Sir Basil found himself almost smiling. He could have accepted his death with more grace had it been because of his actions for his queen and country-at least there would have been some reason behind it. But thinking that he would die only because of another man's desire for revenge left him shaking with frustrated anger. How ironic indeed, that Don Pedro would never know that he was a true hero; he would have to content himself with savoring his vengeance against one man, never realizing the service he had inadvertently performed for his king and his faith.
"Mother? They're hurting our ship. Why is Father allowing them to do this? Why doesn't he sink them? Father can do anything, I know he can. Father won't let us sink, Mother. I know he won't," Lily said firmly, her small, rounded chin stuck out with a determination that mirrored her father's. "Mother?"
At the sound of the childish voice, Sir Basil remembered the other two occupants of the cabin and opened his eyes to see Magdalena sitting across the table from him, Lily held against her breast as she prayed softly beneath her breath, the silver cross she usually kept out of sight now held to her lips
"If anyone can get us out of this, Lily, then it is your father. I cannot think of another man I would more willingly trust my life to," Basil told Geoffrey Christian's daughter, and to his surprise, the green eyes that met his were without fear. He only wished he could say the same about his own, for he knew they must be wild with fright. "Nothing will happen to us. Nothing," he said again, trying to convince himself that was true.
Whether Geoffrey Christian would have been comforted or saddened to have heard those words he might not have known himself, for he knew he was in the most desperate fight of his life.
If any of them were to have the slightest chance of survival, then he would have to risk everything. "Hard to starboard, Master Evans!"
"Starboard, Cap'n?" the young helmsman repeated in confusion, for that course would take them right across the closest galleon's bows and within range of another devastating broadside. There was also a cay less than a league distant and lying directly across their path if they followed that sudden change of course. They'd run aground. The captain must be crazed, the young man thought in horror.
"Hard to, mister!" Geoffrey Christian yelled again. An old hand standing duty as lee helmsman took charge from the bemused helmsman and steered the ship as ordered. There wasn't time to question the captain's orders. "Stand on!" the captain called as the Arion's bowsprit swung into the wind.
As Geoffrey Christian had expected, the galleons trying to intercept the Arion off to starboard changed course, intending to catch the Arion as she headed into the deep channel between the cay and Great Bahama Bank, thinking the Arion might be trying to escape to the south to find a safe hiding place in one of the countless coves along the uninhabited Cuban coast. Several of the crew peered over the railing at the bright, razor-toothed coral just beneath the Arion's hull their mouths gaping open as she rode over it and the sandy bottom so close below. A harsh scraping noise reverberated through the timbers of the ship as she touched the ground but she continued without any apparent serious damage. Unfortunately, the Spaniards aboard the galleon, and her angle across the cay hadn't been as sharp, for the Arion's course had been just along the outer rim of coral before the captain had given the order to turn her back on her original course with the wind off her quarter. The deception had worked, and now the Arion headed back into the safe channel of deep water.
They were not safely out of danger yet, but at least the Arion had a little more room to maneuver, and Geoffrey Christian intended to make the most of it. The Estrella D'Alba had been far enough astern to watch the Arion's deception and avoid the cay, and now she gave chase, closing the distance with the smaller ship that, because of the damage she'd suffered in the battle, was not handling well and looked as if she were about to founder, as she fought her way north. With a heaviness in his heart, Geoffrey Christian knew that it was just a matter of time before the Estrella D'Alba overtook the Arion, if they continued north, riding the Gulf Stream into the Atlantic. His only hope was to keep a steady distance ahead until they reached the channel cutting through the Bahamas just north of the Great Bahama Bank. If he could steer a course into the islands, he might just be able to lose the Estrella D'Alba, if not, then . . . but he shook his head, wincing with the pain from his wound. He would not even think of the alternative. Not yet.
"Geoffrey?"
The voice he longed to hear, yet had dreaded hearing, now spoke his name. He turned to see Magdalena staring at him with tears in her eyes. Strands of dark red hair fell about her shoulders and several fine strands blew across her face as she stood staring at him, unable to move.
"Geoffrey. Oh, Geoffrey." Her eyes reflected the horror of seeing him covered in blood and the death she had witnessed throughout the day as she had tried to help the wounded. The blood of the dying stained her gown, drying now as she stood on the deck in the gentle warmth of the trades.
Geoffrey held out a hand to her. Magdalena rested her face against his chest, not seeing the look of pain that crossed his features.
"Why? Why? Geoffrey, must it end this way?" she spoke softly, sensing that all was lost.
"It won't, Magdalena. I won't let it end like this."
Magdalena looked up into his eyes. "I love you."
Geoffrey pressed her lips with his. "My only love. I do not think you realize how happy you have made me. My life would have been very empty these past years without you, my dearest little Spaniard."
Magdalena swallowed, unable to speak, but the love in her eyes spoke for her as she continued to stand in the curve of his arm.
Geoffrey's expression changed as he caught sight of the scattering of pine-studded cays and islets directly off to starboard. Soon, he thought.
"Magdalena, go below and gather up any belongings you can carry. Ask Sir Basil to do the same, my dear. Then wait until I send for you. Master Davis, give Doña Magdalena a hand. Then take care of that list of supplies and see that they are stored in the boat," Geoffrey ordered his steward, who was standing nearby and anxiously watching the sails that seemed to loom closer astern with each passing minute. "Have Masters Waterston, Randall, and Lawson on the quarterdeck immediately."
"Geoffrey? What is this? I do not understand," Magdalena said, an uneasiness beginning to show on her face.
"My dear, if we can't lose them in the islands, then we've got to turn and fight. It is our only hope. I don't want you and Lily on board if it comes to that."
"No, Geoffrey, I won't leave you. I won't!" Magdalena cried.
"I will not have you aboard, Magdalena. If I have to tie you up and put you in that boat myself, I will see you off this ship when we go into battle. Do you understand? I had no choice before. I do now, and I will not further endanger your lives. My dear, I would worry too much if I knew you were on board. Please understand. Besides, the men are a superstitious lot, and as charming as you are, they've not rested easy knowing a woman was on board. They will feel luck is on their side if you and Lily are not aboard," he told her frankly.
"Geoffrey, what purpose is there in my surviving should . . . ? No, I will not leave your side. Don't ask this of me, Geoffrey. Please!" Magdalena pleaded, her nails cutting into his palm as she held on to his hand.
Geoffrey raised her hands to his lips. "I do not ask it of you. You will go ashore in the boat. You will take our daughter out of danger. Nothing must happen to you, and to the child you carry, Magdalena. Sir Basil will accompany you. Have faith, heartling! Was there ever a ship that could best the Arion? They will regret crossing her bow, mark my words," Geoffrey Christian promised, sounding like the familiar, reckless captain of the Arion. " 'Sdeath, but I've not fired my last shot yet! Let them come, and we shall see who sails away with his colors still flying boldly for all to see. Ah, Master Waterson, and Masters Randall and Lawson, just the gentlemen I wished to see. We've got some business to attend to. My dear, please, do as I ask," Geoffrey told Magdalena, who continue
d to stand beside him, an obstinate look in her eye. With a last glance, which he ignored, she slowly turned away and followed the steward below.
"Master Lawson. When we get well into the islands, and if we can't shake the Spaniard, before our enemy gets within range, I want you to lower the boat and row my wife and daughter and Sir Basil Whitelaw ashore. Sir Basil is a very important gentleman with information vital to our country and the safety of the queen; we must protect him at all costs."
Master Lawson, who would gladly die for his captain, opened his mouth to protest having to leave the ship just before the battle. But he realized the crew would feel easier having the woman off the ship. Nothing good had ever come of having a woman on board ship. Bad luck, it was, he thought. And the gentleman, Sir Basil, would only be in the way. "Aye, Cap'n, ye can count on me to see them safely ashore."
"Thank you, Master Lawson. Now, John, let us plan our strategy," Geoffrey Christian said to his first mate, but before he could continue he was racked by a fit of coughing which left a trickle of blood dribbling down his chin from the corner of his mouth.
"Cap'n, sir, ye'd best sit down and let me or Master Davis have a look at that. That wound in your side looks bad, Cap'n," Randall, the bos'n, said worriedly, realizing that the captain had not been wounded in the arm as he had led everyone to believe. "Cap'n, ye've got a mean-looking splinter stickin' in ye. We've got to get it out."
"He is right, Cap'n."
"Later," he said, but he sensed it was already too late, and he vowed he would die on deck, fighting, not below, not in the dark. "Master Randall. A word of warning, if you please. Say nothing of the seriousness of my wound to my wife. She'll never leave the ship if she learns of it," Geoffrey Christian told them.
"Aye, Cap'n," he said before hurrying off to prepare his men.
"You know I have faith in your abilities, Captain," Master Waterston said softly. "But, if the worst should happen, what about Doña Magdalena and your daughter? They will be stranded."
"My wife, Master Waterston, is Spanish. My daughter is half-Spanish. Sir Basil is an English gentleman who will seem of little importance to the Spanish authorities. If we should go down, then Lawson will row back out to one of the galleons. They will not fire upon a boat with a woman and child aboard, regardless of Don Pedro's intentions concerning my family. They will be rescued and returned to Santo Domingo, where my wife's father will see to their needs and Sir Basil's ultimate return to England."
"Ye've got it all planned, Cap'n," John Waterston said in admiration.
"Yes, I do."
The sunrise held little beauty to Sir Basil as he came up on deck with Magdalena and Lily, whose wide-eyed stare was disbelieving as she saw the destruction. Capabells started chattering excitedly, for the smell of death and fear was strong.
"Geoffrey, I must protest," Sir Basil began, feeling like a coward abandoning ship.
" 'Tis for the best, Basil. I cannot see you manning one of the cannon, my friend. I will have more peace of mind, Basil, knowing you are with Magdalena and Lily. I would trust them to no one else," he told his somber-faced friend.
Basil felt helpless. He didn't know what to say. A feeling of desperation was spreading inside of him. "Geoffrey, I--"
"No words are necessary between friends," Geoffrey told him, cutting him short as he watched the boat being prepared to be lowered. "Please take this," he said as he handed Basil the official log of the Arion. "Just in case we go down, I don't want it to get wet," he jested, as if making light of such a thing happening. "I'll get it back from you later," he added with that familiar grin of his as Basil tucked it under his arm with his own journal.
"All set, sweeting?" he asked as he bent down and hugged Lily to him, the monkey wrapped around her neck scolding him.
"Do I have to, Father?" Lily said, her green eyes meeting his for a long moment. "I want to stay on board with you. I don't want to leave, Father."
"Nor do I wish you to. but who will look after your mother and Sir Basil? Now, now. No tears, Lily Francisca. You know I am right. No questioning the captain's orders, mate," he told her, his hand smoothing the dark red hair lovingly.
Lily hugged him tight, smacking a kiss against his cheek before he stood up and embraced Magdalena. Before she could say anything, he kissed her. Taking her by the hand, he led her through the tangle of debris to where the boat was being readied.
They had rounded the headland of a small isle and Geoffrey Christian had brought the Arion's head into the wind, bringing her almost to a standstill while the boat was lowered. Now, as he watched, Sir Basil climbed down the rope ladder and into the boat below. One of the crew carried Lily and Capabells down, while Geoffrey, his face paling with the effort, help Magdalena over the rail, his eyes holding hers for a long moment. Her footing secure, she slowly made her way down into the boat, where Sir Basil stood ready to catch her should she miss her step.
As the boat was shoved off, the oars dipping regularly as Master Lawson rowed toward shore, Geoffrey Christian gave his orders to ease the helm. Gradually the ship and boat drew farther apart as the Arion's sails billowed, but Geoffrey Christian could still see the two people waving to him untiringly from the stern of the little boat as she drew near the shore; then she had disappeared behind a palmetto-studded headland.
Reaching the sandy beach, which curved along the leeward shore and out of sight of the Arion, Master Lawson quickly jumped out of the boat and into the warm waters lapping against the gentle slope of beach. Sir Basil hopped out on the other side and lent a hand in hauling the boat ashore.
With Magdalena and Lily standing high on the beach, just out of reach of the tide, Master Lawson and Sir Basil began unloading the boat of its tidy cargo of personal belongings and what supplies Geoffrey Christian had thought necessary for their brief stay on the island.
They had just about finished the unloading, when the sound of thunder echoed through the air. But when it was repeated again and again, they realized that it was cannon fire. Magdalena ran down to the edge of the beach, the tide breaking against her skirts as she stared hopelessly out to sea, wondering what was happening. The battle was some distance off. The Arion must have made some headway before she had turned to fight, Master Lawson guessed, his eyes straining as much as Magdalena's in searching the empty horizon.
The sounds of battle continued for nearly an hour before there was silence. Then there were several more volleys of shot fired, and that was when Master Lawson raced to the boat and pulling her from her beaching, floated her. Jumping in, he began to row out with a madman's strength.
"Lawson!" Sir Basil yelled after the young man. "Wait!" he called, thinking the man deranged and about to abandon them. "Where are you going? Come back! Don't leave us here!"
"She's not firing back! She must've gone down! I got to rescue them. See if anyone is alive!" he cried, his face determined as he put his shoulders to the rowing. "I'll be back. I promised the captain I'd look after ye!"
Magdalena sank down in the surf, buried her face in her hands and began to weep. Lily was screaming after Lawson, and Sir Basil had to grab hold of her to keep her from racing into the surf after the rowboat and trying to swim out to where the loyal sailor was rowing through the narrow channel that cut through the reefs. As he disappeared around the headland, it was the last, any of them ever saw of Master Lawson.
Sir Basil waded out to Magdalena and helped her to her feet. With her leaning against him, and with Lily held tightly in his other arm, her face still turned out to sea, Sir Basil staggered up the beach, Geoffrey Christian's family now his responsibility.
The hours passed in silence as they waited on shore. The sun sank in a fiery ball that reflected like blood against the water, then darkness fell.
Sir William Cecil shivered and pulled the fur rug closer about his knees as he studied the document spread out on the table before him, the candlelight sending a warming glow across them that did little to cheer him up. The rain blew against the windows and the
cold drafts swirled into the room, apparently oblivious of his importance to the queen, he thought wryly as he shifted closer to the fire burning brightly in the hearth. It had been raining steadily in London for days now, and the storm would most likely would turn into a blizzard before they saw the sun again.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then glanced down again at the information Walsingham had compiled during the last couple of years against Ridolfi. Roberto di Ridolfi, an Italian banker and ardent Papist who had been in close contact with English Catholics unhappy with Elizabeth's reign. He had been interrogated by Walsingham about his frequent activities involving the Spanish embassy and the pope, as well as his connections with the French ambassador and influential Catholics in England, all known sympathizers of the Queen of Scots. He had been directly involved in the transfer of funds from secret sources on the Continent to aid the Catholic cause in England.
Unfortunately, they had not had enough incriminating evidence to hold him, and had to release him. But Walsingham had been keeping a close watch over him, and had discovered that Ridolfi had been very busy of late. More disturbing, however, had been the news that he, no longer confined to his residence, had left England for the Continent. Word had been received that Ridolfi had already met with the Duke of Alva, the Castilian grandee who commanded Philip's forces in the Netherlands and was next to meet with the pope, then Philip himself.
Cecil rested his bearded chin in the palm of his hand as he stared thoughtfully into the flames. What exactly were their plans? He didn't need to be a soothsayer to know what they were plotting--the death of Elizabeth. Now he needed to know who exactly was involved and how they planned it. They had lists of suspected traitors and malcontents, those seeking personal power and a return of the ancient faith, but he sometimes wondered if that was enough. All it would take was the one fanatic they had overlooked, that they had not detected in time. Then it would be too late, and all of the spying and counterspying would have been for naught. Elizabeth Tudor would be dead and England would face invasion.
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 8