Voyage to Muscovy (The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez Book 6)

by Ann Swinfen

  A hail from behind brought me round from studying the ships. It was the group of Burbage’s Men who had chosen to make the journey to Wardhouse. Cuthbert Burbage, Master Burbage’s elder son, strode at their head. He was no actor like his younger brother Dick, but an excellent man of business, following in the footsteps of his father. He was already giving directions to a boatman and seeing to the loading of a remarkable amount of baggage into one of the lighters that ploughed back and forth between the quays and the larger ships out at anchor.

  Simon was there, and several of the younger players, including three of the boys. He broke away from the company and came over to where I was standing on the quay.

  ‘Which ship do you travel on, Kit?’

  ‘The Bona Esperanza.’

  ‘That’s as well. So do we. Otherwise I should have demanded that you be moved to our ship. Guy would never have forgiven us if he could not have the enjoyment of your lute duets on the long voyage.’

  ‘Guy is coming?’ I was astonished. Guy Bingham was the chief musician and comic actor of the company, and I could not believe that Master Burbage would have agreed to manage without him for what would be at least four months, perhaps more.

  ‘Guy has had a little problem with creditors,’ Simon said with a laugh. ‘London was becoming somewhat uncomfortable for him. Master Burbage agreed to allow him to come, on the understanding that his earnings should be used to pay his debts on his return. In the meantime, Master Burbage will satisfy Guy’s creditors, even if it means paying them off himself.’

  I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. The actors were notoriously careless with money, but Guy was usually better than the rest. I was surprised he had entangled himself in such a knot.

  ‘Good morrow, Dr Alvarez.’ The voice came from somewhere a little above my elbow. I turned round.

  ‘Davy!’

  The boy acrobat had filled out a good deal since I had first seen him brought into St Thomas’s, gaunt and near death, but he was still wiry and small. Early malnutrition meant that he would never grow tall, but that would probably prove an advantage in his profession.

  ‘You are going to Wardhouse?’ I said.

  ‘Of course. I am apprenticed to Master Bingham. Where he goes, I must go.’

  He gave us a wicked grin, then skipped off to where I saw Guy talking to Cuthbert. For good measure, he turned a couple of cartwheels as he went.

  ‘Trouble,’ I said. ‘Trouble always follows in Davy’s wake. I shudder to think what mischief he may get up to on board ship.’

  Simon laughed. ‘Well, we must hope he does not fall overboard. Guy has spent many hours training him, and would think it a great loss.’

  ‘I had as well brought Rikki,’ I said. ‘He is considerably more obedient than Davy.’

  ‘From what I hear of Muscovy, he would not have cared for it. Nothing but snow and ice.’

  ‘You sound like Goodwife Maynard. She has knitted me an extraordinary garment against the cold. Master Harriot tells me Muscovy is quite agreeable in summer.’

  ‘Then let us hope you can return when we do, before the bad weather sets in. I suppose you must leave your horse behind, as well as your dog. And your orphan children. And all your other waifs and strays.’

  I frowned. Simon was forever teasing me.

  ‘My horse Hector remains at Seething Lane,’ I said stiffly, ‘and the stable lad Harry has promised to keep him exercised.’

  ‘Well, then, you must rest easy. Both your horse and your dog are in safe hands. Come, let’s find our ship.’

  He was right. I had been entrusted with a serious mission, where a man’s life might be at stake. I must lay aside my private concerns and think only about what I needed to do to carry out that mission. The better I prepared for it, the sooner I might hope to come home.

  I followed Simon back along the quay to join the rest of Burbage’s men. Guy grinned a welcome, while Cuthbert gave me a somewhat distracted nod. After that, matters moved swiftly. The players’ baggage was borne away to the largest of the Muscovy ships anchored in the deeper water and we all followed soon after in three wherries. A rope ladder had been thrown over the side of the Bona Esperanza and I was one of the first to swarm up it and jump down from the railing on to the deck. For a moment I felt a pang of apprehension. The last time I had stood on the deck of a ship, we were returning from Portugal with crew and passengers dead and dying around us. And there before us at anchor in Plymouth harbour had been the treacherous Drake, who had made off with all our provisions.

  But I must not dwell on the past. Davy and the other boy actors were racing about, getting in the way of the seamen, who shouted at them and cuffed them whenever they could catch them. Cuthbert was overseeing the loading and stowing of the baggage, while the rest of the players were hunting for their quarters.

  As the Muscovy ships regularly carried ambassadors, senior members of the Company, and gentlemen travellers, they were well appointed, and provided with comfortable cabins. Dr Nuñez had told me that he had insisted that I should have a cabin to myself, as a distinguished emissary of the Company. The players were distributed between four much larger cabins, and I came in for some good-natured ragging at my privileged state. I did not care. It would make my journey much safer and more comfortable if I was on my own.

  Once I had deposited my knapsack and satchel in my cabin, I came back up on deck. The lighter and wherries had rowed back to the shore and the seamen were busy about the rigging, while six men stood ready by the capstan to hoist the anchor. Simon came to stand beside me at the rail. I pointed down at the river, where fragments of straw were spinning in lazy circles.

  ‘The tide is turning,’ I said. ‘We will sail on the ebb tide.’

  ‘I had forgotten that you are an experienced sailor.’ He grinned at me. ‘We shall have you swarming up the masts before we know it.’

  I shuddered, leaning back and screwing up my eyes to watch one of the sailor boys, as young as Davy, climbing up to the masthead, swift as a squirrel, while other mariners walked along the yardarms as casually as along a London street.

  ‘I haven’t the head for it. A tree, that I do not mind. But not . . .that!’ I waved my hand at the masts towering above us. They seemed even higher than those on the ships I had known before. The Muscovy ships needed to be fast as well as capacious, to outrun pirates and to make the long return journey to northern waters as speedily as possible.

  There was a shrill whistle and shouted orders. The men at the capstan seized the handles and began to tread round it, as the anchor chain tightened, slackened, then tightened again when the anchor began to rise. I noticed that towlines had been thrown across from two of the ship’s pinnaces and secured to our bows. Their crews bent to their oars and began to row as the anchor rose, dripping with weed, and was secured in place. As first there was no movement, then the Bona Esperanza swung round like a stately lady in full skirts, and began to follow the pinnaces downriver.

  Simon gave a sigh of pure excitement and turned to me, his eyes alight.

  ‘We are on our way!’

  Chapter Three

  Although the tide was flowing in our favour, there was little wind, so it was clear that the pinnaces would be needed to tow us at least down the first few miles of the river. Although the Thames is a busy thoroughfare for ships and boats of every size and description, it is strewn with muddy shallows and sandbanks, constantly shifting with wind and tide, so that a large ship under sail, with little wind for steerage way, is in constant danger of going aground. To find ourselves in such an embarrassing situation would mean waiting out the time until the next high tide floated us off again. I was aware that a ship’s officer was standing in the stern of one of the pinnaces, shouting directions to guide the tow-boats along the deepest channel.

  The remaining ships of the fleet took up their positions behind us, the larger vessels towed by two pinnaces, the smaller by a single one. As we moved into the centre of the river, other craft hastened to
draw out of our way. The departure of the Muscovy fleet was an important annual event, for everyone in London knew that the Company brought both wealth and fame to England. Spain might plunder the riches of the New World, but our mariners and merchants braved more tempestuous seas and stranger lands to bring home their exotic cargoes. Though to be sure, the cordage and canvas that they imported were just as vital, having equipped our ships which fought against the Spanish invasion fleet, as I had learned during my time with Walsingham.

  On our port side, beyond the Tower, lay the shipyards of Ratcliffe, where I could see the wooden skeletons of three unfinished ships. Behind, on the muddy ground and dwarfed by the ships that were a-building, huddled the poor cottages of the craftsmen. On the starboard bank of the river, where Southwark dwindled into Bermondsey and then into fields of green corn, crowds were gathered here and there to watch the Muscovy fleet set out on the long voyage to the frozen north.

  Simon had joined the players grouped in the bows of the ship, but I turned in the other direction and climbed the companionway to the poop deck. To my surprise, Guy was leaning on the stern railing. I joined him, resting my arms on the polished wood of the rail and watching the spires and towers of London, wreathed in a summer mist, slipping away behind us.

  ‘I wonder when we shall see it again,’ Guy said.

  ‘London? For you it will not be long. You will be home with the fleet by the end of the summer. It must leave Muscovy before the ice and fogs set in, and I am told that can be as early as late August or the beginning of September. I may not be so fortunate.’

  ‘I have never been more than fifty miles from London,’ he said. ‘It is like being ripped from some umbilical cord.’

  I glanced sideways at him in surprise. It was rare for Guy to speak thus sorrowfully. And I had never supposed that he was so little travelled.

  He must have caught my look, for he gave a rueful smile.

  ‘I expect that seems very odd to you. In your young life you have been tossed hither and yon. My feelings must sound pathetic.’

  ‘Nay,’ I said slowly. ‘I remember how strange it felt to leave Portugal, even though we were terrified and were fleeing for our lives. But since I have lived in London . . . well, I suppose it has come to seem home to me. I have no wish to leave either.’

  ‘Following orders, are you?’

  ‘Aye.’ I hesitated. ‘And you? Simon said London was becoming awkward for you.’

  He grimaced. ‘I’ve no one to blame but myself and I ought to know better.’

  He turned and leaned his back against the rail. ‘There was a time in my life when things became very difficult. I was on my own after I lost my wife and children, and I suppose I turned a little mad. Then I lost my employment as well, and stupidly thought to better my fortunes by gambling at the dice. For a while I was lucky, so I grew over-confident, only to sacrifice everything, all the little that I owned. I swore I’d never gamble for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Have you been at the dice again, Guy?’

  He sighed and shrugged. ‘More fool that I am. Do you remember Henry Allinger, from the Twelfth Night Revels at Whitehall Palace?’

  ‘Aye, the “Turkish” sword swallower from Bermondsey. Who could forget him?’

  ‘We’ve known each other since we were no more than lads. Took to drinking at an inn down Billingsgate way earlier this year, where there were regular gambling nights two or three times a week. Henry had the sense to give it up after a few weeks, but not me. Oh, no. Once it gets in your blood . . . it’s like a drunkard who thinks he’ll have just one more drink, it won’t do any harm. Just one more throw of the dice and you know this time you’ll win.’

  His mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile. ‘By the time I realised that the fellows there were rogues, using weighted dice, I’d borrowed money to keep on playing. Now I’m in debt to one Ingram Frizer, who is not above beating the life out of anyone who does not repay promptly.’

  ‘That is bad news indeed, Guy.’ I was sorry to hear the tale, for I had always respected him.

  ‘Never fear. I’ll not be such a fool again. Master Burbage has taken matters in hand and sent me off to Wardhouse while he settles with Frizer. By the time we return, I should have earned enough to pay him back. If not, he’ll stop it out of my wages.’

  ‘You may enjoy your time in Wardhouse,’ I said, attempting to console him. ‘And you will be away from London during the time of year the plague can strike.’

  ‘Aye, there’s that.’ He did not sound convinced.

  We stood in silence as the brown water swirled behind us, stirred up by the tide and our passage. The fleet was strung out now in a long line. Two of the ships had hoisted their mizzen sails, but they hung slack, for the little wind that had been with us as we set out had fallen away to nothing.

  The long Limehouse Reach was bordered by flat muddy banks on both sides of the river. Attempts to build here from time to time over the centuries had proved doomed to failure, for in the end the Thames would always flood, carrying down storm water from far inland augmented by high tides swept in from the sea, a sudden devouring monster, leaving behind nothing but ruins and drowned men and beasts. The land here had returned to its primaeval state, a haunt of herons and other wading birds, who made their homes amongst the fallen stones of those abandoned settlements.

  ‘At this rate,’ Guy said, ‘we shall be fortunate to reach Greenwich before nightfall. I am told that the seamen will not sail down to the estuary and the ocean except by daylight. It is too treacherous.’

  We did seem to be making very slow progress. Already the crews of the pinnaces had been changed twice as they grew exhausted.

  ‘I think I will go and inspect my cabin,’ I said. As I turned away, Simon climbed up to join us on the poop deck.

  ‘We wondered where you had gone,’ he said. ‘Did you see that small ship’s boat that came alongside?’

  Guy nodded. ‘We did not pay it much mind.’

  ‘It was from one of the other ships. It seems a problem has developed with her rudder, so we must all put in to the shipyard at Deptford that it may be repaired. They cannot embark on our long voyage with defective steering.’

  Guy raised his eyebrows. ‘Not even as far as Greenwich by nightfall, it seems.’

  ‘The ebb tide is growing slack,’ I said, pointing to the movement of the reeds and grasses along the shore. ‘We would have been obliged to drop anchor soon anyway. There is no wind, and the pinnaces cannot tow us against an in-coming tide.’

  ‘Well,’ said Simon, ‘at least it means the ship will be at rest while we eat our dinner, not tossing about as it has been. I have eaten nothing since I broke my fast this morning, and we are well into the afternoon by now.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Guy. ‘My stomach agrees. ’Sbones! I had forgotten about Davy! Where is the scamp?’

  ‘Never fear,’ said Simon. ‘At least for the moment. One of the sailors is teaching him and the other lads how to tie complicated knots. It is keeping him out of trouble.’

  ‘For how long?’ I wondered. ‘And to what use will he put this new skill? I foresee trouble ahead.’

  I said nothing to contradict Simon’s description of our passage down the river. If he regarded this slow and stately progress as tossing about, he must have had an exceptionally calm crossing to the Low Countries last year. I wondered how he would fare in the rough weather we would encounter once we were away from land, out in the German Ocean. As for Guy, I suspected he had little idea of what lay ahead.

  We were held up at Deptford that night and the whole of the following day and night, while the shipwrights worked to repair the rudder of the Tudor Rose. It appeared that the original rudder had been replaced after the previous year’s voyage, but made of inferior timber which had already warped, so it was fortunate that the trouble had been discovered before we were fully under way.

  I took the opportunity of the delay to start my lessons in Russian. Before leaving, I had received instruction
s for my mission from Anthony Marler, the Company’s chief agent in London. While Rowland Heyward and the Court of Assistants decided on Company policy and managed the finances, it was Marler who oversaw the purchase and loading of the goods to be traded in Muscovy when the fleet departed, and then directed the evaluation and sale of the cargo carried home by the returning fleet. Marler had explained to me the workings of the Company in Muscovy, how I was to travel about, and how to conduct myself in encounters with Russian merchants and officials. It seemed there were very precise rules of behaviour and etiquette that I must observe, if I was to avoid causing grave offense. While I was with him, he also introduced me to the man who was to be my interpreter in Muscovy, one Peter Aubery.

  While the shipwrights of Deptford swarmed over the Tudor Rose, Aubery and I found a quiet corner on the poop deck, and seated ourselves on coils of rope.

  ‘You seem like an ordinary Englishman to me, Peter,’ I said bluntly. ‘How is it that you are to be my interpreter?’

  He was a slightly plump young man, a little older than I, with a round guileless face. Anyone less like a barbarian from a strange land it was difficult to imagine.

  ‘My name is really Pyotr,’ he said mildly. ‘My father was a Company stipendiary and my mother Russian, a merchant’s daughter, living in Kolmogory, where my father was stationed. They were married in the Orthodox faith, but when my mother was with child my father was recalled to England and the Company would not allow him to bring my mother, not recognising the marriage as legal.’

  ‘That seems very cruel,’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘She returned to her father’s house, which was one of the finest in the town and I grew up there until I was fifteen. She made sure that I was taught English, in case I should ever have the chance to come here. I managed to obtain a clerking post at the Company house in Kolmogory, though my mother died soon after.’