went there to drink, gamble, and meet women who were neither their wives nor ladies.
"Men find me boring. That's why I can't find a husband. I have no conversation because I never go anywhere. I will die an old maid and no one cares."
"That's not true, Lucy, and it's because I care that I forbid you to come to Southwark. My decision is final."
"Oh, it's so unfair." Lucy rushed out.
'That's a shame,' thought Lilith. 'I so wanted to see a play. I have read so much about them. Could we not go on our own?'
'Certainly not,' the girl thought. She sounded genuinely shocked. 'Only harlots go to the theatre unescorted. People would think me wanton; do you want me to lose my reputation?'
Lilith was learning not to ask "why" questions when it came to human behaviour but just to accept that some things are Not Done for no apparent rational reason. However, she really did want to go to the theatre so she had a Plan B ready. 'Master Tunstall can escort us. I am sure you could persuade him.'
'Mayhap I could,' thought Lucy, 'but I won't. He would lose his position and his reputation if he openly disobeyed and dishonoured my uncle. Master Tunstall's family has no money. Besides, it would not be seemly for me to disobey my uncle.'
Reputations were clearly a tricky business. 'Never mind, it was just a fancy of mine to see a play,' thought Lilith.
'We will see a play, Lilith. Uncle is going to take us.'
'He has surely made his mind up,' thought Lilith.
'He hasn't made his mind up until I have made it up for him. You'll see,' thought Lucy.
Supper that night was a frozen affair. Lucy uttered the odd sob and Walsingham looked positively miserable. Lilith barely noticed as she was still fascinated by the whole concept of eating. The vivid textures and flavours of food enthralled her but Lucy barely touched her food. Lilith tried to discuss the meal with Lucy but the girl shut her out. The servants slid in and out in silence through the seven or eight courses.
Lucy's Blade Page 13
