Swords From the Sea

by Harold Lamb

  "That is ill said, younker, for it puts me in mind of the honest Yule log, aye, and the boar's head, and a pudding with brandy afire. And here us be on Christmas eve, where the very angels would fear to raise a chant, and the good Christ-"

  "He would not fear to venture here."

  Thorne wrinkled his brows in thought.

  Peter regarded his companion in some surprise, for he had not noticed that Thorne was given to prayer or meditation.

  "'Tis of Mistress Joan I am thinking," went on the armiger. "Her spirit lags, and if we do not show her some care she will not endure in this life. Now, she is ever mindful of prayer and such-like. How if we hold the Yuletide as best we may?"

  "Aye, but how?"

  "Why, we can cut us a proper tree and make shift to trim it. Then may we sing a round of carols."

  Peter rubbed his chin, and eyed his friend sidewise.

  "Fairly said, if we had e'en a nuggin of brandy or a sprig of hollywood. But carols-harumpf! Do you sing the words, Master Ralph, and I'll carry the melody, blast me else! A fine voice have I for melody, but as for words-now that's a craft of another rig."

  Nevertheless, he got his hatchet from the sled and disappeared into the twilight, while Thorne aided Kyrger in preparing the steaks the Samoyed had brought up with the bearskin. By the time the meal was ready, and Joan seated on the sled, he returned, carrying a small fir which he set erect in the snow a little distance from the fire and proceeded, with an air of mysterious importance, to set icicles in the branches.

  Then he placed the last of the biscuits in Kyrger's solitary pewter dish and drew from his girdle a small leather flask.

  "I filled it at the Wardhouse," he said defensively when he caught Thorne's eye on him. "Aye, 'twas cherished 'gainst sore need. 'Tis the last bilge of the brandy."

  With that he took a splinter of wood from the fire and touched the pewter plate with flame. Blue fire sprang up about the biscuits, and Kyrger, who had been watching with growing interest, hid his face in his arm.

  It was obvious to the Samoyed that these outlanders were making shaman magic, a magic that involved the cutting of a pine tree and burning what appeared to be water on a common pewter plate.

  Peter raised the dish on high and his dumpy face split into a grin.

  "Fair greeting to ye Mistress Joan. My service to ye, lady, on this eve of evenings, this merry Yuletide."

  "Is it truly so?" The dark eyes of the maiden grew somber. "Nay, you have taken all our biscuits, and burnt up your brandy."

  "No matter." Peter waved a huge hand grandly. "I know where more is to be had. Aye, we will have no more troubles to ward. Now-" he laid the burning dish at her feet and cleared his throat-"a bit of chantry, to ease this down the ways:

  "To be sure," he broke off apologetically, "we do lack summat of a boar's head, and garlands. We must e'en make shift without the rosemary, but Master Ralph and I will pipe up a song, having, as it were, a pretty face-a fair, sweet face, I say-whereby to lay our course."

  He puffed out his cheeks and made his bow, and Thorne, who had been no little surprised at his high spirits and hearty manner, saw that the girl had smiled. So he went to stand by the fire and lifted his fine voice against the leaden silence of the night.

  His voice, which had been hoarse, now rang out clearly:

  Peter nodded approval, beating time with a finger as if he was a criterion of good music. His rasping roar joined in the chorus, while he kept an eye on the maiden:

  "And now," quoth the Shipman, "God lack, the maid is weeping. She is a-leak at the eyes."

  So, in truth, loan was crying, her hands pressed to her cheeks. The two men surveyed her doubtfully, rather taken aback at the result of their holiday spirit. Peter made bold to lay his hand on her shoulder.

  "What cheer, mistress? Sets the wind foul or fair?"

  She glanced up, her face flushed and a smile twitching her lips.

  "Nay, I am a simpleton, good Peter. The ballad minded me of Christmas Eve long since when we had candles in the casements of the cottages of Cairness, and the children sang sweet carols. Nay, my tears were not-not of grief. I do give you thanks for your entertainment, good Peter."

  The boatswain drew back as if satisfied and motioned Thorne to one side.

  "Does 'ee love the lass, Master Ralph?"

  "Why not? Certainly, she is a fair companion and a brave soul."

  "Ah." Peter nodded sagely. "Y'are a dullard with words, but still, with an observant eye. In a manner o' speaking, ye keep a sharp lookout, Master Ralph. But not so sharp as Peter Palmer," and he made mysterious motions with brows and lips. "I have good tidings for ye, younker. The maid is an honest maid, and no sea troll."

  Thorne laughed.

  "And why, Peter?"

  "By reason of the holy words of the Christian song. When it was sung, she did not vanish, she did not slip cable and leave us. If she had been a witch, now, or a troll, she would not be here. So I say, if ye love the lass, why cherish her and ye will have no harm by it."

  "I am indebted to your wisdom, Peter, and to your-observant eye."

  "Y'are so," assented the Shipman. "For I was about to tell the lass my tidings. While I was on yonder headland seeking the Yule fir I saw the ships. Aye, Sir Hugh's ship and the Confidentia, lying in the ice of a bay. Come morrow, we'll be with our mates."

  Kyrger, squatting by the fire, waited solemnly for the end of this ritual of the outlanders. He wondered if they had been paying reverence to the quoren vairgin, the Reindeer Spirit.

  Perhaps, he thought, like himself they had been paying their respects to the elder souls, the spirits of their dead companions, which were quite visible in the sky.

  Purple and fiery red, these elder souls flamed on the broad gate of the sky. Kyrger knew well that the northern lights were the souls of the dead, rushing from earth to the zenith in their wild, merry dance.

  Never had he seen the gate in the sky so broad, the flames so bright.

  Chapter XIV

  Thorne Meets Sir Hugh

  The little Con fidentia lay stranded in a chaos of jutting ice fragments and rocks. A few cables' lengths farther out the admiral-ship rode at anchor, although so girdled with ice that it was wedged fast.

  They were in a shallow bay, where the wind, sweeping in from the open sea, had driven ice floes into a solid pack. The shores were treeless.

  Under the wind gusts the waist curtains, that had been put up to shelter the crews, shivered, and the long pennant of Sir Hugh's ship whipped around the mast. From the solid ice near the Con fidentia a trail ran through the snow to disappear over the distant hillocks.

  Thorne and Peter shouted joyfully and Kyrger clucked on his reindeer until they entered this trail and reached the shore. Without waiting for a hail or a sight of their shipmates, the two men crossed the frozen surface of the bay, climbing between the rocks, and reached the ship's ladder.

  Peter was first under the waistcloth and Thorne found him standing by the bole of the mainmast, staring aft. The helmsman of the Confidentia faced them, on his knees, one arm crooked around the tiller. He had a ragged red cap cocked over one ear.

  "God's mercy," whispered the boatswain, "look at his skin!"

  The seaman's whole face was purple, his lips, drawn back from the teeth, were no longer visible. Peter climbed the poop ladder and bent over the man; then he touched the fellow's arm.

  "Stiff as a merlyn-spike," he muttered. Thorne had gone to the door on the quarterdeck and thrust it open, his pulse quickening. For this was Durforth's ship.

  In the dim light from the narrow ports the great cabin seemed deserted and he wondered if the officers were on shore.

  Presently he stooped down and touched a misshapen form on the deck planking, a human body so bundled up in cloaks and blankets that it was hardly to be recognized. It was bent up in a knot as if gripped by intolerable agony.

  With his hand on the man's shoulder he tried to turn him over, and was forced to pull with all his strength.
The body did turn over, but the bent legs came up into the air without altering their position.

  "That would be Dick Ingram, master's mate," said Peter behind him in a strained voice, "his carcass, poor ."

  Thorne released his hold and the coiled-up body fell over on its side again with a muffled thump.

  "Save us!" cried the boatswain, his eyes starting from his head. "I've seen the workings of dropsy and scurvy and such, but here is a black plague. The black death itself hath fallen upon this ship."

  "Nay," said Thorne slowly, "these twain are frozen."

  "Aye, they are now. But how did they die? Let us go for'ard."

  They searched the forecastle in vain, and descended from the hold to the galley, which was nearly in darkness. But Peter stumbled over another body, and fumbled around on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

  "Here be a mort o' dead men," he grunted. "What cheer, mates, who has a word for Peter Palmer that's come a weary way to have speech with ye? Who is living?"

  Their ears strained, they listened for a space, then Peter gave a yell of fear, and, thrusting Thorne aside, sprang up the ladder. On the spar deck he wrenched down the waist curtain, staring out at the Bona Esperanza. His broad red face was streaming perspiration, as he cupped his hands and sent a quavering hail over the ice.

  "Ahoy, the Esperanza! Nick Anthony, where be ye? Ho, Allen! Master Davison-Garge Blage-"

  When no response came from the admiral-ship, Peter choked and the blood drained from his face. Wagging his massive head from side to side he began to walk unsteadily toward the ladder.

  "Feared I be, Master Ralph. Feared and boding-let be; by all the saints, let me go."

  "Then go," assented Thorne, "and bid Kyrger make camp beyond sight of the ships. I will seek out Sir Hugh and his company."

  An hour later Thorne stood alone in the roundhouse of the Bona Esperanza, his brows knit in thought, his eyes heavy with grief. Alone he was, assuredly, except for the wide-winged gulls that circled over the masts, swerving away when the tip of the pennant flapped. Yet was the Esperanza fully manned, the stern cabins occupied. The cook was in his galley, curled up on the cold stove, Sir Hugh seated at his table by the stern casements.

  Crew and officers were dead. Cadavers leered at the armiger from deck planks or berths, the eyes standing open as if gazing upon some devastating horror. All the faces were tinged with the same bluish cast. All the bodies were wrapped in odds and ends of garments, tabards and cloaks over all.

  Some, apparently, had died while crawling to the lower portions of the ship; others, chiefly the merchant-adventurers, in their berths.

  Thorne fought down a rising fear that impelled him to run after Peter and escape from this assemblage of the unspeaking dead. He had seen on the captain-general's table two folded pamphlets and judged that Sir Hugh had written therein. This message must be read.

  With an effort, he made his way into the passage and so to the main cabin, which was nearly dark, the ports being boarded over. And at once the skin of his head grew cold, a cry trembled in his throat. Before him and below him in the gloom two red eyes were fastened upon him.

  He knew that they were eyes because they moved, and he was aware of a faint hissing. Before he could take a grip on himself, or reach for a weapon, the tiny fires glowed brighter. There was a scampering of little feet and something darted past him.

  Turning swiftly he saw an ermine, a white creature kin to the weasel, void of fear and relentless as a ferret on the scent of prey.

  "What a chucklehead I am," he cried aloud, "to be frightened by a ferret."

  But his own voice, ringing hollow in the chill of the pent-in ship, did not serve to reassure him. Passing into the presence of the dead leader, he forced himself to take up the papers under the open eyes of tall Sir Hugh.

  He saw that both pamphlets were inscribed on the outside. One, marked The will and testament of Sir Hugh Willoughbie, Knight, he laid down again.

  The other he made out to be a short journal of the voyage. This he pored through slowly, for he was fairly skilled at reading, weighing everything in his mind, as was his habit.

  Sir Hugh had been driven far out of his course by the storm that had separated the ships, and had picked up the Confidentia when the weather cleared. They put back, but failed to fall in with the Wardhouse.

  We sounded and had 160 fadomes whereby we thought to be farre from land and perceived that the land lay not as the Globe made mention.

  For a month they cruised in the Ice Sea, finding the coast barren, and, putting into this haven assailed by

  very evil weather, as frost, snow and hail, as though it had been the dead of winter. We thought it best to winter there. Wherefore we sent out three men Southsouthwest, to search if they could find people, who went three days journey but could find none: after that we sent other three Westward four days journey, which also returned without finding any people. Then sent we three men Southeast three days journey, who in like sort returned without finding of people or any similitude of habitation.

  At this point, on the eighteenth day of September, the journal of Sir Hugh Willoughby ended.*

  Thorne read over the line "the land lay not as the Globe made mention" to be sure that he was not mistaken. No, the words were clear and honest in their meaning.

  Why had Durforth, who was in company with Sir Hugh, failed to pick up the Wardhouse? He knew its bearing. Why did the journal end, as it were, in the middle of a day, and that day long before the death of the captain-general?

  Now Thorne wished that his father, the Cosmographer, could have been at his side to answer these riddles. He was no navigator. But the thought came to him that his father would have gone to Durforth's cabin to look at the globe which had failed Sir Hugh. Durforth must have led the ships away from the Wardhouse to separate them from Chancellor.

  Then the agent of Spain had put the ships upon the coast in a desolate region, swept by the winds that came off the pack ice. And, perhaps Sir Hugh had come to suspect Durforth, perhaps the journal had recorded his suspicions after this day in September and Durforth had removed the pages after the death of his commander.

  That Durforth was still alive Thorne believed firmly, after he returned to the Confidentia and searched the master's cabin. Durforth's body was not to be seen. And, upon the table he found a candle burning, a mass of wax with a wick stuck in it, the whole floating in water in a tin basin. This was the only kind of candle Sir Hugh would permit to be lighted in the cabins, owing to the danger of fire. It might have been burning for two or three days.

  And the fresh tracks from the ship to the shore had been made after the last storm. One man, possibly more, had left the ship within the last days. Thorne picked up the candle and looked at the globe. He had some skill at chart reading-having watched many a time the Cosmographer drawing the outlines of the earth-and he knew that this was a complete mappamundi. Both hemispheres and the northern and southern seas were traced on the great copper ball very clearly.

  And he saw, running due east, from the island of the Wardhouse, a long body of water, a strait that extended to the mark of "Cathay." But the natives said no such passage existed, and the journal of Sir Hugh bore them out.

  Durforth's globe was false. It had been drawn to mislead Sir Hugh, even as Renard's agent had been sent to put an end to the voyage. This had been done, and the lives of two hundred men snuffed out like so many candle flames.

  Thorne lifted his head, hearing, in the utter silence of the ship, a footfall in the main cabin. It was as light and elusive as an animal's, yet he was certain that it drew closer to the door by which he was standing.

  Drawing his sword and taking the mitten off his right hand, he put out the candle with a sweep of the blade. Waiting until his eyes were accustomed to the gloom, he lifted the latch with his left hand and opened the door with a thrust of his foot. The half-light of the outer cabin disclosed Kyrger.

  "Ostiaks," murmured the hunter, and glanced expectantly at t
he white man.

  Kyrger was as restless as one of his own reindeer in a pen. When he moved it was as if his feet slipped over thin ice. He kept one eye on the deck beams within inches of his skull. In all his life he had not stood within four walls, certainly never in the maw of a giant's ship such as this. One that went forward against the wind.

  "Faith, here's a coil," thought the armiger. "I'd best go with him to see what's in the wind."

  But Kyrger did not wish this. Motioning for Thorne to watch, he began the pantomime which all primitive races understand. First he impersonated the voyagers, sitting around the fire. Then he jumped up and grasped at his bow, sending an imaginary arrow at an enemy.

  By degrees Thorne understood that Ostiak tribesmen had attacked the camp; they had bound Joan and Peter and the reindeer. They had chased Kyrger nearly to the bay.

  A very few of the Samoyed's words Thorne had picked up in the last months.

  "Sinym ka-i-unam?" he asked quickly. "Has the little sister gone to the regions below?"

  By shaking his head Kyrger signified that Joan was still alive. So was Peter, thanks to the mail jerkin the shipman wore.

  Looking through a crack in one of the boarded-up ports, Thorne saw that the hunter had been telling the truth. On the shore a group of natives were descending toward the ice with two sledges drawn by dogs. Thorne counted eleven of them, armed with long spears and clubs.

  He cast a glance aloft. The battle nettings that might have been slung from the quarterdeck rail to the forecastle, to keep out boarders, were not to be seen. Turning into the roundhouse, he looked at the racks where harquebuses and crossbows should have been stacked about the butt of the mizzen. None were there, and he found time to reflect that Durforth must have taken them from the ship.

  But his eye fell upon a weapon more potent than any firelock, a murderer.

  Bolted to a pivot on the quarterdeck rail was one of the light cannon that could be trained at will upon any part of the waist or foredeck. Sign ing to Kyrger to watch the approaching Ostiaks, he dived below, searching until he found an open keg of powder in the hold.