"We will, Geoffrey," Sir Basil spoke softly as he stood at his friend's side.
"A fine piece of work, Basil," Geoffrey said, eyeing him with new respect. "No offense meant, but I didn't think you had it in you. At least not to pull off a feat like that."
"Neither did I," Basil admitted a trifle self-consciously, for he was not used to playing the hero. "I am relieved you have returned, for I am not accustomed to such a role. The responsibility weighs heavy on my mind, Geoffrey. I would see no harm befall our queen."
"None shall," Geoffrey promised.
"I aged a lifetime the night before last when Magdalena so innocently recited Lily's nightmare. Don Pedro was so surprised that I do not think he noticed how surprised I was. I do not think he is overly concerned that Lily actually saw the man in the courtyard and not at Highcross as Magdalena believes. And, I am certain that no one but the fisherman knows that I went aboard the Estrella D'Alba, and he has a purse full of gold and thinks I'm a Spaniard. I do not believe I have made any mistakes, Geoffrey. I would have known had Don Pedro suspected the truth. I most likely would not have lived to welcome you back to Santo Domingo had they known I was a spy. No, I think we will succeed, Geoffrey. We must."
Geoffrey Christian nodded, but he did not feel quite as confident about the situation as did Sir Basil, although he was hesitant to admit as much. He was not one to underestimate an enemy, and Don Pedro was indeed an enemy. Basil had not been wrong in his estimation of Don Pedro's desire to seek revenge against his old nemesis. Geoffrey had not missed the hatred that had flared in Don Pedro's eyes when they had met face to face for the first time since crossing bows nearly eight years ago. Sir Basil, he knew, would find it hard to understand, but Geoffrey Christian knew that the Spaniard would not leave Santo Domingo without a final reckoning with the man who had defeated him once before. Geoffrey Christian, because he would have felt the same need for vengeance had he lost his ship to his enemy, knew that the battle was not yet over, nor the victory theirs until they safely reached the shores of England.
"Lily seems a changed child since your return," Sir Basil commented, for he did not like the expression on his friend's face as the captain of the Arion continued to stare unblinkingly across the water at the Estrella D'Alba as she prepared to weigh anchor.
Geoffrey Christian seemed reluctant to withdraw his gaze from the Spanish galleon, but finally he turned to glance along the deck of his own ship. "My sweet Lily Francisca. A priceless jewel, isn't she? If you are fortunate, one day I might allow Simon the privilege of asking for her hand in marriage," Geoffrey said, and Basil believed he was quite serious. "He will never have a peaceful day once he loses his heart to my fairest flower, but then what is life without a challenge?"
"I would be honored to have Lily a member of my family, Geoffrey," Basil responded, although he had his doubts about whether or not Simon and Lily would make a match of it. He feared Simon was far too gentle and quiet a lad to handle so spirited a lass as Lily Christian. And Geoffrey Christian as a father-in-law might mean the premature death of the boy should he ever cause Lily an instant of unhappiness.
"Aye, I like the sound of Lily Whitelaw. We shall have to give this further thought, Basil," Geoffrey said, his gaze now centered on his daughter while she played on the deck with her new companion, a woolly monkey her father had traded a length of colorful silk for in Borburata, a Venezuelan coastal town.
"I think he likes you, Mistress Lily," Joshua Randall, the bos'n, declared with a wide grin. "What are you going to name him?"
"Is it a boy?" Lily asked curiously. "How can you tell, Master Randall?"
"Ah, well, uh . . ." Joshua Randall, who'd seen most everything there was to see, and had heard it all, now blushed brightly under Lily's frank gaze. "Reckon the critter's too young for it to really matter one way or t'other," he concluded lamely.
"I think you are probably right, though. He's got whiskers. Only men have whiskers, Master Randall."
"Ye be right, lass," he quickly agreed, for he'd hate to have it come to the captain's attention that he'd been telling Mistress Lily things a young lady shouldn't be knowing about.
"I'm going to call him Capabells. Do you know why?"
Master Randall rubbed his bearded chin in deep reflection. "No, can't say that I do, young mistress."
"Because he reminds me of the court jester. Father says we are going to make him a tiny velvet cap with bells on it so he can perform for Her Majesty when we return to London," Lily confided, then squealed when the little monkey with bright eyes climbed onto her shoulder and pulled her hair before scampering off, his excited chatter daring her to follow.
Joshua Randall had a moment's vision of what might happen should the monkey jump onto Her Majesty's slim shoulder and grab hold of one of the queen's red curls, for rumor had it she wore a wig. Then he noticed his captain's narrowed gaze lingering on him and quickly put that scene out of his mind and hustled below to complete his duties, which, he grumbled beneath his breath, would take him plenty of time to do. They had just gotten into port, and now they were setting sail again. At the rate they'd been taking on supplies, it seemed as if they really would be back at sea within the week.
It was two days later, in fact, that Doña Magdalena bid farewell to her father. Perhaps Don Rodrigo remembered now how much his daughter resembled his beloved wife, or perhaps he suddenly realized that he would miss his youngest daughter when she left Santo Domingo, maybe never to return.
The imperious facade he had maintained so steadfastly throughout the visit now crumbled, leaving Don Rodrigo looking like the heartsick man he was. Magdalena had made her farewells to her sister first, for Don Rodrigo had stood slightly apart, as stiff-necked and straight-backed as when she had first greeted him after so long and bitter a separation. With a sigh, she turned and faced him. She could delay no longer, for Geoffrey and Lily had already left with Basil and now they waited in the street beyond. Magdalena stood for a moment in indecision, then she rushed forward. Her arms were outstretched to him as they had been on her arrival. This time she found herself not repulsed as she had expected, but instead she was enfolded against his chest in a loving embrace.
"Padre, mi padre," she cried softly, burying her tearstained face against the rich silk of Don Rodrigo's doublet.
"Mi hija," he said huskily. "Mi dulce batata prequeña."
"You forgive me?" she asked.
"All is forgiven, mi hija," he said gruffly. His hand shaking, he caressed the softness of her dark red hair. "You are so like your mother. I shall miss you, as I miss her. Perhaps one day you will return and visit your father. I would like to see my granddaughter again. You can be proud of her. I am pleased she is of my blood. And I am proud of you."
"Thank you, Padre. If you knew how long I have ached to hear you say that. Maybe," she added hesitantly, looking beseechingly into his sad eyes, "one day you will come to England and visit me and my family in my home. You will always be welcome, Padre."
"Well, we shall see," Don Rodrigo allowed, but he had not said no, which was more than Magdalena had even hoped for. "¡Adios!" he said simply. Then, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead, Don Rodrigo turned away and disappeared into the courtyard.
As the Arion set sail from Santo Domingo, Magdalena stood aftmost and watched the coastline fade from sight, her thoughts her own. Sir Basil stood to starboard, watching the waves foaming against the ship's bow as she forged ahead. Lily, Capabells clinging to her shoulder, was watching the men climbing high into the rigging as they followed their captain's orders and made sail, their voices raised in a cheerful song that drifted on the wind. The Arion was homeward bound.
The sun's o'ercast with blood . . .
SHAKESPEARE
Chapter Five
SETTING EVERY STITCH of canvas she carried, the Arion sailed away from the convoy of heavily armed galleons that had been sighted at dawn off her quarter.
The sudden cry, "All hands to quarters!" still rang harshly i
n Sir Basil's ears. He had been enjoying a leisurely breakfast with the captain and his family when Geoffrey had been summoned on deck, and then it seemed to Sir Basil that all hell had broken loose as men swarmed across the deck and into the rigging, some climbing high into the shrouds. The men-of-war were out of Santiago de Cuba, the garrison that guarded the Windward Passage. Watching their progress as they increased sail and gave chase, Geoffrey Christian had smiled, for he knew the Spaniards could never bring their cannons within range of the Arion. She was too swift and her crew too experienced.
The rugged north coast of Jamaica had fallen astern as the prevailing winds filled the Arion's sails and she held steady on her course. The Caymans had been sighted several leagues distant, and had the Arion not been under full press of canvas, with the enemy to windward, she might have found a safe channel through the sandbanks surrounding the islands and taken on fresh water there.
As each day passed the Arion steadily made her way closer to the Gulf of Mexico and the Straits of Florida, where the Gulf Stream would carry them through the dangerous channel of coral reefs, cays, and sandbars. Steering a northeasterly course as she beat into the Atlantic, she would catch the westerlies which would keep her sails billowing and her prow turned toward England.
But off Isla de Pinos, Geoffrey Christian began to suspect that the galleons giving chase had not come upon them by accident and were in fact part of a larger convoy, the vanguard of which could be now maneuvering athwart-hawse of the bows of the Arion as she steered toward Cabo San Antonio. Intending to round the cape and enter the narrow channel between Cuba and the outlying islets strung along the southern tip of Florida, the Arion might find herself cut off from escape.
Geoffrey Christian did not seem surprised to see the Estrella D'Alba assuming the position of flagship. It was all very clear to him now: Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro was about to seek his revenge. The Arion had been flanked, with two of the galleons coming in to windward and taking the weather gage. She was outgunned and outmanned; she had nowhere to go. Thinking of Magdalena and Lily, the Arion's captain was about to give the order to lower her colors and surrender. It was a cowardly act Geoffrey Christian was loath to do and would not have considered except for the presence on board of his wife and daughter. He'd rather fight to the death than give up his ship, but he would see no harm befall his family just so he could prove his bravery. But before he could give the order to heave-to, several puffs of smoke billowed from the Estrella D'Alba as she fired on the lone ship, the volley of screaming cannon balls and grape-shot cutting to pieces everything in its path as it rained down on the quarterdeck of the Arion. As Geoffrey Christian gave the order to sheer off, the captain of the Estrella D'Alba repeated his command to fire and the Arion's deck shuddered beneath a raking broadside that splintered through the railing and planking and sent bloodied bodies of sailors flying across the deck. Another broadside damaged the rigging, cutting a halyard and slicing through canvas, but the Arion's gunners managed to get off a volley of shot against one of the galleons that had fallen astern and was now within range of the Arion's guns on her larboard side. Quickly they reloaded with powder and ball, ramming it down the cannon's muzzle; then, laying a trail of powder and taking new aim, they ran the gun forward and into position as the powder flared under a slow match, the gun recoiling when she fired with deadly accuracy.
With the Arion's longer range cannon, Geoffrey Christian hoped to hold off the galleons while escaping into the channel. There was a strong, northerly current and already one of the galleons that had felt the fury from the Arion's gunports was drifting precariously close to the reefs surrounding the pine-studded island lying southeast of the cape. Her rigging and sails hanging splintered and useless, her hull showing gaping wounds, she was certain to run aground. Another galleon that had felt the bite of the Arion's guns was listing badly and taking on water.
Sir Basil choked on the acrid smoke and stench of death that permeated the ship as he made his way on deck in time to see the flash of fire from one of the galleons bearing down on them, then a roar filled his ears and he threw himself to the deck, expecting to find himself engulfed in flame as the cannon shot exploded around him. but the galleon had been out of range, and her shot fell short of the Arion's deck. In that instant, while the galleon's gunners reloaded, the Arion cut a path directly across her stern, bringing her guns to bear on the Spaniard's vulnerable backside. A deafening explosion followed in the Arion's wake as she sailed past the galleon, now on fire, and made her escape through the hole in the net that Don Pedro thought he had so cunningly spread.
Making his way from the waist of the ship, where a tangle of rigging, spars, and splintered planking blocked his way, Sir Basil finally reached Geoffrey Christian's side. With a look of horror on his haggard face, Basil stared at his friend. A deep, jagged gash cut across the captain's skull, dripping blood down his temple and into his neatly trimmed beard. He was holding his left arm against his chest, and as Basil looked closer, he could see the red stain seeping from the wound.
"Geoffrey?"
"I look worse than I am, Basil. 'Sblood, but I'll have that Spaniard's heart before this battle is done!" he swore, his pale green eyes glowing with a fire that burned deep into Basil's soul. "Magdalena? Lily?" he demanded, but his eyes never left the galleons that were closing ranks behind them and giving chase.
"They were fine, frightened, but unharmed when I came up," Basil reassured him.
"I didn't think we'd taken a hit in that quarter below decks. If Don Pedro lives, he will come to regret this day."
"The Estrella D'Alba?" Sir Basil for the first time realized what ship had attacked them and what Spaniard Geoffrey Christian was damning. "I cannot believe it! Surely he knows this is the Arion he has fired upon? And that a woman and child are on board?"
"Of course he knows," Geoffrey said, turning his attention to Master Randall and his mates, who were sent up into the rigging to repair the damage to the masts and sails. "I sank Don Pedro's ship. He will never rest easy until he evens that score. he will suffer no pangs of conscience because of the death of Magdalena and Lily, or you and the rest of the crew. He will merely think he was rid the world of a ship full of heretics."
Sir Basil felt ill. "How can Don Pedro explain to Philip, or the priest aboard his ship, his actions in risking his mission just to seek personal vengeance against you?"
"Perhaps he has told them of the incident where Lily spoke of seeing our nervous conspirator. When a man has something to hide, he is abnormally suspicious and quick to believe in threats to his safety, and he will sanction any act, however rash," Geoffrey Christian said, waving away a hovering crew member who was inspecting his captain's wounds with a professional eye. "Later. We've got sails to mend and rigging to secure. I haven't time now, James, for your coddling. We want to show Philip's swine what an Englishman can do when the odds are against him."
"Aye, Cap'n, we'll show them our stern all the way home, then we'll turn and spit in their eye."
Sir Basil had hoped they wouldn't come quite that close again, but he had to admit that he felt a similar bloodlust surging through his veins when he thought of Don Pedro's treachery.
"I think you should go below, Basil."
Basil started to protest, but he realized he would just be in the way if he remained on deck. He nodded his agreement. "You expect more trouble, don't you? I thought the battle was over. They won't catch up to us, will they?"
"I am not worried about what lies astern. I'm concerned about what waits for us ahead, in the channel."
"You think there might be more fighting?"
"Don Pedro probably alerted the fort in Havana. They control the channel. We must get through there as quickly as possible."
"There is something else worrying you."
Geoffrey Christian smiled. "Where I Don Pedro, I would have taken the precaution of stationing several galleons northwest of here in the Gulf, just beyond the entrance to the channel. When we round the c
ape, they will be in a position to intercept us, certainly to fire upon us. The Arion's sturdy little ship, but she can't hold up under much more unless we can make repairs. Our strength lies in being able to outmaneuver and outsail them, and our long-range cannon fire gives us the advantage. We shall need all of those if we hope to get safely through the channel. And then . . ." He paused, his haze raking the damaged masts and torn sails rising above a deck that still bore proof of battle. "We are not out of this yet, Basil. Pray to God that Don Pedro was too arrogant to consider that the Arion might escape his net. That may just give us the time we need."
Later, Basil was to remember those words as the Arion made her way into the Straits of Florida. As he waited in the great cabin time seemed to have no meaning. All that existed for him was the past. He remembered things he had thought long forgotten. Moments of pleasure from his childhood at Whiteswood, of the years spent at Cambridge when he was a naïve young man who had spent all of his time studying and learning about the world from his books and tutors, of the excitement of London and life at court, and of the great change that happened to him when he'd met and fallen in love with Elspeth. She had been a vision of uncommon loveliness, and once he had spoken with her, and discovered that she had intellect as well as beauty, he could not imagine a life without her by his side. Basil felt the gentle touch of her hand on his, heard the wise word she would whisper in his ear, saw the loving expression in her soft blue eyes, breathed the sweet fragrance of spring flowers when he and Elspeth had walked through the gardens of Whiteswood, their son racing ahead. . . . Then the image faded as he heard the sound of explosions overhead and felt the sudden lurch of the ship to larboard. But the Arion continued on her way, her crew rallying again and again as they fought valiantly to keep her on course.
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 7