Should James Danyell die, she would be free. Turning, she looked again at the lonely figure, her mind straying beyond the clothes and armour to the body which she knew well from that one glimpse. She recoiled from the thought of that magnificent body lying broken, cold and dead—
If James Danyell died, she would indeed be free. And no devil tempted her to wish for release at such a price. She did not want him dead. She knew with all her heart, with every fibre of her being that she wished only that he might live. In that knowledge she saw him clearly for the first time detached from the anger and resentment which had been part of her world since the signing of the marriage contract. Now she beheld a new James Danyell, whose existence she had not suspected, still young and not unattractive, a man whom the passing years would merely mellow. A man most women would call handsome, but more, one whom men too would follow and respect. Courageous, stern but lonely, he carried some deep inward sorrow, and she recalled the scene in the graveyard at Folkestone, the beautiful girl whose name she guessed was Madeleine.
If only Madeleine did not exist, her heart whispered, then she might most willingly put aside her prejudices to the marriage.
A cheer from the crew had her rushing to the rail, where they watched two damaged galleons wallowing low in the water, one taking water heavily through the many holes in its hull.
"We have them by the throat, lads," said the boatswain. "See—"
Through the smoke, Beth saw a different picture to the proud show at dawn. What had been a splendid array then was now a helpless mob of drifting ships, a ragged Armada.
"Ay, lads, they are land-locked by the Flanders sands - with the Queen's ships after them. Over there -look—"
Turning, they saw another galleon creeping up to starboard with all broadsides blazing, and hastily the Sea Queen rushed to battle orders—
"Master Perkins!" On the deck above her stood the Captain. Beth ran to his side. He was leaning heavily upon the rail, shaking his head, as if he could thereby shake off pain and see the day and the. battle ahead more clearly.
"Master Perkins, it grows dark," he whispered. "Stay with me, for I grow faint. I have lost much blood, I fear, and if the battle continues much longer I—" He swayed, and unable to support his weight she was carried down to the deck with him.
Was he dying? Please God, do not let him die, she prayed, and looking at the parchment-pale face her tears began to fall. Then it seemed that God and the angels cried with her, for all around were falling drops of moisture. And looking up, she saw that the rain had begun.
Much of the changing weather had been hidden by the smoke and fury of battle, but now she saw that the breeze which had been with them since dawn had changed into a violent squall. The heavy rain brought Captain Danyell sharply back to consciousness. He groaned and struggled to sit up.
"Help me, Master Perkins. Help me to my feet."
"But, Captain—"
"Obey my orders, Master Perkins. I am not dead yet."
With her support he managed to seize the rail and leaned against it, eyes closed. The rain fell in torrents around them.
"Get the bo'sun."
Beth saw him running along the deck and called that the Captain wished to see him. He ran up the steps.
"Cap'n, this weather puts a different complexion on things. Just when it seems we had them at our mercy—we cannot fight in this. It is taking our ships all their time to keep out of each other's way—"
"What damage to our ship?"
"We are hit below decks, leaking badly—"
"Powder and shot?"
"Almost done, Cap'n."
The Captain groaned, and would have fallen but for the bo'sun's arm.
"What ails him, lad?"
"He is wounded. He was wounded by a Spanish patrol boat as he tended the fireships last night. But he would not let me tell anyone, he insisted that he could carry on, give the orders. I nursed him through the night, but he has lost much blood." And Beth could not decide whether her tears or the rain ran faster down her cheeks.
The man knelt beside his Captain. "He is alive, lad. Come along, Cap'n. I will carry thee down to the cabin."
The Captain stirred. "You will not, Master Bo'sun. I will not have my men affrighted."
"Makes little difference now, Cap'n. Battle is almost over."
"May I remind you that the signal has not yet been given from the flagship?"
"Cap'n, meaning no disrespect, but I can do what is needed."
"I will continue—"
"Listen."
The decks no longer shook under them, the air was no longer rent with the scream of roundshot.
"The cannons have stopped firing."
They could hear shouts from other ships, orders being given as crews swarmed up the rigging to shorten sail. The smoke and deafening noise which had wrapped each ship around was evaporating. Now through the murk of a sunset tinged with heavy rain, they saw that the San Martin, flagship of Spain's Armada, had broken off the fight and was running for the safe waters of the North Sea.
The Queen's ships had won the Battle of Gravelines, and at that moment the sudden calm was pierced by the signal gun from Revenge.
"God be praised," said the Captain. "Now I will return to my cabin, and you will attend me there for my orders, Master Bo'sun. Your arm, if you please, Master Perkins."
But he had not walked a dozen steps before he fell, and it was the sailors who carried him in a dead swoon back to his cabin.
His eyes flickered open as they laid him upon the bed.
"I wish to have a full report of damage and casualties. Go. Master Perkins here will see to my needs."
As the door closed on the bo'sun, the Captain turned and wearily tried to raise himself on one elbow. Finally Beth assisted him to sit back against the pillows.
"Remove my boots, if you please, lad. I shall not need them again this day." As she did so, he grinned feebly. "Look not so afraid, I am far from dead yet."
Returning with water and linen to attend to his wound, she noticed that his breathing seemed irregular. He stretched out a hand towards her, and it was the colour of old ivory.
"I would take wine, Master Perkins, before we begin operations. Do not hover so, lad—let us be brisk." And drinking the wine she gave him, he said, "Very well, Master Perkins, I place myself in your gentle hands. Let us proceed."
It was a matter easier said than performed, for the jerkin he wore under the cuirass was stuck fast to his shirt, which in turn stuck fast to his body. When Beth finally prised it free from the wound it began to bleed copiously, and she saw that it looked considerably worse than it had done the night before. Bathing him as gently as possible, she prayed that her inexpert bandaging was not responsible.
She had made him as comfortable as she could and was removing the unguents when the boatswain returned to report that the ship was damaged in two places below near the water-line. It was essential that repairs were carried out before the next storm, as the temporary measures would not hold in rough weather when they would take in water fast. There was also minor damage to masts and rigging.
"And ten of the men, Cap'n. Six wounded, four dead, not counting Luke." He regarded the Captain anxiously. "Not counting yourself, either. How do you now, Cap'n?"
"Tolerable well, thanks to the lad here." He nodded in Beth's direction.
"Ay, Cap'n. He was a considerable help to us during the battle with the wounded. For so young a lad, and frail too, he seemed to know what he was about," he added approvingly, and Beth realised that this was praise indeed.
"Signal the flagship that we have been damaged, Master Bo'sun, and request permission to withdraw from the squadron until we have effected our repairs."
"Ay, Cap'n."
The Captain slept after that and Beth hoped the forces of nature would bring healing, for she had more faith in natural sleep than in the unguents and strange herbs which the Captain claimed to have brought with him from voyages to distant and heathen shores.
Finding
that his worn, exhausted face stirred undue thoughts of compassion and anxiety, she turned abruptly away and after consuming sea biscuits and dried beef, which tasted less dreadful than before -possibly because she was very hungry—she set about washing linen and tidying the cabin.
She was interrupted by a sailor who announced that a messenger had arrived from the Lord Admiral's flagship, Ark Royal, with a letter for the Captain.
"The Captain sleeps," she said.
"I do not, Master Perkins. I am fully awake now; show me the letter—or better still, read it to me."
"It is from Sir Francis Drake, sir, written under orders from Admiral Howard. Since the Sea Queen is so damaged and her Captain wounded, we are to make all possible haste back to England with a message for Her Majesty that the Armada is in flight and her ships pursuing it into the North Sea."
The Captain smiled. "And that, I fancy, indicates that victory over the Spaniard is indeed ours."
Beth's answering smile was not only pleasure that the Battle of Gravelines was over, but also concerned her own plans for immediate escape as soon as the Sea Queen reached an English harbour.
CHAPTER TEN
The people of England gave them a hero's welcome. At Tilbury and Gravesend, all along the coast in small groups and large, they had gathered since dawn, anxiously waiting on clifftop and harbour, scanning the horizon for some signal of how the battle fared.
When the first sail billowed across, they searched uneasily for the red cross of Burgundy, the mark of Spain. But when it came to full view they saw instead the green and white colours of the Queen's ships, with a signal gun and banners, hung over the bulwarks, proclaiming victory.
The ship was the Sea Queen, listing heavily, its masts splintered. However, a great cheer arose from a thousand throats when they saw that Captain James Danyell was, as he had insisted he should be, at his proper place by its helm.
Beth decided that a night's rest had made a remarkable improvement in his condition, but she lingered discreetly nearby in case of accident. As they approached the harbour, she saw that the world and his wife, and numerous offspring, awaited them, all eager, crowding close, shouting for news of the battle and as they drew alongside, or for word of specific ships upon which their men fought.
A rider was despatched to the Queen and after handing over to the harbour master a list of known casualties, Captain Danyell said:
"I am for Millefleur, Master Bo'sun. Send word to me when we are ready for sea again, like enough to rejoin the Queen's ships out yonder."
"Cap'n, sir, do you want one of us to accompany you?" the boatswain asked timidly.
The Captain smiled. "Nay, you are all needed, every man, every pair of hands. But I am grateful for your offer—"
With dry land but a step away, Beth was considering how she could best slip away from the ship unnoticed. She frowned; probably she would need to wait patiently for darkness, and then make her way to London to seek employment. Her heart misgave her at what the ship's duties for the day might contain. In the Captain's absence, she could expect no favours from the crew, and she shuddered at the prospect of being sent up the rigging once again, to sit there with nails and hammer, or with needle to repair the torn sail—
Suddenly she heard the Captain saying: "I will take the lad here with me—like as not he may prove useful. Find me a riverman who goes upstream, Master Perkins, as far as Millefleur."
This presented no difficulty, since the harbour was the scene of considerable activity, as many people who had business up-river at London and at the Queen's palace of Greenwich, preferred to use the large passenger-carrying barges rather than face the tedium of hard riding or loaded wagons, by the inward land roads.
After her first annoyance, Beth was cheered that destiny had taken a hand in her affairs. London was the barge's destination. The first stage of her journey was smoothly planned, since she had escaped from the ship thanks to the Captain's innocent intervention. Seeing him comfortably bestowed with his valise, she thought about the future and what London might hold for her.
London, that vast and fearful city. What were her prospects of securing a position there? Without experience of the world beyond Craighall, she had however learned to perform menial tasks efficiently, for all her apparent genteel upbringing. It was fortunate indeed that the Captain had chosen this mode of transport.
He looked reasonably docile, she thought, and young too, with the breeze tugging at his tawny hair, eyes amber in the sunshine which threw a becoming glow over the high-cheekboned face with its deeply cleft chin. With his claws sheathed, the stern countenance sun-softened, he looked like an almost tame tiger.
She was too late to hide her smile.
"You are amused, Master Perkins? Come, share it with me."
She shook her head. "Naught but the pleasure of being safe home."
"We have much to be grateful for, lad—to have survived. In truth I never expected to know this peace again." He sighed. "Going home, with the sun on the river. How find you this waterway compared with the stormy sea?"
"I have never travelled thus before, sir, and it is greatly to my liking," she added, laughing delightedly as a bend in the river hid Gravesend from sight.
The world was suddenly rural, lush with greenery, remote from the busy scene they had left. Birds sang from every tree and a flotilla of graceful swans drifted towards them, their leader peevishly thrusting his way through the marshweed and hissing in their direction.
The Captain laughed. "He is giving us due warning that we trespass upon his territory."
"Is it far to Millefleur?" she asked.
"Nay, we will be there within the hour."
So their ill-fated acquaintance was to be lengthened by an hour. Beth decided she must ask the Captain for the wages due to her, some small sum to tide her over until she found a position as servant. If all else failed she could somehow make her way back to Craighall to face her guardians' rage. Even as a last resort it was a fearful prospect, since they might bang the door in her face as she was no longer a marriageable proposition. At best she could hope only for the life of a wretched servant, bullied and ill-treated more than ever, since they would undoubtedly make her suffer for their humiliation.
She looked at James Danyell. At least she was safe from him, and he would never now know the identity of his reluctant bride. She decided to retain her disguise for a while when she reached London, hiding girl's timidity behind boy's braver stride—
The Captain nodded sleepily in the warm sunshine and she felt suddenly wistful at their imminent parting. She sat up frowning, telling herself that it was mere anxiety for his hurt, not—not because of that small voice whispering—that she was beginning to care for him just a little. She thrust the betraying, outrageous thought aside as his eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, he looked around with childlike bewilderment, baffled by his surroundings, his face anxious. Then, turning, he saw her and smiled, that gentle beguiling smile so rare, so dear.
Hastily she turned her face away to hide the feelings naked in her eyes.
He yawned. "Have -I slept long?"
"Nay, Captain, but such sleep is good for you."
He shrugged off weariness and winced as the movement taxed his injured side. "I was far off, deep in dreams. Is this not better than dusty roads? You will find a freedom here akin to that on the sea. Do you not think so?"
Bewildered by her emotions, she did not reply, but concentrated on the river for there was an endless fascination and variety in this mode of travel. The rhythmic dip of the rivermen's oars, casting great circles away to the secret reed-infested shallows, overhung by willows.
At each bend—and there were many—another pageant of life was presented to them in the crowded barges all passing within an arm's length of them.
Each twist of the river too, revealed a complete change of scene. The stark contrast of rustic farm with its horse, cart and haymakers, an undulating hill, tree-topped with ruined church, arched stark and tragi
c against the sky. A weed-encrusted churchyard dank with melancholy, as here and there some grey stone cross stretched imploring arms into the blue, beseeching remembrance. A flour mill brisk with business, a windmill, arms dancing—the skyline too ever changing, the clouds reshaping, dwindling and massing over field and hill and hamlet.
"Over there," the Captain pointed. "See, those are the ruins of a Roman villa."
Incredible that a house from fifteen hundred years ago should survive, although there was little now in evidence but a few broken pillars and a crumbling heap of stone to tell of the conquest of Britain by Caesar's legions.
"The Romans had a civilisation while we still lived in caves," said the Captain. "They built villas and forts, roads and temples to Mithras, all along the Thames. Ay, and theirs were the first bridges that we accept so readily now."
There were sombre sights too. A gibbet with gruesome burden creaking in the sunshine. Scarcely recognisable as human now, it bore little resemblance to the devil-may-care pirate who had terrified honest merchantmen and, daring once too often, had paid the law's price. To hang in chains at the low water mark, until three tides had washed over him.
Beth turned away sadly, aware of the Captain's eyes upon her. So often, close-packed in this barge, she had been aware of those eyes, heavy-lidded and watchful against the bright sunlight which had turned his hair to molten gold. Such intensity of gaze was frightening, unavoidable. It made her fearful that the disguise of Master Perkins, subject to intense light and scrutiny, was wearing threadbare.
He yawned, stretching his arms—and groaned.
"Does your side pain you still, sir?"
He circled his right shoulder carefully. "A little, but I grow used to it." He smiled. "Look not so serious. It is not the first time I have been wounded, lad, nor, I dare say, will it be the last. If men go to war and carry death in their hearts for their fellow creatures, then they must expect—and accept—the consequences of their own mortal frailty."
Among the passing barges carrying shrouded goods, or wealthy merchants and their families, a huge gilded barge took pride of place. The riverman, baring his head, paused to give it right of way. Elegantly proportioned, it bore the royal arms and standards, its centre occupied by a canopied dais to protect important voyagers.
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