Skinner shook his head-and grinned.
“Then the treasure is still aboard.” Carew clenched his fist and thumped the table. “Hugh, prime all your pistols. We are going to take her. You will lead one skiff and board from starboard. I’ll lead the portside attack. Ten men apiece.”
“What are we after?” asked Dean. “The treasure or the ship?”
“The treasure and the ship, my friend. Can you imagine a sleeker, faster vessel in which to sail from Southampton? Who could possibly catch us in a vessel like that? In the Nightingale we were living on our wits, night and day. Aboard a beauty like that we could sail away with a smile and wave of a hat.” He paused. “Why, in such a ship we could outsail everyone-bring gold from India, slaves from Africa, silver from the New World, spices from the Moluccas…”
Kahlu uttered some incomprehensible sounds.
“No slaves from Kahlu’s tribe,” said Carew, lifting his mazer. “Unless they are very pretty.” He drained the mazer and rolled his shoulders, exercising his muscles. “The curfew bell is our signal. We’ll board that boat, offer the crew terms, and send what treasure is needed back here. Pieter Gervys and his wife have looked after us well, and all the women here have treated us with kindness. What we can share, we will-and I hope it is plenty.”
39
It was a gray midafternoon when Walsingham’s men took up position in Little Trinity Lane. They had closed the road half an hour earlier, allowing pedestrians to leave the area but not return. The captain, a fierce Londoner by the name of Jack Walker, had personally reconnoitred the area. He was aware of the passages through the backyards of the adjacent properties. He had identified a small back door too. It looked to be an easy matter to isolate the house and make sure that all those within could not escape. He brought up a large cart to block the exit from the back door and left a musketeer there to guard it. Four other men armed with muskets were stationed in the backyards. The remaining nineteen were lined up and told to follow him in a line, silently.
Walsingham watched from a distance with John Richards and two guards. Both men were mounted. They said nothing as Captain Walker led the troop in a single file beneath the eaves of the houses, so they could not be seen from the windows of Mrs. Barker’s house. When they were in position, Captain Walker knocked on the door.
Walsingham and Richards saw the door open and Walker’s troops entering. There were shouts and a shot was fired. Then another. A man started screaming. Local residents who had no knowledge of what was happening came out to see what the matter was. Walsingham rode forward and ordered them to return inside their homes. Had he been on foot, his diminutive figure would have carried little authority, but looking down on them, dressed entirely in black and with an expensive lace ruff at this neck, no one questioned his commands.
Walker reappeared fifteen minutes later with his sword sheathed. He bowed briefly in salute to Walsingham. “We have a total of seventeen prisoners, including three men wounded, one gravely so and likely to die. An eighteenth individual resisted arrest and was shot dead. A nineteenth was already dead.”
“Who are the dead men?”
“An old man and a priest. I don’t know their names. The priest had been shot. His corpse was cold.”
Walsingham accepted this news without a response. He turned to Richards. “I think the time has come for us to find who in that house sent the message to Lady Percy.” He dismounted and took his horse by the bridle.
“There is one other thing, sir,” said Walker. “In an attic room, there is a naked man nailed to the floor. He has clearly been tortured. There are cuts all over his thighs and lower abdomen, and blood on his hands where he has lost three fingernails recently-pulled off with a pair of pliers, it would appear.”
Walsingham led his horse across to the house. “I don’t suppose you know the name of this brave enemy of the Catholic cause?”
Walker followed him. “Yes, sir. He is Mr. Harley, the Clarenceux Herald.”
Walsingham almost fell off his horse. “Clarenceux? Describe him for me-no, better still, take me straight to him.”
Walker led Walsingham and Richards through the house and up to the attic. The narrow stairs creaked with every step and it was dark: the attic itself was almost without light. There was a stench of sweat and fear. Clarenceux was pinned out, his naked body filthy and bruised. The blindfold had already been removed.
Walsingham peered over him, inspecting his face. “What are you here for? Is this punishment? Or are they trying to extract information from you?” He walked around Clarenceux, studying the marks on his body. Some showed signs of inventiveness. The interrogator had not been entirely inexperienced.
“Why are you here like this, Clarenceux? Answer me! Or this torture will not be over. In fact, you will begin to think it has not even started. What do these people want with you?”
“Mr. Walsingham, sir,” said Richards from the doorway, “I think it would be better if you question this gentleman elsewhere.”
“I did not ask you for your opinion,” replied Walsingham. “But maybe taking him to my house would give him a chance to come to his senses. Find something with which to cover him up. Take four guards and make sure he doesn’t escape-he has a history of it. Captain Walker, lead me to the other prisoners.”
40
Raw Carew stood in the darkness on the deck of the Davy, looking up at the stars and listening to the wind in the rigging. A few minutes ago, he had cut Captain Gray’s throat and pushed him over the side. It did not make him any happier but it did feel like justice, and that gave him a small measure of satisfaction. What lingered was the thought that there were too many men like Gray. They labeled him, Carew, a pirate and would feel justified in hanging him on sight. Yet they themselves abused and stole and committed all sorts of sin. Carew thought of Ursula’s scarred face, cut by a man who claimed to be holy and to detest whoredom, and who thought that he would thereby save her. Society saw the stain of sin in itself and tried to remove it, but thereby only created more opportunities for corruption and sin. It was a festering thing, constantly turning on itself in vicious outrage. Out here, on the dark waves, men and women were always an inch from death. Everyone had to fight for themselves and to protect those they loved. It was simpler and more honest than the morality of those who lived on land.
Devenish came up on deck. “They are ready.”
Carew called to Kahlu. They went over to the hatch and descended to the main deck. The crew of the Davy been lined up along one side, and Carew’s men were on the other. The girl was still in the captain’s cabin. Carew glanced in there; she had a pail of water and was washing the blood off the table. He turned to the men facing him.
“In case anyone here does not know who I am,” he said, walking up and down, “my name is Carew. I am the bastard son of Sir George Carew and his mistress, Matilda, a wonderful woman with a heart of gold, worth ten of him. People call me Raw, though I was given the name Ralph. I grew up in Calais before the French took it, so now I am homeless. I have been at sea for more than half my life. Over the years I have tried to help people who, like me, have no home, no protector, and no money. I especially like to help those who have a price on their heads and who suffer from the self-righteous indignation of the justices. Anyone who tells you I am a pirate is a liar. I am an outlaw, certainly; I have been called the Robin Hood of the High Seas. But the only people who call me pirate are those who hope to profit from such calumnies.”
He paused, looking from face to face. There were some who looked defiant, who might prove dangerous or might be good in a fight. There were some who looked eager. There were others who looked frightened.
“You have a choice. You can stay on this ship and serve under its elected captain. Or you can go ashore now. Before you make that choice, however, let me remind you that, if I am chosen to be captain again, then there are four rules aboard my ship. The first rule is that you follow orders. The second is: be honest with all your shipmates. The third
is that you either throw your religion overboard or, if you can’t lose it, keep it to yourself. The fourth is that you protect your fellow sailors and all the vulnerable women and children who come into your care. Many of you will find this code preferable to the one you are used to. Those of you who prefer the law of the land, you had better to return to it.”
There were several firm assents, a few murmurs. Most of the men remained quiet. “Now is the moment of your choosing,” continued Carew. “If you wish to return you may go-with my blessing. Go aloft and wait on deck. If you wish to stay aboard and follow my code, stay where you are.”
At first, no one moved. Carew waited patiently. He had often seen this small drama played out. Suddenly and unexpectedly men who thought they knew one another well were asked to judge which side of the law really suited them best. Was the law that bound them to the manorial lords who owned their houses really so bad? And those who had responsibilities: would they leave them behind? If so, why? Would they see the chance to make themselves rich? Or were they running from an ugly or shrewish wife?
A bearded man stepped forward and walked boldly to the ladder. He did not glance backward. Two or three of the older men followed him, and then one or two younger ones. Then more went. Eventually there were only twelve men left. Carew surveyed them; they were mostly in their teens or twenties. They were looking at him and his men, not at one another.
“So, you want to stay.” Carew looked along the line at each of the twelve faces, assessing them all. “Are you good enough? When I board a boat, I seek good men. Men who are good fighters, good sailors, and who are good in themselves. I do not want idle men, or men who think it is right to beat a woman as if she is a dog. So I ask you, would you be less inclined to serve me if I were to tell you that all your companions who have chosen to go on land, who are now aloft, will have their throats cut?”
Carew looked from face to face. Several seemed to have blanched. No one said anything.
“Well?” demanded Carew. Still no one spoke.
“If I was the sort of brutal thug who killed prisoners for no reason,” he said, “you would now be thinking, ‘Let me off this ship, I have made a terrible mistake.’ I don’t want that. But think about this also. Those men who have chosen to go ashore have just betrayed you. They have chosen not to help you when you and we are cast adrift on a wide ocean together. And you have betrayed them too, choosing to sail with an outlaw ship rather than your old companions. ‘How did this happen?’ you are asking yourself. But maybe you should be asking yourselves a different question. ‘Where do the roots of betrayal lie?’ In your own hearts, I tell you. No man is ever truly loyal-no woman is ever truly faithful. He must show his loyalty every day, not swear it, just as the faithful wife must show her loyalty every day. It doesn’t matter if she shares your bed for fifty years; if at the end you find her in another man’s clutches, she has betrayed you. And those men upstairs-after all the years you have sailed with them, they have chosen a different path from you, and you have chosen a different path from them. So before you choose to stay here, ask yourself whether you are a good man and can serve your captain and companions faithfully. Can you control the betrayal that is in your heart-for I know it is there. And if you cannot, you must leave, for no one else will have you. If you become one of us, you stay one of us until you die. You can never go home. Your former friends and neighbors will hang you.”
He walked closer and looked into the face of one man in his twenties. “You, what is your name?”
“John Dunbar,” replied the man.
“A Scottish name? Sounds as if your family has already jumped ship once. Are you sure you want to sail with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ ‘Captain’ is fine.” Carew looked the man up and down. He appeared strong. “What was your position aboard?”
“Gunner, sir…I mean, Captain.”
Carew nodded. “Any other gunners among you?” Two other men lifted their arms.
“Good. You are especially welcome. The rest of you will be gunners too before long.” He paused. “One last thing. Are any of you married? Because if you are, and you want to stay married, then you had better go ashore now. Sailing with us is the surest way of losing your wife.”
“That’s why most of us are here.” Hugh Dean grinned.
None of the men admitted to being married.
Carew continued, “First, the money that belonged to the late captain of this ship is to be divided. We have a bill to pay ashore that amounts to more than twenty pounds. We also owe a fair sum to the landlord for his good will and trust, and his supply of women. I propose to send eighty pounds ashore: half for the landlord and half for two women who between them delivered us this boat, namely Amy and Ursula. When the messenger transporting that cash has returned safely, and when the rest of the crew are aboard, we will set sail for Dover-to take back the girl whom the late Captain Gray kidnapped. Half the remainder is to be shared among the crew. The last portion is ship’s money. Those who are with me and wish me to continue as captain, say ‘aye.’”
There was a roar of approval from Carew’s men and one or two voices among the new recruits.
“Is that what you call a vote?” asked one of the new men, barely more than a boy. “Is there no one else to vote for?”
Carew’s men laughed. Carew himself turned and looked at the lad. “When you have helped us take another ship, you too may have a say in who commands it. You yourself can stand for captain.”
“Another ship? That will be ages…”
More laughter broke out among Carew’s men. He waited until it had subsided. “Probably not as long as you think. Now, do you want to reconsider your decision? If not, prepare to set sail. With this southwesterly, we should make Dover tomorrow and London maybe the day after that. We don’t want to be sitting here in the morning, when the authorities find out who has taken command.”
41
Friday, May 12
Clarenceux awoke on a wooden floor and was relieved to find that he was no longer trapped. His body hurt where it had been beaten-bruised to the point that even to think about the pain was to feel it again. He gasped as he rolled over, feeling the stinging of whip marks and cuts on his legs as well as the agony of his inflamed testicles. He had been given a shirt, which seemed to be his own, and a pair of breeches, which were not. They were too small.
It was early in the day, not long after dawn. He blinked. The room was empty. There was an iron bar across the window and no doubt the door was locked. Nevertheless, he stood up and tried it. Not even to try would have been the worst failure of all.
He turned the handle. The door was indeed locked.
He sank down, trying to recall the events of the previous day. Some came easily to mind; others were lost. The order of events too was beyond him. Whatever intoxicating elixir his interrogators had used in the holy bread, it had left him unable to remember much of what had happened. One thing stuck clearly in his memory. The Knights did not know where Rebecca was. Nor the document. They thought he knew. In fact, they seemed to think he was concealing her, and working with Cecil to discover more about the plot.
He looked at the bloody mess on the ends of his fingers. Then he remembered: after what had felt like eternity, there had been a commotion downstairs. Shots had been fired and those in the attic had left. A short while had passed and then someone else had entered. With a strong London accent, he demanded to know Clarenceux’s name. About five minutes after that Walsingham had spoken to him. He remembered the nails being levered away from his chafed wrists with a crowbar and a man throwing the breeches and shirt at him. He had been helped down the stairs and out into the night. A cart had been waiting. It took him to a house in sight of the Tower. Walsingham’s house.
It had been a series of disasters from the beginning. And it was not over yet. Walsingham had been surprised to find him in Mrs. Barker’s house-and even more surprised to find him nailed naked to the floor.
Immediately that had raised questions in the man’s weasel-like mind. Why were they torturing him? What did he know that they did not?
Clarenceux rose to his feet again, supporting himself with a hand on the wall. He ached, he was bruised, but no limbs were broken. He could walk, if he could bear the pain from his swollen testicles. He could run, if he had to. He gripped the door handle tight, then tightened his grip further. The pain rose and subsided in his fingers: if he had to hold a sword, he could. He was not finished yet.
He moved close to the window, reached past the iron bar, and pushed the shutter fully open. The chill clean air of early morning was welcome.
42
Carew liked to stand on deck with the wind ruffling his hair and the sound of the gulls in his ears. He liked the smell of the sea and the spray as the ship crashed into another wave and danced along the tides. He especially liked this ship, whose full sails pulled so well. She felt solid, compact, and durable-and she was maneuverable. Every detail had been carefully seen to, from the rigging to the oven in the hold. As for the guns, they were spectacular. There were only twelve of them, but as John Dunbar had pointed out, they were all of a standard caliber. Therefore the cannonballs all fitted perfectly and the charges were all a regular quantity. Dunbar and his two companions could easily teach Carew’s men to fire them. In his old ship, when a cannon ran out of shot, it was useless. When its gunner was killed, leaving no one to calculate the correct charge, it was almost useless. Sometimes to fire another gun in the same direction required the whole ship to be turned. These guns allowed the ship to fire in all directions until the last shot had gone and the last able man was dead.
Luke came down from the rigging. “Cold up there,” he muttered.
“Bracing, not cold,” said Carew, slapping him on the back. “Besides, you shouldn’t say a word against the wind. High seas have saved us on many occasions. When the wind drops, we are simply waiting to be attacked.”
The Roots of Betrayal c-2 Page 15
