Gelis said, ‘If you mean ships, you’re too late for them all. No, maybe Leithie would take you. Have they landed anywhere?’
‘The English? No. And their army hasn’t moved to the Borders, so it isn’t a double invasion, it’s the other thing, an attack on our alternative harbours. They’re signalling that if we don’t give them Berwick, they can stop our trade everywhere.’
‘Father?’ said Jodi.
‘I said you’d decide,’ Gelis said.
‘You want to come? Then come,’ Nicholas said. ‘But fast. Ask John what to bring. Julius, they’ll need you here, at the Wark.’
‘That’s all right,’ Julius said. ‘You herd them in, and we’ll pick them off. Don’t forget the wine-ship.’
‘What wine-ship?’ said Gelis.
‘Never mind,’ Nicholas said.
• • •
JOHN, LORD HOWARD, was himself mildly vexed over the wine-ship, which was not his, but which had been bringing eighty butts of sweet malmsey to await King Edward’s (postponed) martial arrival at Bamburgh, and had been unable either to get into the Holy Isle, or to turn back to Alnwick or Newcastle. Sailing north, his lordship had considered the vessel, a small merchantman, to be in serious danger of falling into Scottish hands, and had swept it temporarily into his fleet, where it still was. Brown, the skipper, was known to some of his men.
Himself, Lord Howard had eleven sizeable warships. He’d left two more and some small ships in the Narrow Sea, and three under Fulford on patrol in the west, but he’d taken the best, and his best captains for this. His charts to Berwick were good, and for the coast after that he had taken on local men who had traded or fished in the area, and he had the man Brown’s advice. The trouble was not so much the damned rocks as the shoals, which shifted from year to year. From tide to tide, heaven help them. When, entering the estuary, he came across this frightened flotilla of oyster boats, he shot a few cross-bolts over their heads until the fishers rowed over, and once they were on board, he distributed them round the squadron as pilots. He distributed the contents of their baskets, as well.
He had been told not to stay long, but to destroy as many ships as he could, obliterate harbour facilities, and put the fear of God into the local exporters. He had seen the balefires; he knew not to expect sitting ducks; if they had any sense (and it turned out that they had), the shaggy brutes would keep what ships they had close to land, and use their fire power to help hold off landings. He continued over the firth and sank one or two fishing-boats whose crews, he suspected, had been too drunk to notice the signals, and then, while the wind stayed where it was, led the way briskly north to the farther shore of the estuary. There, beginning with Crail, he proceeded to nose like a dog along the string of small ports that lined the river, ending with Kinghorn, which would allow him to turn and drift across directly to Leith, if he got the tide right. He wanted everyone to think he was attacking Leith. He knew he hadn’t the remotest hope of getting into Leith and staying there, or staying anywhere, without an auxiliary army and long-term provisions. That wasn’t the purpose of the exercise.
In fact, it went rather well. Crail produced nothing but sling-shot and shoals, so he veered off; but there was shipping in Pittenweem, and not just fishing-boats. A large, half-unloaded roundship from Danzig floated in the harbour with almost no one on board. Under cover of an exchange of crossbow fire, he got some of his marine soldiers across, threw off the crew, sliced her cables and had her towed out, cutting a swathe through the fishing-boats with a few cannon shot as he left. Of course, a foreign prize would cause endless wrangles between England and the country of origin, which was presumably why the Scots had left the poor ignorant sod in full public glare in Pittenweem. On the other hand, as Howard could have told them, foreign ships would think twice about going to Scotland, unless they had guaranteed safety. As they would have (he could promise them), once Berwick was English again.
Kinghorn was even better, with two ships from Sluys and three quite respectable local boats, all of which he eventually succeeded in taking, losing three or four men and some spars. He was content enough not to land.
By the time all six prizes were crewed and secure, the wine-carrier bobbing among them, the wind was quite strong from the south. He flagged the seven ships which were still at full strength, and led them across the river to Leith, but as he had suspected, the barrage that met him was at least as strong as his own, both from the fortified enclosure they called the King’s Wark, and from the ships lined up in the river. He dismasted one of theirs, but took a ball through his own mainsail before he signalled to leave.
The silly louts cheered as he sailed off. He supposed they couldn’t see the cluster in mid-water: his remaining ships guarding his prizes. In any case, they expected him to sail home. They must be watching amazed, as instead he turned the opposite way, and led upriver, on the flood, to the port they called Blackness.
‘I MUST SAY,’ Julius said, ‘Nicholas is good at reading the English maritime mind. Did he catch Preston’s ship? Where is he?’
‘At a rough guess, on the other side of the island of May,’ Gelis said. She wondered whether to tell him, then did. ‘You know Robin’s on board?’
‘What?’
Vintage Julius. He added, ‘Isn’t that bad luck at sea? Like pigs and whistling?’
She said, ‘Leithie seemed to think the sailors could stand it. And it has Tobie’s imprimatur.’
‘Tobie isn’t on board?’ Julius asked. His voice was annoyed as well as derisive.
‘No,’ Gelis said. She said, avoiding other disclosures, ‘Are you watching the signals? If things go wrong, we are going to be very busy indeed.’
BLACKNESS, OF COURSE, was to be Howard’s main objective. He agreed with King Edward. It was the port by which arms and fortification material reached Linlithgow, only four miles away. It was an important alternative to Leith harbour, twenty miles to the east. The fortress itself controlled the whole area, including the seaway to the King’s other castle at Stirling. Capable of being provisioned by water, it was one of the few strongholds which, like Dunbar, could be taken and held by an enemy garrison, almost without limit of time. And today, forced to spread its men and artillery on both sides of the river, the Scottish command must have judged it necessary to reduce the strength of Blackness.
He surged up, banners flying, on the tide. Around him, in his ship and the others, the landing-boats were prepared and the men waited, armed and eager, to land. From the castle, as they neared, he saw two flags run up. One was the sheriff’s, someone told him. The other he had seen before, at the wedding of Duke Charles of Burgundy: that curious chequer, not unlike the flag of the Stewarts, and signifying also the role of the steward, the tax-collector; the man of finance.
Anselm Adorne. Howard experienced surprise. The man, a known supporter of the Knights of St John, had cast his lot, then, with King James. And on the very spot where that great Order had supported Edward of England against the ruffian Wallace, who had occupied their own place at Torphichen. But then, look at Commynes. Loyalty—and he valued it—had to give way sometimes to what was due to one’s name.
His ships took up their positions, dropped sails, and anchored. The holding was less good than he had hoped. They were there to present their guns to the fort, and to cover the disembarkation. He prepared to give the order to fire. As if it had been heard by someone else, the face of the fort became covered with smoke. There came a series of thuds, loud enough to make his helm ring. And a series of balls crashed into the rigging and masts of his ships.
His own guns were already replying, their balls chipping the low curtain wall, the thick stone face, the rock of the fortress. The air was dense with smoke, and with shouting, and the noise of the still-falling wreckage. The lowering of the boats had momentarily stopped and he waved it on. No matter what happened, these men would land. And anyway, guns of that size took time to reload.
This was correct. He hadn’t expected that Blackness
would have not one line of cannon but two, nor that when his men leaped on shore, a crackle of handgun fire would come from the long landward wall. This wasn’t a siege. He had no sows or catapults with him. These men couldn’t wait to be overrun by troops from Linlithgow. They had to storm the fortress now, and take it, fast.
He withdrew and stood off, one sail in tatters, as his guns prepared to repeat their fire. A vessel behind him had been dismasted: it would have to be trimmed and then taken in tow. At the foot of the castle something was beginning to burn. His land force—good men!—had set fire to the great barge at the pier, and at least one other boat alongside it. The fire rose like a curtain, blowing out in the strong, squally wind which was fighting the pull of the river and threatening to drag them all further from shore.
He gave orders for the sweeps to be redoubled. His men were on land. He trusted them. They were well led, by the man who would captain the garrison once they got in. But they were not going to throw their hearts over the wall under all that gunfire if, looking over their shoulders, they thought they saw their ships lose their hold and disappear.
Jack Howard swore. Then he gave a few succinct orders and a moment later, under cover of gunsmoke, was himself being rowed to the shore.
He had joined the others before he was seen from the castle. He rallied them, and attempted one assault, but didn’t waste time on another. There was no chance of a breach on this side, and his heavy fire was hardly denting the sea defences. He set his force to their second objective, and ran with them as they passed from house to house of the village, firing them all. The wind did half their work. Soon there would be nothing, no homes, warehouses, stables, sheds, fencing. Nothing to support or sustain the garrison if and when he got back and laid a proper siege. Then they ran for the boats.
He was lucky not to be killed. Quite a few of them were, even though his ships came in as close for him as they dared. Of course, he wore armour. He even wondered whether, if he knew Adorne’s coat of arms, Adorne might know his. The Order, if nothing else, recognised chivalry.
Then they were on board; and raised sail, with a last cannonade, to which the fortress replied. Behind them, the township burned: a beacon that said, not the English are coming, but the English have been. He had achieved something.
His prizes and the rest of his ships were further off, because of the wind, but he would catch up with them when the tide changed, and meanwhile could see to his repairs. It was not going to be a pleasant flog south—he was going to need sea room and some wearisome tacking, which was always tiresome with an undermanned fleet, never mind one with a cripple in tow. In its way, though, it was quite a triumph—every vessel he had met sunk or burned, save for the six fine ships he had taken. Maybe more, before he got out of these waters. He could hear, when he got close enough, that his men on the waiting vessels were singing. He thought, when they were in order and sailing together again, that he would break out some ale, and they could have a bite of those oysters. He supposed they could let the oystermen go.
He found, as he arrived and boarded the noisiest ship, that the oystermen had gone. He found, crunching on shells, that his crews had already broached the baskets of shellfish. He discovered that, tipped off by the oystermen (was it possible?), the remaining part of his fleet had discovered the nature of their little stray companion’s cargo and, being in the way of deserving a celebration, had helped themselves from its hold.
The wine-ship, like the oystermen, was with them no longer. Its captain, having made a number of unauthorised concessions, had thought it prudent to retreat out of reach, a decision with which the more sober officers of Howard’s fleet had agreed. It had seemed safe enough. They had cleared the firth of every ship within reach. No one could have guessed that some sly enemy vessel, lurking behind the island of May, would actually dart out and race after the wine-ship. When last seen, King Edward’s malmsey, of which there remained many butts, was flying north and east before a powerful beam wind and a Scottish pursuer.
‘Let it go,’ Jack Howard said. ‘We can’t drag all this lot after, and then beat all the way back, just for that. So. Where is this wine, and where are the oysters?’ When it was too late for reprimand, it was best to be hearty.
The wine was superb; but the singing turned sluggish and died, as the oysters had done, from ill-health.
It was a very, very bad voyage south.
ROBIN, BRUISED AND aching and strapped to a fiendish harness on deck, was speechless with laughter, while Jodi hung over the rail at his side, his dimpled face scarlet with pleasure. The sails creaked, the sea hissed, and far ahead of them in a flurry of spume the English wine-ship was striving, apparently, for Ultima Thule. Nicholas, ending his recital, said, ‘I’ve got some good oysters, grata ingluvies, if anyone wants them. No. It was a joke, but they’ve burned every house in Blackness. And they’ve captured eight ships, including three good fishing vessels, among the decoys. I saw them take two more as they left.’ He was talking to Nowie Sinclair, who was sitting on a hatchcover, looking amazed. Preston was at the helm.
Nowie said, ‘I think it’s remarkable. I think the whole scheme is quite, quite remarkable. So what about the three foreign ships, you said? They’ll blame England, of course, but they’ll also put pressure on us, won’t they, to cede Berwick and stop the dispute?’
‘England thinks they will,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I know all the skippers. The owners will get the ships back, with compensation, and the cargo is well insured. The good stuff was ashore already anyway.’
‘And now, for a bonus, we have the wine-ship,’ Nowie said.
Nicholas caught Robin’s eye. It had been a surprise, on first coming aboard, to find Nowie on Preston’s boat; but of course the Sinclairs were historically the Prestons’ superiors, and Sir Oliver probably owned the boat anyway. It was also typical of Nowie’s undoubted charm that he had welcomed Robin as soon as he discovered him, and had been equally courteous to Jordan, aged twelve. When, still attired as an oyster fisherman, Nicholas had rejoined them all, it was to find the same mellow atmosphere. At times, Nowie might be a wealthy, spoiled martinet, but you forgave him for his exquisite manners. It amused Nicholas, now he knew him, to recognise the steely deliberation behind every inconsequential question, such as this one.
Nicholas said thoughtfully, ‘Yes. The wine-ship. Do you think Leithie Preston could join us?’ He turned to the skipper, who was watching him. Preston gave someone the helm.
‘You know something about the wine-ship?’ said Sir Oliver Sinclair. ‘And I see Robin does, too.’
‘And me,’ said Leithie, arriving. Brisk, acquisitive, humourless like all his Craigmillar kin, he was never deferential, even to overlords. It had never amazed Nicholas that the other Thomas Preston should have been killed in a courtroom quarrel at Forfar. They were all clever seamen. Leithie said, continuing, ‘It’s an English boat all right, but it’s not English-owned. It changed hands the other day, and guess who bought it: that fool Alec Brown. That’s him sailing her now, desperate to leave us behind, in case we notice he’s carrying wine to the enemy.’
‘Is this true?’ Nowie said.
‘He was brought on board Howard’s ship. He didn’t recognise me,’ Nicholas said. ‘We were wondering what best to do.’
There was as much of a silence as there ever can be in the howl and crash of a three-masted sailing ship with a following sea. Robin’s smiling eyes were on Jordan, who met them, and slowly ceased looking uneasy.
Nowie said, ‘In Berwick, one gathers, this is not unusual. Stupid, however.’
‘Very,’ said Nicholas. ‘Alec has a good memory for troop movements, though. Master Whitelaw calls on him quite often at Ratho.’
‘I suppose I could verify that,’ said Sir Oliver Sinclair. His fair skin, in the sun, was powdered with freckles, and his frame was as broad as a bullock’s. ‘At the same time, I fear that his interest is chiefly in profit-making.’
‘That is easily verifiable as well,’ Nicholas
said.
‘What, no pressure? How discreet you are being,’ said Sinclair. ‘I rather like that, my Nicol. I agree, the man is probably doing no harm, although he will hang himself in the end. I do not think he should be allowed necessarily to profit from provisioning the English. Neither do I think he need die, although I do not wish, either, to be associated with his survival. In fact, I think the problem may resolve itself, given time. Are we in any haste to return?’
‘No,’ said Robin, considering.
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘Eh—’ said Leithie.
‘No,’ said his patron, in helpful translation. ‘In that case, let us sit back and enjoy a leisurely chase. What have we to eat, besides oysters?’
FAR TO THE north, in the islands of Orkney, the youngest and cleverest Sinclair prince stood on the stone wharf at Stromness and peered out to sea. ‘What’s that?’
After only a decade of belonging to Scotland, the average Orcadian still spoke largely in Norse. The harbourmaster said, ‘It’s a prize ship, my lord, in the grip of three Ronaldsay boats. Shall I send out and bring the master ashore?’
‘Do that,’ said Henry Sinclair. ‘And bring him to the house. And if the Bishop asks, he’s carrying nothing but ballast.’ The Sinclairs might not be Earls of Orkney any more, but they were still powerful landowners, with favours to hand out, and call in.
It turned out the ship was carrying wine. And what was more, the skipper looked oddly familiar, for a man who claimed to come from Hull. But the ship was English all right, and so were the seals on the butts. The man was generous, too: he offered to leave all the wine, if he might be allowed to take his ship and sail off to the west. When the young lord pointed out that the wine and the ship were his anyway, the man grew even more agitated. Then someone came in with the news that a second ship was on its way in; a Scots one this time. The messenger added something else in the Master’s ear.
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