"Than you, sir, a fine piece of navigating," William said to the pilot. In truth, it was a fine bit of watermanship—William could not bring himself to think of it as seamanship—to bring the Swallow so far up the Thames with barely a touch.
The pilot bowed. "It's a privilege to navigate such a ship, captain. It makes a change from piloting coast-crawlers."
"I am sorry for that misunderstanding at Dartford," said William.
"Not to worry, Captain," said the pilot. "I realise that your man would not have really fired on me."
"Ah, no," said William. Actually the gunner would have blown the man out of the river without turning a hair. But best to leave the pilot in ignorance about how close he had been to his maker.
"I will take my leave of you, then. I have to report in to the office of Sir Francis Walsingham to announce your arrival. He will send someone down to see you." The pilot gestured to port. "At least I won't have far to go. His office is in there."
The Bloody Tower leaned over the dock. William examined it. He had made the Thames run a few times but always unloaded at Gravesend or Dartmouth. Now here he was docked right outside the city wall of Old London Town, about to hobnob with the mighty. William was a provincial so he was prepared to find fault with the capital. But he had so admit that he was a bit awed. London Bridge had more and better housing than most Devon towns and the Tower was an impressive reminder of Elizabeth's power.
Only the London city wall disappointed. It was actually falling down in places. Londoners clearly had no fear of an attack. In the Westcountry, they built their walls high and maintained them well. One never knew when the French or Spanish or Moors might come calling. Moorish slave raids were the most feared of all. North European women sold for a high price on the auction blocks in North Africa or Turkey. English girls, in particular, were sought after for harems.
The boatswain reported. "The ship is safely docked, Cap'n. Ah, the men respectfully ask that they be allowed a run ashore, sir."
"Very good, boatswain. I will let the men off the ship a watch at a time, starting with the starboard watch." That meant the gunner got the first shore run. "Assemble the men on the deck in one hour."
With time to spare, the starboard watch was assembled on the main deck, waiting for the captain to emerge from his cabin. William strode out of his cabin and stood on the rear deck where he could look down on them. My God, he thought, what a shower to release on London. He was aware that he was wasting his time with moral exhortations but William's Protestant faith demanded that he try.
"Men," he said. "It's been a long cruise and I realise that you are keen for some leave but I just wanted a few words."
The sailors waited patiently for him to finish. He was the captain after all.
"Here we are docked in the great city of London. It has more churches than any other city in England. St. Paul's is one of the most magnificent dedications to the Lord ever created. The city has an enormous collection of bookshops selling improving tracts. There are halls and museums dedicated to all the arts, theatre companies showing morally uplifting plays, and divers entertainments for good Christian men."
William looked down at the collection of assembled sea dogs. One, Burket, grinned happily at him, showing rows of blackened teeth. The captain sighed. He had made his pitch as religion demanded but now he had to get down to practicalities.
"The port watch will run a ferry service with the longboat for those who want to cross the river to visit Southwark. Remember, Southwark can be a dangerous place. Stay together and look after each other."
The gunner cracked his knuckles and one of the boatswain's mates tapped a marlinspike against his leg. William looked at the assembled sailors. He though he had never seen a more frightening collection of bullies in his life. "Oh for God's sake, go. Just don't burn the place to the ground."
The captain stalked back to his cabin to write up his log.
Writing was not William's forte. He struggled to find the right words and the quality of his hand left much to be desired. A large inkblot splattered onto the page. Perhaps he should cut another pen. A knock sounded on the door.
"What in Hades is it now? I'm busy."
A sailor stuck his head around the door. "The boatswain's compliments, sir," he said reciting the message carefully. "But the messenger from Sir Francis Walsingham is here and he has brought one of Sir Francis' relatives with him. Apparently the Lady Dennys wants to see a galleon."
William stormed out of the cabin. "Wants to see a galleon! Is this a warship or a rich man's yacht? If Walsingham thinks that I have time to show some dried-up old prune of an aunt around then he has another think coming."
William found himself looking at the largest, cutest pair of brown eyes that he had ever seen. "That is, um . . ."
The woman flicked back her hood and rich auburn hair tumbled out. William thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "If you are busy, I can wait on the dock."
"No," he said, far more loudly than was necessary. "No, there is no need, milady. I would be delighted to show you around."
"Well, if you are sure." She smiled at him. It lit up her face like a shaft of sunlight through storm clouds.
"Of course I am sure." He had never been surer of anything. He had the rest of his life if necessary. William offered her his arm. She looked at the stains on his jacket dubiously but took the proffered limb anyway. Damn, damn, damnation, thought William. If only he had some warning. He was sure he had some decent clothes somewhere in his cabin. Hopefully, she would be impressed by his rugged sea dog appearance, instead of merely thinking him a vagrant.
"This is the main deck," he said. "We, um, call it . . ."
"The main deck?" She completed the sentence for him.
The girl was laughing at him but, as long as he retained this beautiful creature on his arm, he didn't care. They passed the boatswain.
"I was sure that he said he didn't have any time to show dried-up old prunes related to Walsingham around the ship," said the boatswain to one of his mates, in an actor's whisper that must have been audible on the dockside.
William glared at the boatswain who looked back politely. William heard a muffled laugh beside him. The girl had her head down but she was laughing at him again. William gave up.
"What would you like to know, milady? Would you care to hear about some of my bolder adventures?"
"Later, Captain. What weight of shot do you use in the cannon and what is their maximum effective range?"
William heard the boatswain collapse in laughter. He must remember that this was no wide-eyed tavern girl but a sophisticated court lady. He was going to have to raise his game to hold her attention. "They are actually demi-culverins, milady, firing a nine-pound shot. We can hit out to five hundred yards but I prefer to close to one hundred or less."
And so it went on. The girl clearly had no experience of ships but she listened intently and asked follow-up questions that showed she understood his explanations. William had found a beauty that was fascinated by galleons; he thought that he had died and gone to heaven. Two men followed behind. One was a slim young gentleman who occasionally asked a question of his own in an educated accent. That would be Walsingham's agent.
"You are related to Sir Francis, milady?" said William.
"He is my uncle and guardian. I have been part of his household since I was a small child."
That explained the second escort. William recognised his type. He was a large, silent man who walked a precise three paces behind and one pace to the left of Lady Dennys. His eyes swept continuously around and his hand was never far from his weapon. Walsingham had assigned her a bodyguard, probably the best the spymaster had, and that meant the best there was. William would have paid money to see this man spar with the boatswain. Loyalty would have made him wager on the sailor but by God it would be a close-run thing.
William was deep in conversation with Lady Dennys ab
out the provisioning problems of race-built galleons when the gentleman interrupted him.
"Just how far do you get on a transatlantic voyage before you reach the urine-drinking stage?" asked Simon.
The captain coloured up to Simon's delight. The randy bastard had drooled all over Lucy ever since they came onboard.
"Perhaps we could retire to your cabin and I can present you with Sir Francis' instructions," said Simon. "I can read them to you if you have trouble with the longer words." At that point he tripped over a rope, rather spoiling the effect.
William leafed through the instructions. Most of the documents concerned unloading the ship and the master and purser would deal with those details. The key paper was the last. It ordered William to hold himself and his ship ready for special assignment, as Walsingham dictated.
When their business was concluded William turned to Lucy. "Is there anything further I can do for you, milady?"
"I am starving, Captain. I would greatly favour dinner."
"We are out of provisions on the ship, milady," said William.
"Except for the urine," muttered Simon. Lucy gave him the Look.
"But there is a decent tavern outside the dock. I would be flattered if you would join me for supper there. And your party, of course." William looked coldly at Simon.
"Excellent, Captain." She took his arm again and he guided her to the gangplank. "You can tell me of your bolder adventures while we eat."
William had the distinct impression that she was laughing at him again. Never mind, she was eating with him. That must prove something.
Lucy stayed on William's arm all the way to the tavern. Simon and Gwilym followed behind. The sun set as they arrived at the door of the tavern. Gwilym moved in front of Lucy. "If you will wait here with the gentlemen for a moment, 'ighness." He disappeared inside to look around and assess any danger to his charge. William waited patiently. You do not interfere with a top-class professional doing his job.
Gwilym reappeared with the landlord. "Lady Dennys," said the man. "This is a great honour. Come in, your ladyship, and be welcome."
The landlord led the way into the tavern. He prodded a customer at a centre table. "You will have to move. This is the best table and it is needed."
The man opened his mouth to object and then saw Lucy. He got up without a word and indicated to his mates to follow.
"I didn't want to cause any bother," said Lucy.
"It's no bother, lady," said the customer. "There is another table over there".
"Thank you. You are very kind," said Lucy. She looked pointedly at Simon. "Master Tunstall."
"Please deliver a jug of your finest ale to that table, landlord. I will pay," said Simon.
"Thank you, lady," said the customer, looking pleased.
Lucy would not, of course, carry money or buy drinks. But all understood that, although Simon paid, the Lady Dennys was their benefactor.
The landlord's daughter came to take their order. "What do you recommend, love?" asked William.
"The mutton pie is excellent."
"Four then. And some ale for the men. Lady Dennys?"
"Wine, please, Captain."
The girl vanished behind the bar. She reappeared moments later with a mug of wine and a jug of ale. "The pies will come shortly."
"How about a song then?" the landlord said.
"What shall I sing?" asked his daughter, looking doubtfully at Lucy.
"Not 'The Little Pixie,' girl, something classy. We have quality in tonight."
The girl made her way to a small stage at the fireplace. Cries of "hush" went around the room. Clearly she was popular.
"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh nor more,
"Men were deceivers ever,
"One foot in sea and one on shore,
"To one thing constant never,
"Then sigh not so,
"But let them go,
"And be you blithe and bonny,
"Converting all your sounds of woe,
"Into hey nonny, nonny."
The girl had a superb voice and her interpretation of the song was faultless. She held the whole tavern spellbound. The landlord supervised the serving of their mutton. "She has a rare way with a song, does Mary, does she not?"
"Indeed, Master. Indeed," said Lucy. "I have never heard it sung better."
"Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,
"Or dumps so dull and heavy,
"The fraud of men was ever so,
"Since summer first was leavy.
"Then sigh not so,
"But let them go,
"And be you blithe and bonny,
"Converting all your sounds of wo,e
"Into hey, nonny, nonny."
Lucy wolfed down her food. She obviously was very hungry since, for although she eat daintily, she dined on a man's portion, which was odd for such a small girl.
"Then sigh not so,
"But let them go,
"And be you blithe and bonny,
"Converting all your sounds of woe,
"Into hey, nonny, nonny."
The girl tossed her head just like a maid dismissing an inconstant lover. The patrons whistled and clapped and threw copper coins to her. Simon and William threw silver. Lucy whispered in Simon's ear and he produced a gold sovereign and tossed it to the girl. She caught it, kissed it, and displayed it to the tavern's customers as a trophy. They cheered and clapped the more. The girl mouthed a "thank you" to Lucy and ran offstage behind the bar. Lucy's eyes flashed and she gave William a devastating smile.
Then the door flew open and a dozen toughs walked in.
"Any trouble, Jackson, and you are out," said the landlord to the surly rogue at their head.
"My money's as good as anyone else's," said Jackson.
The newcomers clustered around the bar. The girl tried to serve them but one of them pinched her bottom hard. She fled past Lucy's table. As she ran past, William could see tears in her eyes. He also saw Lucy's lips tighten.
William deflected Lucy with conversation but the magic of the moment had been broken. The captain called over the potboy. He pressed a coin in his hand and whispered something. The potboy disappeared behind the bar.
The men got rowdier and ruder, pushing other customers out of the way and drinking from their mugs. Jackson leaned back against the bar. "Bloody gentry. Live off the fat off the land. What do they do about the bloodsucker that's killing our women? Nothing, that's what."
Jackson drained his mug and called for another beer with a curse. The landlord's hand shook as he poured the drink. Jackson took another pull. "Look at them sitting there like Lord and Lady muck. Maybe we should show the girl a good time, lads. Show her what real men are like." He laughed, coarsely.
Gwilym got up and walked towards the bar. William and Simon also rose. The bodyguard walked straight up to Jackson. God knows what the tough expected, threats, appeasing words, amateur breast-beating. But Gwilym was a professional. He didn't give warnings.
The bodyguard stepped in close to Jackson and kneed him in the groin. The man folded over with a falsetto scream. Gwilym seized his head and kneed him again, in the face this time. The rowdy's head snapped back, spraying an arc of blood into the air. He bounced against the bar and went down. The man groaned, Gwilym kicked him in the head, and he lay still.
Jackson's friends stood gaping in astonishment. Gwilym turned to walk back to his table. For a moment, it looked as if that might be the end of the matter but a tough was stupid enough to grab the bodyguard's arm. "Hey! You can't do that."
"I just did." Gwilym turned and hit him in the jaw with a loud crack. The man went down. William yelled in delight and charged into the gaggle of rowdies. Crowded, they fell over each other, tumbling like dominos. Other toughs ran round to surround the two men. Simon drew his sword with a metallic hiss. He had few illusions about his ability at fisticuffs. He stepped in close and rammed the point into a tough's shoulder. The man screamed and lost interest in the proceedings.
&n
bsp; Three men rushed at Simon. He slashed one. The man stepped back, holding his hands over his face. Blood dripped between the fingers. Simon slipped and fell. The other two toughs got past him and headed for Lucy. All would be lost if they held a knife against the girl's throat. William cursed and tried to follow, but a rowdy on the floor had him by the ankle and he tripped.
William stuck a dagger into the man holding him. The hand let go. William hurled himself after the two men threatening Lucy, but he was too late. The men reached the girl but something very odd happened. The first seemed to fall over and catch his head on the table. The second gasped and staggered back. William could have sworn that Lucy had punched him, her arm moving so fast it was a blur. He must be seeing things.
At that point, the tavern door opened and the boatswain strode in with the deck watch and the potboy. He held a wooden lever in his hand. "Evening, Cap'n, I got your message. These the lads that are feeling their oats?"
The Swallows spread out to surround the rowdies that were still standing. Gwilym had put another brace on the floor. "We didn't mean no harm," whined one. "We was just funning."
"That so, I like a bit of fun meself," said the boatswain, slapping the wooden club against his palm.
"Boatswain," said William. "Take this rubbish out. They have no manners."
The boatswain seized the nearest rowdy by his throat. "Don't you worry none, about that, sir. Me and the lads will learn them manners soon enough."
The Swallows pulled the toughs out into the street. Thumps and cries carried clearly through the door into the tavern.
"A song," said William brightly. "Another song to lighten the mood."
The tavern girl appeared, hesitantly. "What shall I sing?"
"Do you know 'The Little Pixie'?" asked William.
Act 12
Wood Road
at Night
Lucy's Blade Page 20
