by Ann Swinfen
‘That’s not so unusual,’ I said, tearing a chunk off my bread and eating it. Freshly made this morning. The army cooks had been up betimes. I thought of Leicester, in charge of the army in the Low Countries. He did have some experience in war, and all of it disastrous.
‘At least our sea captains are the best in the world,’ I said.
‘Aye, aye, they are, even though most of them are pirates half the time.’
‘Don’t you mean privateers?’ I asked with a laugh. When a captain was licensed by the Queen to seize Spanish ships, he was transformed by royal magic from a pirate to a privateer, and so – nominally, at least – much more respectable.
When I had finished eating, I brushed the crumbs off my doublet and we went in search of Sir Edward Walgrave. He received us courteously, but shook his head when Berden explained that we had urgent despatches for the Earl of Leicester and needed a ship to take us to the Low Countries.
‘You can see what the weather is like,’ he said, gesturing towards his window, where the shutters had been folded back. There was glass in the window and it admitted some light, but it also revealed a prospect of driving snow, which had piled up on the outer sill and rose halfway up the window. ‘I cannot risk one of my ships in this. It would be madness to attempt it.’
‘Sir Francis Walsingham has commanded us to leave England immediately,’ Berden said. He sounded remorseless, but I hoped Sir Edward would prevail. The thought of setting out on a sea voyage in that blizzard was enough to frighten a seasoned sailor, and I myself had only once travelled by sea. I had no wish to drown for the sake of a short delay.
While they argued, I walked over to the window, which looked out over the courtyard where, I was sure, the men would normally be drilling. It was deserted. I saw the head groom come out of the stables, struggle to bolt the door, and then run across to the shelter of the keep, slithering and sliding in snow up to his knees.
‘Nicholas,’ I said, without turning round, ‘you can see for yourself that we cannot sail in this blizzard. Sir Francis himself would not expect it.’
I walked back to the desk where Walgrave sat, fiddling anxiously with a quill, Walsingham’s orders lying in front of him.
Berden shrugged. He had tried, but of course he knew that it was impossible. At least he could honestly report to Sir Francis that we had done our best to leave Dover immediately. He picked up the papers from Walgrave’s desk. The commander sat back with a look of relief on his face.
‘I promise you, Master Berden,’ he said, ‘the moment I feel it is safe for you to sail, I will have one of my fast pinnaces made ready. They are much smaller than our warships, but less apt to be top heavy in rough seas, and they are newly built, sleek and fast. A pinnace will take you across to the coast swiftly and will also be able to sail up the canal to Amsterdam, which a larger ship could not do.’
‘Will it be large enough to take our two horses?’ I asked.
‘Certainly. And it would have been madness to take horses to sea in this storm. They would have panicked and kicked the sides out of the ship.’
I thought this might be an exaggeration, but I let it go. This man understood far more of the sea than I could ever hope to know.
‘Sir Edward,’ I said, ‘I have been told that the Dutch canals freeze over in winter. When we need to return to England, is the canal running up to Amsterdam likely to have frozen?’
‘They do their best to keep the waterway open, breaking up the ice as it forms. But in a really bad winter, it will freeze, do what they will. In that case you will need to ride to the coast and take ship there.’ He looked at Berden. ‘Does Sir Francis wish my ship to wait until you are ready to return?’
‘No. Come back for us in three weeks. All the way through to Amsterdam if you can. If you cannot, we will meet you on the coast.’
When we had made what arrangements we could, we left Walgrave’s office. He told us to come back the next morning and we would take stock of the weather then.
‘Well, I suppose we must kick our heels for another day,’ Berden said, as we walked back to the great hall. ‘I realise it would not have been safe to have made the journey today.’
‘No doubt you can find another card game or two,’ I said with a grin.
‘No doubt I can. Perhaps not with the same soldiers. What will you do with yourself?’
‘I will see if Andrew is about. Perhaps he will show me more of the castle. There is little else to do. I’ve no skill with cards or dice, so I won’t bother you.’
In the hall we parted company and I did not see him for the rest of the day. After some time I found Andrew and he readily agreed to show me around the castle. It was a strange rambling place, but clearly located here for its strategic importance.
‘It was the Romans who built here first,’ Andrew said. ‘The lighthouse near the church is part of their original fortress.’
‘I can understand why they would want this vantage point,’ I said. After our tour of the castle we had donned our cloaks and boots and stepped out on to the ramparts overlooking the sea. Snow was still drifting down, but not as heavily as yesterday, though the wind whipped our cloaks so that they cracked like ship’s canvas.
‘The Romans would have been able to keep watch over all the sea traffic moving up and down the Channel, wouldn’t they?’ I said. ‘Particularly when the Saxons started to come sniffing round the shores of Kent.’
‘Aye,’ Andrew said, ‘and it would have been important in the later days of the Empire, when everything was falling apart. Whoever was in command in Britain would be able to guard against rivals preparing an attack from over there.’ He waved a hand out in the direction of the sea. ‘On a clear day you can see France from here.’
It was hard to believe. The sea and the sky merged together in a blurring of snow and grey cloud, which seemed no more than a few miles away.
‘I think it is snowing even harder over in France,’ I said.
‘It could be. I hope you will not have too hard a time of it over in the Low Countries.’
‘I have been well forewarned. We should be back in England before Christmas.’
‘Do you . . .’ he hesitated, looking embarrassed, ‘do you celebrate Christmas, Kit?’
‘You mean, because I am a Marrano? I am a baptised Christian, Andrew.’
‘I’m sorry. I do not altogether understand these matters.’
‘I am not certain I even understand myself who and what I am. My family is part Jewish by descent, but also part Christian. My grandfather is one of the ancient Christian Portuguese nobility. And although my family attended the synagogue in Coimbra, we also attended church, as my father and I do here in England. I take communion.’
‘I did not mean to pry into your private affairs.’
‘It does not matter. But it is confusing, when you are a child, and even now . . . But after all, it must have been the same, for people here. Your parents and grandparents. Thirty years ago, everyone in England was supposed to be Catholic. Before that, Protestant. Again before that Catholic. And now Protestant again.’
‘You are right. Too complicated for a simple soldier like me!’ He laughed. ‘I am happy to be a Protestant and a loyal subject of the Queen.’
‘As I am,’ I said, not specifying which I meant. ‘And I will indeed be celebrating Christmas. Last year I had a high time with the players in James Burbage’s company.’
I might have said more, but it was growing very cold. Before we turned back to the warmth of the keep, Andrew pointed down to the port which lay almost at our feet, sheltered by a massive harbour wall.
‘There you can see our Dover squadron of ships assembling,’ he said, ‘ready for the invasion. You will be crossing in one of the pinnaces. Over there, do you see?’
Through the thin curtain of snow I saw half a dozen small ships at anchor on one side of the harbour. They were slim and elegant, but they looked overly fragile to me, to confront the dark grey and angry waters of the Channel whi
ch lay beyond the harbour wall.
We made our way back to the keep, for it was growing dark as well as cold by now. Coming in to the hall I was momentarily dazzled by the light, for the sconces on the walls had already been lit and a fire was blazing in the enormous fireplace. There were even candles in standing candelabra placed here and there about the floor. Someone (not Torrington, I was sure) had decided that the barracks needed to fend off the winter dark. Andrew and I shook the snow from our cloaks and stamped our boots, as the men gathered near the fire looked up in astonishment at anyone so mad as to venture outside unnecessarily.
That evening we dined as before with the soldiers and before retiring for the night I opened one of the shutters of the window in the corridor outside our room. The snow had almost stopped falling and although a strong wind rushed in through the opening, I thought it was perhaps a little less than it had been at the height of the storm. I hastened to close the shutter before the cold air brought protests from anyone. I was glad to wrap myself up in my blankets and have one more night of rest.
The next morning a silvery winter sun lay slantwise across the mounded snow. During the night all the outdoor surfaces had been sprinkled with frost, as if a prodigal hand had broadcast diamonds like barley seed across the face of the world. So intense was the sparkle reflected off the snow that I had to screw up my eyes and look away.
When we had eaten, Berden and I made our way once again to Sir Edward Walgrave’s office. It was clear that he was not only expecting us but knew what Berden would say as soon as he was through the door.
‘Aye,’ Walgrave said, before Berden could open his mouth. ‘The storm is much slackened. I have sent word for one of the pinnaces to be prepared, the Silver Swan. It will be ready for you in an hour, and you can leave on the ebb tide.’
‘I thank you, sir,’ Berden said. ‘We will make ready, then take the horses down to the port.’
Walgrave nodded. ‘If you need blinkers, one of the grooms can provide them. I will arrange for the ship to return for you in exactly three weeks’ time. It will come to Amsterdam, as we agreed, unless the canal is frozen, in which case it will anchor near the mouth of the canal. If your plans change, try to send a message to me, though I fear few ships will be carrying letters if the weather continues bad.’
We thanked him again and made our way back to our chamber to collect our belongings. The other soldier was there, asleep. I never saw him awake. So we prepared in silence. I changed into my heavy boots and donned my woollen waistcoat under my doublet. Berden also had a knitted garment, a sort of sleeveless tunic, which he added under his doublet. Neither of us had any illusions about how cold it would be at sea.
As we descended the stairs, I said, ‘I will see whether the cooks will give us some food to carry with us. I expect there will be something to eat on board ship, but once we are put ashore, it may not be so easy to get a meal.’
‘Sound thinking, Kit,’ he said. ‘Though Sir Francis did provide a purse of Dutch guilders, in case our English coin will not buy us food and shelter. I’d best give you some of them, in case we should be separated.’
At a turn in the stair he stopped and reached into his purse. Counting out a handful of the unfamiliar coins, guilders, schellings and Dutch pennies, he passed them to me and I slipped them into my own purse. I had no idea how much any one of them would buy and resolved to ask Berden to instruct me in Dutch money and prices while we were at sea. This was yet another way in which I felt unprepared for this mission. To Berden, who had spent many years travelling all over the nations of Europe, it had probably never occurred that it might be a problem for me.
‘While you plead with the cooks,’ he said, ‘I’ll report to Sir Anthony Torrington and tell him we are leaving.’
I nodded, glad to avoid the pompous garrison commander. ‘I will meet you in the stables,’ I said.
It seemed the army cooks were accustomed to requests for food to be carried on journeys, for the man I spoke to, once I had found the kitchens, made me up a bundle without demur, firmly tied in a large pudding cloth. There were two meat pasties and two raised pies, a loaf almost as long as my forearm, a couple of handfuls of dried raisins in a screw of paper, and half a dozen small apples. To this he added a leather jack of ale. To my thanks he responded with a cuff to my shoulder.
‘Can’t have you young lads starving!’ he said. From the girth of him, he would have made three of me, always a sure sign of a good cook.
At the last minute he cut an enormous chunk off a great wheel of cheese and had to untie the cloth to add it. We were not likely to starve for a day or two at least.
The courtyard had begun to be marked with passing feet, crossing between the keep and the various outbuildings. Even so, the snow was still deep enough to soak my hose above my boots as far as my knees. Already I began to shiver. Berden was in the stable when I arrived, clearly his meeting with Torrington had been brief. He was saddling his horse and looked over the partition as I went into Hector’s stall.
I held up the bundle of food for him to see.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Do you want blinkers for your horse, in case he mislikes boarding a ship?’
‘No, I think not. Hector is generally calm as long as he can see about him. I expect blinkers would frighten him more than the ship.’
‘Very well. I shall take some for Redknoll. He’s travelled by ship before, but he doesn’t care for it.’
I soon had my saddlebags packed and Hector saddled. I made sure I had one of the cook’s small apples in my pocket in case he needed tempting to board the ship, for I knew his weakness for apples. When I was ready I led him out into the courtyard, followed by Berden. Just outside the stable door the snow was churned up with hoof prints, so a scouting party must already have ridden out. The mounting block which stood to one side had been cleared of snow, and I was able to mount easily, but I was conscious of Berden’s earlier criticism, that I should not ride a horse I could not mount without assistance.
We rode out of the castle gatehouse and headed downhill towards the port, picking our way carefully, for the road was icy. A few times the horses slipped on the cobbles. The harbour was worse. All the surfaces were glassed over with a sheen of ice, forcing us to dismount and lead the horses slowly and carefully to where we could see that one of the larger pinnaces had been moored close in to the harbour wall. Her name, Silver Swan, was carved on her stern, amid a riot of leaves and roses. A ramp led from the quay to the ship and mercifully someone had had the foresight to strew it with straw.
Berden stopped by the near end of the ramp and fixed the leather blinkers to his horse’s head. Redknoll threw up his head at first, but quickly accepted them. I did not know whether Hector had ever worn blinkers, but here, on an icy harbour quay, with a ramp that rippled up and down with the movement of the ship, did not seem the place to experiment. Berden stepped on to the ramp and clicked his tongue for his horse to follow. The horse planted his feet firmly and leaned back against the reins. For several moments there was a battle of wills between man and horse, but at last Redknoll placed a hesitant hoof on the ramp, then another, until at last Berden had managed to lead him on to the deck of the ship. The horse stood there trembling, as much from fear, I guessed, as from the cold.
Now it was my turn. Praying that I would not make a fool of myself, I took the apple out of my pocket and held it up so Hector could see it. He snorted and reached forward. I backed away a few steps to the edge of the ramp, until the reins tightened between us.
‘Come on then, my lad,’ I said, in as quiet and normal a voice as I could manage, for I was afraid myself. Afraid of boarding that ship for the rough crossing, afraid of what lay ahead. Afraid, even, that if Hector should panic, he might knock me into the sea. With its fringe of ice around the edges, the harbour would not allow anyone who fell in to live for long. I must not let Hector sense my fear, for any horse can tell when you are afraid and Hector and I were closer than many a rider and horse.
I dared not hesitate any longer. I turned my back on Hector and stepped on to the ramp with as nonchalant an air as I could muster. For a moment I was caught between the rippling of the planks beneath my feet and the taut resistance of the reins in my hands. Then I felt the tension on the reins grow slack. I heard the dull thud as Hector stepped on to the ramp behind me, setting it wavering still more. A few steps. A few more. Hector and I stumbled off the end of the ramp and on to the deck together.
It felt as though I had held my breath all the way across, but now I turned and palmed the apple to Hector, who took it neatly from my hand.
‘That’s a grand fellow,’ I said, patting his neck and leaning for a moment against his shoulder as I felt my knees growing weak beneath me.
Berden smiled at me as he lifted the blinkers off his horse.
‘Well, he did it without blinkers, then.’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘I think a horse, like a man, is happiest when he knows what lies before and around him.’ I did not have to say where I stood on such matters.
‘True enough,’ Berden said soberly, ‘but some men, like my horse here, must needs have the truth partially hidden from them, or they have not the courage to go steadily forward.’
We began to lead the horses into a rough canvas shelter the sailors had erected toward the front of the deck before the mast, to serve as a temporary stable.
‘And which would you rather be, Nicholas?’ I asked. ‘The man who sees clearly both ahead and to the sides? Or one who prefers only to see so much and no more?’