But there was still potential trouble.
AN UNFAMILIAR SHIP had been sighted on the southwestern horizon off the Cornish coast, the first vessel in several days. The vessel could be the Rosebriar, but she could also turn out to be any of a dozen other cargo ships.
Katharine hesitated. She did not want to make another painful mistake.
This array of sails grew in definition from a mote on the horizon to a notch against the blue sky. Now it was clearly a weathered yet robust English vessel, with the girth of a cargo ship, but heading at such a straight-on angle that her character, much less her name, could still not be determined. But this likely newcomer was one reason for the display of this reassuring flag. Katharine wanted Captain Loy—if that was who it proved to be—to see at a glance that the Vixen was a friend.
The cargo ship was slow, settled deeply in the water.
“Her delay is a hopeful development, Lady Katharine,” said Fletcher. “A heavy ship is a rich one.”
But as the privateer waited, attending to the ship’s repairs, another ship had begun coming up from the opposite direction, from the bearing of Portsmouth, a grand English vessel with red and white paint along her gunwales and newly refreshed white and black gunports.
She had been in recent fighting, judging by the shot holes in her mainsail, but she had been polished and reappointed immediately afterward, to an extent that won the sergeant’s admiring “She’s been starched and steamed, not a wrinkle in her stockings.”
But the crew was apprehensive, too. There was no doubt about the character of this oncoming warship. She was the Ark Royal, Lord Admiral Howard’s flagship. And as the crew of the Vixen looked on, beginning to hurriedly prepare for the unexpected, this notable vessel was keeping a course directly toward the privateer.
The Lord Admiral might be on a mission to chastise Fletcher for his raids on English prizes, or he might be bent on arresting the captain for some matter of state. There was no limit to the troubled rumors that simmered among the crew, and Tryce hobbled about on his crutches murmuring that they would be justified in ripping a charge of grapeshot across the admiral’s bow.
The crew put on their best clothing, carefully mended calico and Bristol cloth, looking in their motley outfits like boatmen on a pleasure barge, Sherwin thought, more than men who had recently battled an armada.
Sergeant Evenage had applied tallow to his boots and belt and looked polished and brushed to perfection. Cecil Rawes had likewise flowered, and the quiet Yorkshireman had purchased or wagered his way into a wardrobe of seaboots, a felt hat with a Cyprus-satin hatband, and a green velvet doublet. Sir Gregory, however, appeared further drained by his recent experiences, and leaned heavily on a pikestaff, looking longingly toward the hint of land to the north.
Sherwin himself was outfitted in a doublet of rare kid-skin leather, a garment Bartholomew had won playing dice in the forecastle. His sleeves were silk plush, indigo-dyed and full, and he wore his mantle like a cape so his sleeves could be admired. He wore the pistol Highbridge had loaned him thrust through his belt—Captain Fletcher had said that Sherwin should keep the firearm, and Sherwin felt both privileged and moved by this gift.
The captain had adopted something like the late Highbridge’s manner of clothing, and resembled, in his dark broadcloth tunic devoid of decoration, a scholar, or a man of God.
MORE THAN A FEW MEN eyed the approaching flagship’s forward guns, and the darkly gleaming, tightly shuttered gunports, with apprehension. They calculated, as Sherwin surmised from overheard remarks, how many strides it would take to lay hands on their pikes and swords.
Fletcher’s crew was prepared for tribute, but they were also ready for strife.
39
THIS IS DEVILISHLY AWKWARD,” said Fletcher. “Is it indeed, sir?” asked Sherwin.
He felt that he had taken on the role that Highbridge must have filled, responding politely, sometimes pointedly. But Sherwin realized how empty of knowledge and character he was compared with the veteran officer.
“You know it’s disconcerting as well as I do,” replied Fletcher. “Just as Lady Katharine and I are about to carry out an act of maritime fraud, his lordship decides to pay a visit with an armed guard.”
A boat was lowered from the visiting warship, and set out across the easily rolling sea. Care was taken so the oars did not splash, and the rowers were expert, lifting the oars just out of the water, cutting them under the surface again, quietly and with powerful strokes. A gentleman was being conveyed, plumed and garbed in a rich crimson doublet and a buckle with bright gold fittings. The long plume in his cap, and his colorful attire, made him look like a celebrated fighting cock.
This famous maritime administrator, known by sight to everyone who had ever watched the royal barges along the Thames, was accompanied by his personal guard, armored men with halberds and bright headgear—helmets with a gleam rarely seen at sea.
“Have you met the Lord Admiral before, Captain?” asked Sherwin.
“I’ve avoided the encounter,” said Fletcher. “For a professional scoundrel like myself, Lord Howard is the most dangerous official in England.”
THE ADMIRAL climbed onto the webbed rope ladder along the side of the Vixen, having no trouble with the ascent. The boatswain’s pipe sang out its distinctive signal, announcing the arrival of a visitor.
And there he was, looking exactly like the portrait Sherwin had seen at Saint Paul’s, where wreaths had been placed to celebrate Drake’s raid on Cádiz. If anything, his lordship looked even more splendid than his painting, red-cheeked and keen-eyed. He looked like a man who always picked out the best seat in a tavern, and got it. He slipped off his glove and advanced toward Fletcher.
Lord Howard gave a courtly bow as he was introduced to Lady Katharine, who had put on a white lace collar, with a parcel-gilt griffin pin on her mantle.
“A lady can be aboard this ship to carry out one duty, if you will permit me,” said the admiral with a knowing but warmhearted smile.
“And what, my lord,” said Katharine, prettily but in a guarded manner, “can that one duty be?”
“Protecting, if I may say, her family investment.”
He said this with a quiet laugh, like a man who had uttered a witticism, but when he shot a glance toward the very slowly, distantly approaching cargo ship, Sherwin felt that the Vixen’s game was up.
SHERWIN WAS INVITED into the cabin along with the two notables.
No one else was present, aside from Bartholomew, who wore a brushed leather doublet embossed with scarlet stars, a remnant, Sherwin thought, of his days serving as a mountebank’s assistant. Bartholomew certainly poured wine with a flourish, and excused himself from the room with a showman’s grace.
“I knew your father,” said the admiral, gazing at Sherwin with a smile. “He once proposed to me that a ship’s dog should be paid a penny for every month at sea, to encourage captains to sail with their pet hounds.”
“My lord, my father loved animals,” said Sherwin, touched at the remembrance.
“Her Majesty declined to subsidize a navy of dogs,” said the admiral amiably, “but she remarked to me that the noted lawyer Morris was a man of good heart. I was sorry to hear of his death.”
“My lord,” said Sherwin, deeply moved, “I thank you.”
“Captain Fletcher,” said the Lord Admiral, like a man who changed subject brisky and at his own bidding, “I am happy to set eyes on you.”
“You honor me, my lord,” said Fletcher, “and my ship.”
“Sir John Burgh of the Roebuck,” said the admiral, “told me of the fearsome strife you undertook, facing down the Armada alone, you and your crew. Yours was the first vessel to engage the Spanish force, and for this Her Majesty is everlastingly grateful.”
Fletcher had been sipping his wine with an easy air, but Sherwin had observed the pinpricks of color in his cheeks.
The captain relaxed but little, even now. “My lord, we had little alternative but to serv
e our own fates and Her Majesty’s at the same time. I have no high opinion of my own motives.”
The Lord Admiral gave a laugh, like a gentleman who admired a sense of humor. “You, sir, are too modest.”
“My lord misunderstands me.”
“There will be a knighthood for you, Fletcher, no question about it. You have my word on the matter. I could dub you myself today, but Our Gracious Majesty wants to do the deed herself.”
Captain Fletcher looked quietly amazed at the tidings.
“As for the debts—that old business agreement you have with Her Majesty,” continued the admiral, “I am ordered to tell you that any understanding or covenant you have with the Crown is hereby rescinded.”
Fletcher put a hand to his mouth, going ashen. “Surely this does not mean that I am to be arrested.”
It would fit the gloriously high-handed temperament of Her Majesty, thought Sherwin, to promise a knighthood to a man about to be put into chains.
“Arrested for what, Fletcher?”
“For my crimes, my lord,” said Fletcher, looking dignified but stricken.
“We are all thieves, dear Fletcher,” said the admiral with a cordial laugh. “Her Majesty is the Pirate Regnant, her throne the high command of knavery.” He caught himself, and put a confiding finger to the side of his nose. “Although this is not the publicly announced rule, if you understand.”
Fletcher chuckled politely and, Sherwin thought, with considerable relief.
“No, I bring you nothing but good tidings, Fletcher,” said the admiral. “You are free to get as rich as any man alive. But Her Majesty has a special request for you.”
Fletcher was momentarily speechless. “Her Majesty,” he said, “can command me and every soul in this vessel.”
“You surprise me,” said the admiral with a trace of liveliness. “I thought you were a solitary fox, hard to find and impossible to direct. I always believed it. You proved me wrong.”
“My lord had the correct impression,” said Fletcher with a smile. “But my fortunes have been known to alter.”
“Her Majesty wants to send you to Mexico and Southern America, to disrupt the Spanish ports there. She seeks to follow up King Philip’s disastrous naval blunder with a strike against his American strongholds. She will reward you, Fletcher, with great generosity. Our gracious Queen realizes that she has until now partly underestimated your value.”
“My lord,” said Fletcher, his keen spirits now completely recovered, “I should have thought that raids like the one you suggest were more in Drake’s line.”
“Oh, Drake,” sighed the admiral despairingly. “The celebrated Drake took prizes during the sea battle, if you can believe it. He doused his stern lamps and raided Spanish ships—Captain Frobisher complained most heatedly, and I can’t blame him.”
“My lord,” said Fletcher, with perfect blandness, “I am shocked.”
“Drake’s reputation is besmirched, Fletcher. Quite soiled, for the moment. Her Majesty seeks to send you to America to your great profit in his stead, to the enduring harm of Spain.”
Sherwin was thrilled, but at the same time aghast at the fear that Fletcher, through an excess of caution or some seaman’s dodge, might decline this opportunity for wealth and adventure.
Fletcher gave Sherwin a glance and seemed to understand the younger man’s fears and hopes entirely.
“My gentle associate,” said the captain, “would not forgive me if I stepped aside from such a challenge.”
But the admiral was already changing the subject, turning to satisfy his curiosity. “And, good Sherwin, what role have you played in this great victory?”
“Is it a victory, then, my lord?”
“Yes, entirely. The Spanish have been whipped by wind and our brave mariners, all the way up around the green island of Her Majesty’s kingdom, and even now the remaining vessels are wrecked, I am told, on the Irish coastline. The peasants there cut throats and strip the bodies of the useless Spanish army.”
“My lord,” said Sherwin, in a voice of hushed compassion, “what a sad end.”
The admiral gave a laugh, not of joy, but of suddenly weary acknowledgment, and an atmosphere of heartfelt relief hung over his lordship, making him appear almost humble for a moment.
“Sherwin is going to pen my history,” offered Captain Fletcher. “So it can be printed, or staged, as Her Majesty’s licensers might allow.”
The admiral showed every sign of hearty interest, stirring from his brief reverie. “Will it be like your exceptional The King of Spain Bearded in His Den and His Staunchest Ships Reduced to Kindling?”
“My lord,” said Sherwin, surprised and gratified that Lord Howard knew his work, “I hope much better.”
“A history in Latin, or in English?” asked the admiral.
“In Our Gracious Majesty’s own tongue, my lord, if it please you.”
“Let’s hear some of it,” said the Lord Admiral.
Sherwin had not been prepared for this, but he took a deep breath and said,
“Until I sing, and name each species
in the garden of my affection, I am desert.”
Both men were quiet.
“Noble lines, although incomplete,” said the admiral at last.
“That is always his problem, my lord,” agreed the captain.
“But I think,” said the admiral with a sympathetic smile, “they are not lines quite made for Captain Fletcher. My good Sherwin, I believe you are in love.”
40
IF THERE WAS anything more beautiful than the advance of a sailing vessel, Katharine could not imagine what it might be.
There was no doubt—the weathered ship with the bright new mainmast was the Rosebriar, and she was close enough that the figures of men could be seen on the sterncastle, shielding their eyes with gloved hands. A distant cap waved.
Was that small, muted little sound the cry of voices? They were unmistakably happy voices, cheered at the sight of the griffin, and perhaps also by the company of the admiral’s flagship.
Nothing can be predicted, she knew. No fortune-teller could foresee what gifts the hours of darkness or the next morning might bring—or snatch away. But as Sherwin joined her on the quarterdeck, she felt his shadow pass across her in the afternoon sun. She felt the protectiveness of Sherwin’s hand on hers.
If only, she thought, Fletcher was not going to claim two-thirds of the Rosebriar’s wealth. Her father would be badly surprised at the arrangement she had been forced to make, and she did not look forward to telling him.
Her moment of daydream with Sherwin was interrupted by the admiral. His lordship stepped upon the quarterdeck, accompanied by Captain Fletcher.
“You wanted to intercept the Rosebriar, my lady, as I guess,” said the admiral, “so that she might not fall into the hands of creditors.”
Katharine was dismayed. “My lord, you misunderstand.”
“My spies, my lady,” said the admiral with a quiet smile, “keep me informed of the smallest matter.”
The admiral’s glance took in the assembled crew, lined up along the deck, but Katharine thought that his lordship gave Cecil Rawes an especially appreciative nod, and that the big Yorkshireman could not suppress a smile in return.
Cecil Rawes had been an individual rarely in her thoughts, a hulking squire who had kept to the shadows. She was shocked at how little she had perceived about him, and about so many things in her life. Katharine felt the already reduced promise of this day slip away even further. “My lord, my father is a principled man.”
The admiral leaned close and said confidingly, “And Pevensey is a brute, I understand.”
“My Lord Admiral,” she said, “perhaps, after all, appreciates my position.”
“And how much,” asked the admiral, “is Fletcher’s share in the Rosebriar’s proceeds, if I may ask?”
Fletcher and Sherwin had drawn near, and Katharine nearly blurted out the truth—that the captain would carry off the lion’s sha
re.
“The original arrangement was one-third, was it not?” said Sherwin with a purposeful glance at Fletcher. “Surely, Captain, you will prove a man of your word.”
The captain gave a grave smile.
Inwardly, however, Captain Fletcher was relieved.
His relief was as deep and complex as any thanksgiving he had ever felt. He was grateful to Providence that in the bitter aftermath of Highbridge’s death, the ship and her crew had been spared.
The recent news from the Crown was further cause for joy.
The promised knighthood would brighten his name, and Her Gracious Majesty’s willingness to allow Fletcher a larger share of future winnings was welcome, too. But as for any grand scheme to raid Spanish galleons in American waters—Fletcher would wait and see what developed. He did not want to make Drake’s mistake of hunting more birds than he could kill.
What added to the captain’s relief was the fact that Lord Howard had not asked to inspect the ship’s private account books, nor did he ask to examine the contents of Fletcher’s strongboxes. Fletcher had poured gold into Her Majesty’s treasury, but he had cheated her, too. Little by little, over the years, the captain had kept back more than his legal allotment. He had shared these embezzled riches with his crew, and in fair portions, but Fletcher knew that traitors had been disemboweled, castrated, and beheaded for lesser crimes.
“That was the understanding,” said the captain at last.
He was all too aware that Sherwin and Katharine could embarrass him in the presence of Lord Howard, and yet there was a further reason Fletcher was pleased to reduce his share.
Like a man hiding a fault from himself, Fletcher was succumbing to warm affection for Sherwin and Katharine. He wished them a long life together, safe from men with fewer scruples than his own. He was relieved to find a way to frustrate his own greed.
Peril on the Sea Page 15