Courtenay stood at the forecastle watching the dying fires on the beach. Soon only embers would be left of the great ships.
“Tell your topmen to look out for grey sails,” Will told him. “The ship may be hiding because repairs are still under way, or it may be biding its time to emerge with the greatest impact. We must not be blinded by the illusion of this small victory. The darkest hours lie ahead.”
Will and the others snatched a few hours’ sleep, and at first light they were awoken by the blare of trumpets and the boom of Howard’s signal gun. Anchors broke water next to all of the hundred and fifty ships in the English feet, sails unfurled into the morning wind, and within the hour they were away in pursuit of the enemy. Word went from ship to ship that as a mark of Drake’s brilliance in the campaign he would be allowed to lead the attack on the Spanish.
Medina Sidonia pursued his scattered vessels along the coast in a desperate attempt to bring his Armada back together. With a southwesterly propelling them at speed, the Revenge spearheaded the English squadrons in pursuit, through the Straits of Dover and into the North Sea.
Will never took his gaze from the horizon in his lookout for the grey-sailed ship, but the first ones he saw were Spanish, seven miles off Gravelines, a small port in Flanders under Spanish control. At the rear was Medina Sidonia’s San Martin. Will knew the Spanish commander would realise he had no options. Trying to flee would doom his fleet on the sandbanks and shoals that lined the coast, the sea-marks removed by his Dutch enemies. All he could do was turn and fight.
Courtenay clapped his hands in eager anticipation. “What a day for blood!” he bellowed.
With the Spanish in such disarray, the English were not afraid to confront them at close quarters. The battle began at nine a.m. as the Revenge closed on the San Martin, and within seconds the air was thick with shot from both fleets. Even the constant sound of the sea was lost beneath the rolling thunder of guns never silenced.
Drake held his fire until he was within fifty yards of his opponent and then released the bow guns followed by the broadsides. Medina Sidonia responded in kind, the shot tearing holes in both ships.
“Sea warfare is madness,” Carpenter hissed to Will. “Give me a knife in a dark room every time. Two swords at most, but definitely on land.”
“Drake is not mad.” Will watched the furious battle. “He has his flaws, but he is a brave man. He has thrown himself into the forefront to take the Spanish guns.”
The San Martin came off worse. The Spanish seamen were not trained to reload the cannon rapidly, unlike their English counterparts, and as increasing amounts of damage were inflicted on the Spanish flagship, their ability to respond diminished rapidly. Chain-shot ripped through rigging and sail. The four-inch-thick planking just above the waterline shattered under Drake’s heavier guns.
After his initial attack had weakened the vessel, Drake pulled away to lead his squadron in pursuit of the other Spanish warships, leaving Frobisher and the Triumph to continue the slow destruction of the San Martin.
Courtenay bellowed his orders as he strode about the deck, and the Tempest set off behind the Revenge.
Seeing their flagship in a desperate state, other Armada warships sailed to protect it, and with some luck managed to re-form their defensive crescent formation. The English fleet swept in to pound the wings relentlessly. The Revenge fired continuously into the dense mass of Spanish ships, almost without aiming. The barrage was so intense the smoke from the guns blocked out the sun, and the air was filled with a constant rain of exploding wood. The gunfire was so loud that every conversation had to be carried out at a bellow, but still the screams of the dying and wounded Spanish sailors rose above it. Will could see its chilling effect on all the seamen aboard the Tempest; though it was the enemy, the suffering left no one untouched.
The Tempest sailed into the thick of the battle where there was little room for maneuver, the way ahead obscured by dense smoke, the ships so closely packed in the ferocity of their combat that it was possible to see the death throes of the enemy.
In the galleasses, hundreds of slaves chained to the oars fell where they had sat for days, under fire from arquebusiers or shot from the English galleons. On one warship, the Spanish commander’s head exploded in a mist of blood and bone from a piece of random shot. Another commander’s hand disintegrated, a third lost his leg at the knee. Some resembled pincushions from the shards of wood rammed into their bodies after the cannon blasted apart the hardwood of their ships. They staggered back and forth across the deck, all sense lost. Blood sluiced across the boards as deeply as seawater at the height of a storm.
Carpenter was increasingly sickened by the intensity of the sea battle. “Every fight I have seen on the waves since I joined the fleet has been worse than the previous one,” he said in a low tone of horror. “This is slaughter not fit for animals.”
“And they would do the same to us if they had the opportunity,” Will replied. “We do what we have to, to survive. There will be shouts of glory for whoever wins this day, but we here on both sides know there is none in it.”
For nearly nine hours the battle raged, as the Tempest roamed the perimeter of the dense mass of Spanish ships searching for the true Enemy. The smoke was so thick even the topmen could not see far ahead. Launceston had been entranced by the parade of atrocities and the sickening gush of blood, but in a shift of smoke caused by the explosion of a powder store, a movement caught his eye, and he pointed beyond the immediate carnage. “There!”
Hoving into view through the drifting smoke, beyond the fire of the explosions, were grey sails.
“Captain Courtenay!” Will yelled. “The chase is on!”
Bloody John ordered the helmsman to change direction as the crew scrambled on deck. The Tempest shifted course in pursuit of the grey-sailed ship, already lost to the dense smoke.
The Spanish ships were too concerned with basic survival to give the Tempest any attention. Through the collapsing enemy formation it swept, past tightly contained dramas of death and destruction where ships fought onesided duels.
Speeding to the forecastle, Will, Carpenter, and Launceston searched the drifting acrid clouds for another sign of their prey. Finally, they broke through to a clear stretch of sea. The grey-sailed ship raced ahead with near-supernatural speed and maneuverability. It far exceeded the capabilities of any other vessel present, yet it was still falling short of the peak performance Will had witnessed on the journey from Spain.
He could just make out that repairs were still under way on the blackened side that he had damaged with the fire. New timbers had been fitted, but there was a faint list to the vessel, like a wounded beast limping to its lair to recover. Whatever trouble he had caused, it had prevented the grey-sailed ship from following its ritual protective route among the fleet, and, perhaps, stopped it releasing whatever weapon it carried on board. He wondered how different things would have been if it had been in any state to take part in the fight off the Isle of Wight, and then near Calais.
“Your requirements, Master Swyfte?” Courtenay asked.
“First, try to contain it against the other ships, and then we shall see how it withstands a broadside or two.”
“And then prepare to board?”
Will hesitated, not wanting to inflict the toxic contact with the Unseelie Court on the Tempest’s crew. “There is nothing worth plundering aboard that foul vessel, Captain.”
“We should send it straight to the bottom,” Carpenter said. “Silver Skull and all.”
Will couldn’t argue with him, but the thought of Grace still aboard chilled him. “We will decide on our future options as the situation unfolds, Captain,” he said, not knowing what he would do if he was forced to choose.
Nodding his agreement, Courtenay called for the master gunner to prepare his men on the gun deck. The Tempest ploughed through the swell, but the grey-sailed ship easily remained ahead en route to the English fleet attacking the southeastern wing of the Arma
da formation.
“Why now?” Will mused. “They have held their cover in the most desperate circumstances and not used their weapon.” The answer struck him the moment he had finished speaking. “Unless their repairs have now ensured enough speed to escape whatever carnage their weapon wreaks.”
As he spoke, he glimpsed a glimmer of movement as something small and writhing passed over the grey-sailed ship’s rail and fell into the sea. In the water, a shadow grew rapidly as though whatever had been dumped there was increasing in size at a phenomenal rate. Within moments a black tube of water barrelled towards them, a furrow of white surf breaking the surface.
“In the name of God, what is that?” Carpenter breathed.
An anxious cry to the helmsman echoed behind them. They turned to see Courtenay hanging over the rail to peer into the sea, his face white and strained. Leaning hard on the wheel, the helmsman began a barely perceptible shift in the Tempest’s course, but it was just enough to miss the projectile thrusting beneath the surface. There was a crash and a quick grind as it skimmed the edge of the keel, and a split second later the Tempest lurched over at an alarming angle. Everyone on deck was thrown off their feet. Catching Carpenter’s sleeve, Will prevented him from going over the rail, but others were forced to clutch on for dear life.
As the wake passed, the Tempest righted itself with a crash that sent seawater washing across the deck.
“What is that?” Carpenter raged.
From the drawn expression on Courtenay’s face, Will realised he knew the answer. As Will raced towards the captain, the truth revealed itself before his eyes. The projectile continued in a direct line from the Tempest towards another English ship that Will couldn’t identify. Rooted by the impending collision, he watched agape as the projectile arced out of the water and over the vessel. It smashed through the foremast and dragged it into the sea on the other side. Seamen scrambled across the boards to hack at the rigging with axes before the ship could be hauled down to the depths.
“What is … that?” Carpenter gasped a second time.
The projectile was long, black, and sinuous, glistening like an eel, but a man’s height across and as long as two galleons. When Will caught sight of the head and the needle-teeth arranged around the circular mouth, he knew it was the thing he had seen in the barrel in the cabin on the grey-sailed ship, now grown unbelievably large.
“Sea serpent.” Courtenay had joined them. His gaze never left the white wake tearing into the thick smoke. “I have encountered their kind before, out in the stormy Atlantic returning from the New World. The damnable beast almost took me, and the entire ship, down to the bottom. Nothing can stop them. They tear ships into matchwood and consume every good man as they swim through the drink.”
“This is the Enemy’s weapon,” Will said, “stalking silently beneath the waves to destroy the fleet.”
From deep in the smoke, they heard another crash of splintering wood, followed by cries that rose above the thunderous guns.
“Engrossed in the noise and fury of battle, no one will know it is there until too late,” Carpenter said. “This will turn the tide of the battle.”
“Then we must stop it,” Will said.
“How?” Carpenter said. “What weapons have we that could strike dead a thing like that? Even if we could catch it. Musket and arquebus fire is too small. The big guns would never land a shot ‘pon it at the speed it moves.”
Will quickly turned over the options and then said, “I have a notion. Leave that to me.” To Courtenay he said, “Your job is to get us close enough to attack the beast.”
“Close enough is too close,” Courtenay replied. “But no man ever gained glory with faint heart. Ambition and risk go hand in hand.”
Will searched the sea for the grey-sailed ship, but it had already disappeared into the smoke. Launceston read his mind. “If we lose the Enemy ship, misery may lie ahead. They still have the Silver Skull.”
“If the serpent destroys our fleet, the Spanish will regroup, collect Parma’s army, and England will fall. Come, we have our course. Let’s to it.”
As the Tempest sailed through the smoke, they encountered the remnants of a galleon slowly taking on water. The hull was torn in two, shattered masts trailing in the water like oars. Seamen clung to the wreckage. Several were dead, chunks of them torn away.
Amid the boom of gunfire, the sound of cracking wood emerged from the smoke to reveal the location of the sea serpent. It had settled on the fringes of the Armada’s southeasterly wing where several English ships attacked. More wreckage, another damaged ship that had lost its rudder and drifted directionlessly.
Finally they emerged from the smoke. The serpent’s wake was clear on the swell, a large V flecked with foam near the point. As it prepared to attack another ship, its head broke the water. The circular mouth flexed. Yards from the ship it submerged and then erupted from the sea in a cascade of white foam, crashing through the ship’s rigging and bringing down the mainmast as the terrified crew fled the deck. Splashing into the swell on the far side, the wake continued forwards before beginning a wide turn for another attack.
“Is it … growing larger?” Carpenter asked. “Soon it will be able to ensnare an entire ship in its coils.”
“Draw its attention!” Will shouted to Courtenay. “We must deflect its attack!”
Courtenay ordered the helmsman to continue the course that would put the Tempest between the serpent and the damaged ship. The northwesterly filled the sails and sped them on.
“You are sure this is the correct course?” Launceston asked in a blithe manner that hid the doubt he obviously felt. The same emotion was clear in the faces of the seamen who flashed unsettled glances Will’s way.
“I thought you would thank me for easing the boredom of a sea journey,” Will replied.
The preparations he had ordered were hastily brought together and delivered to the deck, but were not yet ready for use.
“Brace yourselves!” Courtenay barked.
Gripping the rail and the rigging, the crew steadied themselves as the Tempest plunged into the serpent’s path. At the last, it submerged, but the wake threw the ship’s prow towards the sky, the stern almost plunging beneath the waves.
Muscles straining, Will held tight. A sailor with a pox-marked face lost his hold on the rail and flew backwards with a cry. He missed Will by an inch and slammed into the cabin door with bone-breaking force.
For a second, it felt as if the ship was going over. Silence gripped all those who clung on, eyes screwed shut as they waited for the momentum to continue. But then the ship crashed back, swamping them with water.
“This is the sturdiest ship in the fleet, but we cannot maintain this punishment,” Courtenay yelled.
“Then pray we do not have to,” Will replied. He eyed the seamen working on the preparation and received a curt nod in return. “Get us near to the beast. We must draw it out of the water to attack us.”
“Now we are all to be sacrificed to your mad scheme?” Carpenter asked.
“All schemes are mad until they succeed, John. Think of the stories you will be able to tell once we are back in Bankside.”
Carpenter’s derisive snort followed him as he ran for the rail. With Courtenay’s bellowed directions from the forecastle, the helmsman’s maneuvers kept the serpent within view. Predicting its movements in relation to the most vulnerable ships on the fringe of the attack, they tracked the beast. Each time they tried to divert it, the encounter brought them close to sinking. Will could see the crew growing increasingly rebellious.
Finally, the wake turned towards them. “There, we have it,” Will muttered. He ordered his team to ready themselves.
Expressions fixed and grim, the eyes of everyone on board turned towards the furrow in the water driving towards them. No one moved, not a word was uttered. Seconds before the serpent broke the surface, Will yelled, “Now!”
A flint was struck and the barrel of pitch and brimstone ignited. A
s the beast erupted from the water, his men flung the burning barrel directly into the creature’s mouth. An explosion of flame showered the serpent with the sticky, blazing liquid, driving it into wild convulsions. The lashing tail slammed against the Tempest’s hull, but somehow no serious damage was done. The ship tipped one way, crashed back down, continued on, the crew rooted by the fear of what would transpire next.
But as they all moved to the rail, they saw the creature’s thrashing begin to slow, and eventually it grew still and hung dead in the water amid a smell like burned leather. The crew cheered, but Will quickly silenced them.
“Celebrate our victory, by all means, but this is no time to rest. We must return to the hunt for the grey-sailed ship!”
Emboldened by the serpent’s death, the crew returned to their posts with gusto. The helmsman guided the Tempest back towards the fray, but they could all see that as the evening drew on, the worst was over.
The Spanish continued to fight, even though the English assault had whittled away their capabilities, their ships, and their men. Even with their guns silenced, some sailed bravely to try to aid their fellows that were in more immediate danger. All around them the water was no longer visible amid the wreckage, the bodies, and the frothing crimson blood.
Even the weather began to support the English. The northwesterly drove their ships on and pinned the Spanish back. Their defensive formation had collapsed, their ammunition mostly spent with only arquebus and musket fire being returned. Some of their ships were reduced to floating piles of timber that barely echoed their former shape. Many crewmen abandoned ship and attempted to escape in small boats.
“We have won,” Carpenter said with clear relief. “Now it is just a matter of clearing up the dregs.”
“We will never win until the Unseelie Court is destroyed,” Will replied. Searching the dying embers of the battle for any sign of grey sails, Will’s thoughts turned once more to Grace: what would the Enemy do with her now the Spanish had been defeated? Would they simply spirit her away, never to be seen again?
The Silver Skull Page 43