A Ship for The King

by Richard Woodman

  The following forenoon the sight of the approaching boats had reminded Faulkner of the conversation and the influence of great men. When he had first entered Mainwaring’s service he had half expected great men to reflect something of the goodness that Sir Henry had manifested towards himself, and although he had long since lost that naivety, there remained some sense of disappointment that they did not. On the one hand it reduced their high social standing in respect of himself, but on the other it seemed to increase their unworthiness to enjoy any such superiority. Indeed, if he were truthful, he found the very notion of a king engaged in fondling another man, let alone enjoying any form of congress, profoundly disturbing. Was not a king God’s anointed? And was not sodomy forbidden by biblical proscription? Faulkner was no expert on such theological matters, but the notion made him distinctly uncomfortable and in a moment of rare self-doubt, he wished himself clear of all such muddles, spiritual, intellectual or physical. Indeed, he wished himself back on the deck of the little Swallow, with the Scilly Isles astern and the broad bosom of the Atlantic ahead, the horizon sharp under the spritsail yard and the world full only of the potent evil of Sallee Rovers.

  But now the tweeting of the boatswain’s call and the shouted orders as the Prince Royal’s people prepared to receive the approaching boats took over his attention and for half an hour Faulkner’s mind was attentive to the formalities of seeing the crowd of courtiers aboard and conducted to their allotted accommodation. And that is how he came face-to-face with the young girl with the dark and luminous eyes and felt such a violent twist in his bowels the like of which he had never previously experienced.

  He had returned to the deck from seeing three gentlemen into a cabin under the poop, the smallness of which sent them into paroxysms of confusion and complaint from which he extricated himself only with some difficulty. ‘I assure you gentlemen,’ he had explained, ‘this is accommodation superior to anything enjoyed by the ship’s officers and I am sure that you will find us as attentive to your needs as our duties will allow . . .’

  ‘I do hope so,’ one mincing wag said, rolling his eyes in Faulkner’s direction as he withdrew. ‘I don’t know which I prefer,’ he heard another say, ‘those hearty tars or their petty officers . . .’

  The clean air of the deck washed over him as he watched one of the canvas chairs descend on deck on its yard-arm whip. A seaman reached up a hand and steadied it as it was lowered to the deck. Catching Faulkner’s eye, the first lieutenant, Edward Slessor, beckoned him and then turned to its occupant.

  ‘Milady,’ he said, ‘Mr Faulkner will show you to your apartment . . .’

  Faulkner stepped forward, made a perfunctory bow and looked up into the luminous eyes that had momentarily transfixed him earlier when the King had dined on board.

  ‘Milady,’ he said, holding out his hand and steadying her as she took it and stepped out of the chair. He was aware that his heart had begun pounding and that he was uncertain whether he was blushing like a loon or had gone as white as a corpse. He felt her fingers through her glove, tiny, delicate, and he was unsure whether to withdraw his hand now his assistance was no longer required, or to remain leading her towards the door under the poop and the great cabin, which had been partitioned and hung with velvet drapes to accommodate the ladies. In the end he led her, only half looking at her as he said in as steady a voice as he could muster – and with a second, awkward crabwise bow made between one step and another – ‘Lieutenant Faulkner at your service, ma’am . . .’

  It was the first time he had referred to himself by rank and he drew strength from his new status. He felt a slight pressure from her hand as she stepped across the deck and the great ship moved slightly as she trimmed herself to the wind and tide.

  ‘I shall hope so, sir,’ he heard her say as she looked about her apprehensively, ‘for I find this shipboard world a most confusing universe.’

  The turn of phrase struck him as apt and the intimacy somewhat disarmed him. ‘Indeed, ma’am, so it seems at first, so it seemed to me but a month ago . . .’

  ‘Then you are no seaman?’ she asked, her tone astonished, and stopped, compelling him to stop and face her. He felt foolish, confused, and then he mastered himself. It was pointless to act otherwise than truthfully. Besides, he felt compelled to tell this girl who he was and he knew it was unlikely he would have another chance like this moment.

  ‘You misunderstand, ma’am; I am but newly commissioned into the Prince Royal but have been bred to the sea since boyhood. As a flagship this is said to be the largest man-of-war in the world and she awes us all . . .’

  ‘Awes us all . . . why there is a nautical pun there, sir, if I am not mistaken.’ She smiled and walked on, and Faulkner felt stupidly irradiated by her regard.

  ‘I did not intend it so . . .’

  They were under the poop, now, entering the subdivided space and encountering servants and others fluttering around the influx of grandees. A ladies’ maid bobbed a curtsey at his charge and she withdrew her hand. ‘I am Katherine Villiers, Lieutenant Faulkner,’ she said, meeting his eyes and smiting him with her deep, level gaze, ‘and I hope to see more of you during the voyage.’

  Stunned into silence, his heart leaping foolishly in his breast, Faulkner footed the most elegant bow he could muster and returned, reluctantly, to the drab duties about the deck.

  And yet they were not so drab for it now seemed his every movement might be scrutinized by those beguiling eyes, his every order heard by her. It did not matter that in revealing her name he learned that she was associated with the King’s catamite, or that her social standing was lunar to his earthly ambition. He carried himself with new authority, gave orders with a crisp clarity and found himself eager to be on deck, attentive, conspicuous.

  Brenton caught him an hour later as they drew breath with the hoisting in of the last of the interminable portmanteaux. ‘You had the best of the advantages there, Kit, I think. What a pretty girl and related to the Lord High Muckingham. You are playing with fire, don’t you know, for she will break your heart or pox thee – perhaps both, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Hold your damned tongue, Harry,’ he responded sharply, at which Brenton merely went off laughing. ‘Come, we must dine before we labour further,’ he called, over his shoulder.

  Not during the several days that followed her boarding did Faulkner set eyes upon Katherine Villiers and yet he constantly fancied that hers never left him.

  The fleet weighed on 25th August and headed west with a favourable tide, but the easterly wind proved fickle and the following day the ships rode again at their anchors off Weymouth. Two days later, however, the wind came away from the east and the fleet headed down Channel. Faulkner, high upon the Prince Royal’s quarterdeck, stood amazed at the ponderous progress of the great ship which contrasted with the swift, weatherly wallow of the little Swallow. She lolled at the end of every roll and she hung before coming back, so that her topgallant yards were not hoisted if the wind was anywhere forward of her quarters. Nor, it was clear to him as they had worked to sea to gain an offing from the Isle of Wight, was she handy; sufficient time and sea-room had to be allowed for any manoeuvre, a liability complicated by the proximity of the other ships in the squadron. On the 28th the wind hauled ahead, veering to the south and then the south-west, compelling Rutland – at Mainwaring’s instigation – to hang out the signal to come to an anchor in Plymouth Sound. Here they all lay at the end of the month, when Faulkner, along with Slessor, Brenton, Whiting and the other officers, found themselves called to council in Rutland’s cabin. Here they were joined by the inferior flag officers, Lords Morely and Windsor, and their flag captains and the commanders of the other men-of-war in the squadron, Trevor of the Defiance, Steward of the St George, St Leger of the Bonaventure, Palmer of the Rainbow – all of whom were knights – and Love of the Charles with the lesser captains of the two pinnaces, Charles and Seven Stars. The admiral stood resplendent in red and black slashed silk, the pale-b
lue sash of the Garter across his breast, his hand on the basket-hilt of a long and highly chased rapier. Behind him were two courtiers, Sir John Finett and Sir Thomas Somerset, both men part of the suite whose duty was to conduct any diplomacy contingent upon receiving Prince Charles or Buckingham and of extricating them from any impasse into which their dubious conduct had embroiled them during the course of their importunate Spanish adventure. They watched the assembled sea-officers with a mixture of hauteur and rank curiosity, though several were known to them. However, it was Mainwaring who, after a brief welcome by Rutland, addressed the assembled officers.

  ‘My Lords and gentlemen, as you all know, our progress has been hampered thus far by contrary winds and the season is already well advanced. We must therefore hold ourselves ready to move with all despatch the instant the wind lies fair. To this end all ships are required to make good their deficiencies in stores and water . . .’

  ‘What about men?’ asked Sir Sackville Trevor. ‘I am two score short of my establishment.’

  ‘What rating, Sir Sackville?’ asked Rutland wearily.

  ‘Why, able seamen, my Lord, we are always in want of them . . .’

  ‘I suggest a press in Plymouth might solve your problem, Sir Sackville, though the sight of our fleet has likely driven able men inland faster than their kine,’ remarked Lord Morley, ‘though we all want seamen.’

  ‘Aye, and provender too . . .’ added St Leger, a remark accompanied by a grumbling of assent from the other captains. Faulkner heard one or two of them mention Finett’s name, as though blaming the courtiers for these deficiencies. There was, he knew from Whiting and Slessor, some justification at the slight, for Faulkner had learned of the desperate want of good provisions, both fresh and casked, that the fleet stood in need of and without which they would not only be on short commons but soon find sickness rampant among them. The observant Faulkner also noticed Mainwaring mutter something from the corner of his mouth as Rutland drew himself up and faced his officers.

  ‘Gentlemen, I must ask you to do what you can in the short time we have available. May I remind you that we are bound on a diplomatic service of the utmost importance to the country and our Royal Master. To this end Sir Henry has other matters to impart to you, matters which My Lords Morley and Windsor are already privy to and have given their assent.’

  The grumbling subsided and attention again focussed upon Mainwaring, who made a motion to Whiting. The master spread a rolled chart across the cabin table and Mainwaring spoke again.

  ‘My Lords and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘in consideration of the lateness of the season, the prevalence of the likely winds as being from the south-west, and in anticipation of the Equinoctial gales that will shortly belabour us, I propose that our progress is made not to Corunna, as has been planned, but to here,’ and at this point Mainwaring stabbed the chart somewhat to the westwards of the sharp, right-angled turn of the coastline from east-west to north-south, just where the Pyrenees fell into the Atlantic between France and Spain. ‘Here,’ he repeated, ‘at Santander.’

  There was a moment’s silence and then St Leger said, ‘But my Lord, while I can see that the winds will better serve such a course, is not the entrance to Santander both narrow and fortified?’

  ‘Aye, and we will be either enfiladed coming in or going out . . .’ said Trevor.

  ‘Or mewed-in by a boom or other devilish device of the Spanish . . .’ A chorus of agreement met this final closing of the trap behind them.

  Rutland laughed and commanded them all to silence. ‘I think not. Our embassy may not have met with the success hoped for but we are not at war with His Most Catholic Majesty and there is no possible reason to consider the Spanish are hostile towards us . . .’

  ‘Not until they have the flower of our Navy Royal within their rocky fastnesses,’ St Leger said, pressing his point. ‘As far as I am aware the diplomacy of our Royal Master has been compromised by the reckless passions of what Your Lordship is pleased to call our embassy, but which others I have heard refer to in less respectful terms. And besides this, are there not rumours of great Armadas being again at sea? I have heard tell of such as are armed and intended against us. My Lord, I do not mean to question your orders, or the good and seamanlike arguments of Sir Henry, but I like it not. God knows the Dons have little cause to love us. Did not the Prince’s suit fail on his refusal to turn Catholic? Might not such a refusal ignite passions inimical to the English crown? The Spanish have no love of us in our heresy . . .’

  ‘Aye,’ added the bluff Captain Love, ‘and from what I have heard of the delicacy of Spanish sensibilities, the young men have caused some offence in the manner of their conduct in the Escorial . . .’

  ‘That is not a matter for us,’ snapped Rutland, clearly bored and irritated by the prevaricating tone of his officers. ‘You have your orders, gentlemen. Kindly see that they are obeyed. Now Sir Henry will issue the order of sailing and such signals as seem requisite at this time. The minute the wind is favourable, you can expect the signal to weigh.’

  Fifteen minutes later the dismissed flag officers and captains, escorted by the Prince Royal’s lieutenants, spilled out on to the quarterdeck where, in the calm of the anchorage, the ladies were taking the air. It was a calm and balmy afternoon, with the sun westering over the Cornish shore and the heights of the hoe black with townsfolk out to see the fleet assembled in the Sound. In order of seniority the senior officers descended into their boats, accompanied by a twittering of the bosun’s pipe. As he stood watching them go, Faulkner was suddenly aware of the sweet scent of perfume and turned to find Katherine Villiers at his side.

  He removed his hat and bowed. ‘My Lady, ’tis a pleasure to see you. I hope the voyage thus far has not . . .’ He paused, not quite knowing what to say, ‘. . . er, o’er taxed you.’

  ‘O’er taxed me, sir?’ she replied, her voice light with amusement. ‘If you are concerned about my suffering from seasickness, I am happy to say that I appear immune, though that is not true of others of my sex; if, on the other hand, you ask whether I have been bored, then I have to confess that I have been bored to excess.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he said, wanting to add that the handling of the great ship was of such consuming fascination that, while he understood it would lie outside a woman’s interest, he would have liked to have explained it all to her. As he stood tongue-tied and irritated that he could find no way of expressing this, she added, ‘I suppose you find it absorbing, all these ropes and sails and the men to command, but my want of instruction renders it incomprehensible, while my sex confines me to attempt genteel point-work in light one can scarcely see to dress in, let alone thread a needle.’

  Almost without realizing what he was saying he looked directly at her and said, ‘My Lady, if you can find a way to slip the leash of confinement I would be only too happy to explain the workings of the ship.’

  ‘And you would not find it too tedious?’ she asked, and he was not certain if she was mocking him. But he saw that her eyes were so curious a blue that they might almost be described as violet, and that her red lips parted to reveal teeth as white as the bleached bones of the fish he used to scavenge along the Bristol waterfront. Despite himself, despite the constraints and inhibitions he felt in her presence, despite the melting in his bowels as he looked at her, his open face split into a wide grin. ‘Tedious, ma’am, oh yes, I should find it tedious in the extreme, but anything less and I should be wanting in my duty.’

  She caught the joke. ‘Then I shall be compelled to so impose upon you, Lieutenant Faulkner, for I understand from my cousin that it is important that officers in the King’s service are frequently brought to their duty and so kept there that they are like chained dogs.’

  ‘That, Mistress Villiers,’ he said, still grinning and footing an exaggerated bow, ‘is advice that I do not deserve. Please send me word when I may be of service, though if the King’s duties supervene I must, alas, give them precedence.’

>   ‘Tush, sir,’ she said turning on her heel with a lightness that almost took his breath away, ‘I should expect nothing less: we are all subject to the King.’

  He went to bed that night with the exchange buzzing in his head, simultaneously exhilarated and terrified by what they had said; thrilled by her flirtatious interest, yet scared that that was all it was; at once reminded by her allusion to her cousin that in her relationship with the Duke of Buckingham she stood high in court society, and reminded that they were all bound by their obligations to the King. Suddenly the jest between himself and Brenton as to the latter’s risk of disembowelling caught at his imagination with an image of pure horror. And as if that were not enough there were other thoughts that rushed into his overheated head – a broken heart or the pox? He was, as Brenton had said, playing with fire.

  Three

  The Spanish Voyage

  Autumn 1623

  The wind came fair on 2nd September and, weighing their anchor and setting sail, the Prince Royal headed south, doubling the Rame Head and thereafter laying a course for the Bay of Biscay. For the best part of the passage the wind was fresh but not too strong, and the squadron laboured south under courses and topsails, making good a progress that drove them steadily towards the north coast of Spain. Occasional rain marred the days, and clouds denied them any truly clement weather, while the sea ran uncomfortably enough to confine the ladies for the most part to their beds. A few ventured on deck but most, if not overcome themselves by seasickness, found the stench of the vomit of others too much, persuading them that they too were ill, as indeed, they soon were.

  After his moments of elation, Faulkner considered that he would be lucky if Katherine Villiers escaped her prison, but he was proved wrong for she sent word by her maid, a girl named Sarah, that she ‘would be attentive to his instruction as to the conduct of the ship and the time of a meeting’. He replied that that afternoon he was relieved of duty and would be honoured to wait upon her, and so, in due course, he stood with her in full view of the watch on deck and showed her the ropes.