The Captain leaned over the slight figure, pulling aside the bonnet which partly hid its face.
"Dear God in heaven," he said. "I want men—not children."
The lad groaned and opened his eyes and the Captain stared into a pale face under rebellious chestnut curls and eyes of a remarkable colour. So deep blue, he thought, as to be almost violet. A quivering lip and fast-growing bruise on the lad's soft chin completed the picture.
"Dear God," the Captain repeated.
Beth thought perhaps she was dead after all as she stared terrified into the face of the man which hovered dizzily above her. A face strong of jaw, with deep-set hazel eyes. A not unattractive face under somewhat unruly tawny hair.
Beth closed her eyes again. She must be dreaming.
Yes, that was it! She would awaken any moment now. How extraordinary was this dream. It seemed, by the sound of gulls and the creaking timbers, that she was on a ship at sea.
She opened her eyes and quickly closed them once again, a little afraid of the rough faces hovering over her. She tried hard to concentrate on reawakening, on finding herself in her bed at Craighall. Strange that the man with tawny hair had made 'Such an impression upon her. She had never expected to see him again after Folkestone—
Folkestone! It had happened. Her flight to seek her cousin Alys at Sand Bay and finding she had gone to London to await her babe's birth. Then Star shedding a shoe and her search for a blacksmith. The deserted market square, the burial at the graveside, the chief mourners—the striking couple, he with his imposing looks, the girl so beautiful—
Dear heaven, that was no dream! She gave a little scream of terror, remembering her flight from the pressers, and opening her eyes once more, saw their villainous faces. She struggled to rise, to fly once more, but the tawny-headed captain had strong hands. They held her firmly by the shoulders.
"Let me go—please."
"How old are you, lad?" His voice was not unkind.
Beth shook her head.
"Speak up when Cap'n addresses you—or it'll be the worse for you," said a rough voice, its owner unseen.
"Fourteen, sir," she whispered.
"Fourteen. Stand up and let's have a look at you," said the Captain, assisting her to rise. He then proto pull the cloak from her shoulders and she stood shivering before him.
"I want to go home, sir," she wailed. "There has been some mistake."
"Mistake?" The Captain was laughing, throwing his head back. He had, she noticed, excellent teeth. "Do you hear that, men, the lad thinks you have made a mistake."
The rough faces reappeared, the deck echoing with their coarse laughter. "All right, men. Shall we let the lad go home?"
"Ay. Ay, Cap'n—"
The Captain was smiling at her. "You heard the men, lad. You can go home."
Beth stifled a curtsey, turned it into an awkward bow. "Thank you, sir—er—Captain. I am most grateful to you."
The Captain, no longer smiling, turned on his heel. "Bo'sun, escort the young gentleman to the gangway."
"Gangway's up, Cap'n."
"Then the side of the ship will do as well."
Beth found herself marched to the side of the ship. She stared into a vast expanse of waves. Green, they were, with white curls of foam—and a great many of them, bouncing off the ship. Bewildered, she looked for land and to her horror saw a fast-retreating land mass, only vaguely recognisable as Folkestone.
"What are you waiting for, lad? That's home back there," said the Captain in honeyed tones.
Beth shook her head miserably.
"Do you swim?"
Beth shook her head. "I cannot swim, sir." Suddenly her eyes blazed with anger at his cruel deception. "And even if I could, you know perfectly well that I could never reach the shore—"
The Captain grinned, pleased at the results of his teasing. A moment later all merriment had left his face, so suddenly that it seemed that a candle had been doused. "Very well," he said coldly, "since you cannot swim, then you had best put up with what you cannot change. You must put up with us and we, alas, with you." He sighed, rubbing his chin. "Fourteen, did you say you were?"
Under his steady gaze, Beth was glad of the leather jerkin which hid her figure, glad too that illness had taken away the few curves she possessed.
Straight as a post, her aunt had groaned. What man would want to bed her? We must be grateful that James Danyell has never set eyes upon her, except for an indifferent miniature painted by a starving artist for a miserly fee.
"Have you a name?" the Captain was asking.
"Ay, sir."
"Ay, sir—that's no name. Come on, lad, you waste my time. Spit it out."
"Ben, sir, Ben Perkins."
"Very well, Ben Perkins. Bo'sun here will set you to work. Have you a head for heights?"
"Ay, sir—I think so." And Beth remembered, a wild and beautiful dream, those cliff-clamberings with Will Robb. At the thought of Will, hope filled her flagging spirits. Surely she would find him now, perhaps that was what fate had intended. She knew it was not too late to tell the Captain of her deception, but if he knew she was a girl, he would surely find ways and means of returning her to the mainland where her aunt and uncle would be only too eager to see the proxy marriage through as fast as possible. After suitable punishment for her wickedness in running away!
She shuddered at the thought of their anger, so terrified they would be in case her escapade reached the ears of James Danyell and he saw fit to withdraw his offer of marriage. Running away was the end of a young girl's good name, the mark of a wanton. No respectable man could be expected to offer her marriage when it was known that she had run away and, disguised as a boy, sailed on one of the Queen's ships.
Beth sighed. Her only hope was in finding Will. He would take care of her. He would be proud of her. She saw them being married on the deck of the Ark Royal under the kindly eye of the Lord High Admiral who did not even remember that Beth Howard was a very poor and very distant relation.
Her daydream was interrupted by the Captain's voice:
"Set him to work, Master Bo'sun."
"Ay, sir."
The Captain walked a few steps away, hands behind his back, then turning he said: "These decks are filthy. They smell abominably. Here, you lad—I want the filth—and the smell removed. And quickly. Do you hear?"
"Ay, Captain."
The sailor seized Beth by the arm. "Get you to work. You heard Cap'n's orders. Over there. You'll find a broom. Take up water -..here's a pail."
The pail had a long rope attached and with it Beth, with some difficulty, managed to negotiate from the waves the sea water required for her task. The pails were very heavy and a lot of water spilt, her hands blistered from the rope too, but she was only too glad to escape from the attentions of the Captain and his crew.
She discovered that her task required stouter arms -and a stouter heart—than hers. The Captain had spoken truth. The decks were foul, they smelt of vomit and blood, an unfortunate combination when her nose was less than a yard away, and kneeling down she scrubbed at them vigorously, trying hard to hold her breath at the same time. She tried not to let her ready imagination paint the cause, the wounded and dying men who had lain there. Stifling her nausea, she tried not to let her mind dwell upon the scene. She found some difficulty in collecting her pails of water and they spilt very readily as the ship encountered heavy seas. Occasionally she had to seize the rail as they bounced into the lustier waters of the North Sea. All around her, men were occupied with repairs, with sails and hammers and nails.
Beth observed that they no longer had the sea to themselves. Other ships, flying the green and white of the Queen's personal colours, were filling the horizon. Sails billowing, they stood out to a brisk wind, their destination France.
She watched a tiny pinnace bounced across the waves towards them. The oarsmen brought the news everyone had been waiting for. The Spanish Armada was at anchor in the port of Calais, a town of ancient grievance, never r
eliable in its friendship to the English.
"What is this, lad? Finished your task already?"
"Ay, Captain."
The Captain's smile vanished and an angry frown darkened his face. "What? Do you call this finished labour? What about these stains?" He touched them with the toe of his well-polished boot.
"I cannot remove them, Captain. They are bloodstains."
"Do not presume to tell me what I know already," roared the Captain. "Of course they are bloodstains. What do you expect on a fighting ship—perfumes from Araby?"
"I cannot remove them, Captain, truly I cannot."
"Then listen to me, Master Perkins. If you do not get down on your knees and remove every trace of those stains by the time I return, some of your own lily-livered blood, off that fine soft back of yours, will be also mingling with the blood of brave men on my decks."
Beth's lip quivered. "I cannot—"
The Captain thumped his fists together. "You listen well to me, lad. The penalty for saying cannot, or will not, or manifesting disobedience to your Captain's commands, is a dozen lashes. For a start, that is, a first offence. It is twenty the next time, then forty. At your rate, lad, you will be likely to return to port with no flesh on your back at all. Now get to work." And angrily he kicked the broom towards her. "And be brisk about it."
"Boarding party, Cap'n. From the flagship," called a voice from the deck above.
"Send them to my cabin, Master Pilot."
Beth, staring across the deck, saw that a great ship now lay alongside. She joined the crew who were watching it and one sailor said proudly:
"That is the Ark Royal. The flagship - and the pride of all the Queen's ships. The Lord Admiral Howard commands her."
The Ark Royal. Beth stared across the short stretch of sea which separated them.. Somewhere behind the dark gunloops on the lower deck was an apprentice, Will Robb, quite unaware that Beth Howard was within hailing distance. She clasped her hands, part in joy part in anguish. Oh, to have him so near to her! If only she could call out to him, do something to attract his attention. She looked at the deck above her. Perhaps from there, she would have a chance of being seen.
She ran up the steps and leaning across the rail, waved her arms frantically. Suddenly she was aware that although her attempts to attract attention on the Ark Royal were futile, she was the object of some amusement to a group of gentlemen in ruff and velvet who had emerged from what was undoubtedly the Captain's cabin, judging from his ferocious scowl in her direction.
He indicated she was to remain there as he said his farewells to the boarding party and watched them descend the rope ladder and return to the waiting pinnace. Then he strode across to her.
"What is your business here, Master Perkins?"
"Nothing, Captain."
He frowned. "What are you about? What were you signalling to the flagship?"
"I was not signalling anything, Captain."
"Come, lad, the truth now. I saw you with my own eyes, waving your arms in the direction of the Ark Royal."
"I was not signalling, Captain. I have a friend, from my home town. He is an apprentice on the flagship."
"An apprentice," thundered the Captain, seizing her by the shoulders. "How dare you use my deck for such a purpose?"
"I am sorry, Captain. I did not think you would mind."
"Mind! Dear God." The Captain released her. "Dear God."
Wiping tears away with her sleeve, she said: "I am sorry, truly."
"So you have a friend," said the Captain slowly. "Then you are indeed fortunate, since you are, Master Perkins, a complete simpleton. What do you think we are about on this ship, what think you of these dangerous times we live in? Do you think we embark on nothing more desperate than a bowls match upon the greens at Plymouth Hoe?"
"I did not think, Captain—"
"Then you had better begin to do so—or before God, I will have the skin off your back. We are at war," he continued through clenched teeth. "We are at war, men are dying—have died—good brave men have given their lives, while you take time off from my orders to wave to a friend on the Ark Royal." She watched his raised hand, expecting it to strike her to the deck. Slowly he lowered his fist. "You try my patience, Master Perkins, do not try it beyond endurance. Master Bo'sun!" he called.
The boatswain with his shabby clothes, sea-stained and dirty, but once the garb of some wealthy gentleman, leaped up the steps.
"Give this—this—lad—something to occupy his idleness."
"Ay, sir."
"We are under orders from the flagship to keep constant lookout. We need lads with sharp eyes." He swung round to face Beth. "Doubtless your eyes are sharper than your wits. Set him to the lookout, Master Bo'sun, the deck-scrubbing must wait!"
The Captain vanished into his cabin while Beth followed the boatswain who stopped by a tall mast and pointed upwards.
"Up you go. Sharp as you can."
Beth stared up dizzily at the swaying pole. "To the top?" she gulped.
"Ay, lad, that's crow's nest—lookout."
She could barely discern a tiny platform attached to the mast far above.
"Off you go. Sharp as you like," said the boatswain, pushing her towards it.
"I cannot—I cannot," she whispered, cowering away from him.
"What is this, Master Bo'sun?" demanded the Captain, strolling back. "Have we another mutiny?"
"Nay, Cap'n. The lad says he is fearful—"
"Fearful, is he? He will be more fearful when he gets the weight of the lash across his back." He seized Beth by the shoulders as he spoke, shaking her until she felt her teeth rattling. "Listen to me, lad," he said, his face inches away from her own. "I have taken all I intend to take from you. Do you obey now, or will you take your punishment? This is your last chance."
Quivering in every limb, Beth said: "I will obey." And eyes tightly closed, watched by the Captain and the boatswain, she began to climb as fast as her trembling legs and arms would carry her.
CHAPTER FOUR
As the agony of climbing grew with every step, Beth could not believe she would ever reach her destination in the crow's nest, frail and far above her, swaying in the wind.
Every passing moment, she expected the lurching of the ship to hurl her back down upon the deck, already a sickening distance away. After one frightened glance to see if the Captain and the boatswain were still watching her, relief at finding they had lost interest in the scene turned to swift dismay.
No nightmare had ever reached the proportions of this reality thrust upon her. She dared look neither up nor down, but grimly set one hand after another, one foot after the other on the insubstantial ropes. She prayed for a foothold, a handhold that would keep her steady, dangling in space. A quick glance downward to the deck and the tiny figures who occupied it, more like busy flies than humans, was almost her undoing. Limp, dizzy, she clung to the mast feeling the cold sweat of terror on her brow.
The climb on its own was hazard enough, but occasionally the ship lurched violently, or a blast of wind fiercer than normal had her holding on to her frail perch gasping with fear. An eternity seemed to pass before she set both hands and feet firmly upon the tiny platform and realised she had reached her goal.
Sick with relief, she crouched in the crow's nest. When at last she felt able to breathe freely again, she discovered that apart from the chill winds, from which she had little shelter, the view across sea and ships was magnificent. She almost forgot her terror in the climb as she realised that the top of the ship's mast was the nearest mortal man ever approached to the angels.
This is like being a bird, she thought. This is what it must be like to hover and to fly.
The air was clearer, sharper and fresher than Beth had ever smelt on land. The clouds seemed nearer. They brought the comforting thought that Heaven was close by, that the hand of God might stretch out from behind them and touch her. This proximity of eternity brought reassurance. She expected to see angels with their great wh
ite wings. She drew in a deep breath of sheer happiness. It was good to be away from the ancient weary world of man, with all its sins and sorrows.
Perhaps her prayers had been answered, for she no longer felt afraid, exhilarated by this new dimension of an experience known to few mortals. She felt that she had made a discovery, almost as important as Columbus with his New World of the Americas.
Apart from the intense cold, she was no longer uncomfortable and could see below her the ships of the Queen's navy, bustling across the sea, each one perfect with its bright sails forming a pattern in superb seamanship.
She had lost sight of the Ark Royal and was searching the gathered ships trying to distinguish its position, when on the far horizon she noticed a dark shadow of spires. At first glance this appeared to be a town on the French coast, but then with a shiver of fear, Beth realised this was no town, but in fact, the Armada of Spain, stretched out across the harbour at Calais.
The enemy was ready, waiting for them.
She called down to the deck that the Spanish ships were now in sight. "Keep them in view constantly. Inform us immediately there is any change in their formation," was the reply.
"How long do I stay up here?" she asked, feeling hungry now as well as cold.
"Until you are relieved—at the next watch. Three hours hence."
By the time the watch had ended, it had also taken with it that first fine edge of Beth's enthusiasm for the noble prospect of sky and ships. And she had encountered more than enough of that exhilarating fresh air. Numbed with cold, her nose running constantly, blowing upon frozen fingers to restore their circulation, at last she heard the welcome cry:
"Return to the deck."
Her first eagerness to be quit of her post soon gave rise to other problems. Her arms and legs were numb, so too were her feet. The ascent had been fearful indeed but was child's play compared with the descent. Travelling down the ropes in her half-frozen condition was both terrifying and dangerous. Several times a hand or a foot slipped and, screaming, she seemed to dangle in space before she found the rope again.
"Show a leg there. Get a move on." There was impatience in the voice urging her ever downwards. It was her undoing.
The Queen's Captain Page 4