Astonished at the turn of the King’s conversation, Faulkner flushed, unaware of where the King’s discourse was leading, though his gentlemen-in-waiting were all smirking as the King went on.
‘Of course we all live in unusual circumstances but I can . . .’ The King paused, reaching out his right hand behind him. Faulkner, his eyes remaining lowered, heard the rasp of sword blade on scabbard rim and caught the dull gleam of light on steel. A moment later the long blade wavered before him.
‘Come, captain, on your knees if you please.’ Only half comprehending what was happening Faulkner obeyed. ‘That’s well . . . I can dub thee knight but cannot thereby make Mistress Villiers Lady Faulkner – at least, not until . . . but no matter.’ Faulkner felt the blade pressed upon each shoulder, stirring his hair as the King passed it over his head from one to the other. ‘Now, rise, Sir Christopher. Or shall you be Sir Kit?’ The King handed the sword back to his gentleman-in-waiting as Faulkner rose. ‘Well, sir,’ the King went on, waving Mainwaring forward. ‘Sir Henry has orders for your next foray for which I wish you good fortune. You are making our name feared again, just as my cousin does in Ireland.’
‘But it is a trap!’ Faulkner said furiously. ‘And I am damnably cozened by it, by Jupiter!’
‘For heaven’s sake, Kit,’ began Katherine, rolling her eyes at Mainwaring. Faulkner saw the communication between them.
‘You two knew of all this, didn’t you?’ His tone was outraged. ‘Why, you had a hand in it! This is infamous! I am dubbed knight one day and sent to my slaughter the next.’
‘Oh that is preposterous, Kit, quite preposterous!’ Mainwaring said, angering. ‘You are growing too big—’
‘What? For my boots? God damn it, don’t you see what he has done? He has obliged me, just as he obliged me to feed those two young bloods! God, the House of Stuart does not lack cunning. And I thought him a better man than his father . . .’
‘What is it that so disturbs you, Kit?’ a puzzled Katherine enquired. ‘He does you great honour.’
Faulkner looked at her as though stunned. ‘What? You don’t see it? You would rather have me dead Sir Christopher than good old plain and living Kit? Yesterday you were weeping at my departure, now you speak eagerly of honour!’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
‘He sends me into the Thames under orders so precise that I have no hope of commanding my fate. And in mine own ship too! A ship I put at his disposal.’ Anger and outrage robbed him of further words and he bit at his own crooked index finger with such fury that it drew blood.
‘I think you grossly overestimate the risk, Kit,’ Mainwaring said. ‘Why, His Majesty requires only that you repeat your success off the Nore arguing, quite logically, that you cannot yet repeat the success of your cruise to the northwards.’
‘The enemy knows that I am back in The Hague; the place is full of spies,’ Faulkner said with contempt but calming himself with an effort to match Mainwaring’s argument with his own. ‘If this is your stratagem, Sir Henry, then I deplore it and admit I am too big for my boots. Moreover, I have little doubt but that word is already on its way to London that another attempt is going to be made on the Thames and Medway.’ He looked at Mainwaring, a sudden suspicion entering his mind and growing in an instant with the certainty of conviction. ‘If this plan is so easy to undertake, Sir Henry,’ he said, fixing the old man with his gaze, ‘would you not condescend in hoisting your flag and accompanying me as the King’s admiral?’
‘I have every intention of so doing, Sir Christopher,’ Mainwaring said archly, steadily meeting his interlocutor’s eyes. Faulkner nodded. ‘I divine your purpose,’ he said, shooting a look at Katherine who was none the wiser. Mainwaring intended to carry Faulkner, the Phoenix and all her people into the hands of the enemy and make his compact with them.
Faulkner lay that night beside the sleeping Katherine, his thoughts in turmoil. He felt torn in his loyalty to Mainwaring, unable to understand the imperative that was driving the old man. Faulkner had supposed Mainwaring had no roots in England, and misunderstood the other’s complex intellect and the compulsions of a man of Mainwaring’s subtle character. He himself had sundered his present from his past, retaining the cunning and opportunism that had kept him alive as a child in the gutters of Bristol along with his clear vision of what he conceived as right from wrong. It was indeed true that he owed Mainwaring a great deal, but he had himself accomplished much by his own efforts. Now he felt betrayed; Mainwaring wanted to play on his obligation and compel Faulkner to facilitate his own return to a welcome Faulkner guessed Mainwaring had secretly arranged.
But the implications of Mainwaring’s plan were compounded by other complexities. What could be his motive in going over to the Commonwealth with his flag flying in the Phoenix other than to betray Faulkner and all his people, to hand over the last Royalist ship in these home waters capable of dealing an effective blow against the trade of England? It was not credible that he, Faulkner, could make such a compact as Mainwaring had, presumably, made provision for. Faulkner was a wanted man and they would make an example of him; what was more he would be seen of by both sides as a gullible dupe, fooled by the old man who had been pirate, courtier, admiral and Judas!
Faulkner had no friends in England. He could scarce revive his association with Nathan Gooding who had been not merely his former business partner but his brother-in-law, any more than he could claim assistance from Judith herself. She would be so steeped in her Puritan victory that she would never forgive him sufficiently to save him from the noose she would conceive he deserved.
And what of Kate stirring beside him? To fall in – even blindly – with Mainwaring meant her abandonment. And that in turn would drive her directly into the arms of the King. The thought brought him wide-awake. He lay for a moment thinking fast and then, having rapidly come to a conclusion, he slipped out of bed. Waiting to ensure Kate remained fast asleep, he then left the room, crossed the landing and, without knocking, entered Mainwaring’s chamber.
The room was close and stank of the old man’s breath. ‘Sir Henry,’ Faulkner said in a low voice, shaking the old man so that he started awake and sat bolt upright in bed.
‘What the devil! Is that you, Kit?’
‘Be quiet. I would talk with you. You mean to defect by carrying yourself into the Thames in the Phoenix, with me and my people as an earnest of your good faith and reformation,’ Faulkner hissed, his voice low but strident with passion.
‘Yes, but you do not—’
‘Do not, I beg you, tell me that I do not understand. On the contrary, I understand you all too well and I am reluctant to be hanged as a pirate on the evidence of another such.’
‘You think I would do that?’ Mainwaring’s tone was outraged. ‘After all I have done for you, you think that I would thus throw you away?’
‘What else?’
‘You, among the finest of sea officers, would be of great value to the Commonwealth. You think that you have risen far, to a trumpery knighthood . . .’
‘I think nothing of my knighthood.’
‘Ah, but Kate does.’
‘Ah, yes, Kate. And what use is my knighthood to Kate? I cannot marry her; the King said as much. He received her out of his own desire because her curtsey afforded him a good view of her bubs. And what of Kate? Where does she come into this complex intrigue of yours? Shall she bob her hair and sign on as my boy? Perhaps you would have me turn pretended sodomite like the great Buckingham himself that I might smuggle her in as my bawd in breeches?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Kit! D’you think that I have not thought of her? Why, I am as fond of her as of you – fonder perhaps, if only because she has better manners. She shall remain here; we have, thanks to you and Providence, sufficient money to maintain her. Then, when we have made our compositions, we shall fetch her over.’
‘Does she know anything of all this?’
‘No, of course not.’
Faulkner fell silen
t for a few moments and Mainwaring left him to his thoughts. Then he said, shaking his head in the darkness, ‘No, it will not do.’
‘Think about it, Kit. The King’s cause is doomed. I did not think that they would cut His Late Majesty’s head off but having done it there is no turning back. England will not die like even the young Charles will do sooner or later, as we all must. England is a rock, her people stolid. They are reaping the advantages of their new order. See how the Dutch have prospered since they threw off the yoke of Papist Spain. Why, one can scarce believe it: the riches of Madrid in every burgher’s chamber. Likewise England will do well, believe me.’
‘You are no necromancer; you can see the future no more than any other man,’ Faulkner said, adding sarcastically, ‘You only believe you can, thanks to your earlier composition with King James.’
‘That is as untrue as it is unkind, Kit,’ Mainwaring responded.
‘Be that as it may, it shall not fall out as you wish.’ Faulkner drew away and without heeding any more of the old man’s argument he withdrew.
Back in his own room he gently shook Katherine. She woke confused from a deep sleep. ‘Hush, my love, but I must be away tonight. I would have you remain quiet here. Expect me back in ten days, if God wills it, and I will yet make you a duchess.’
‘But . . . Why the sudden departure?’
He put his finger to her lips and she grasped his wrist tightly. ‘I am in dispute with Sir Henry,’ he whispered, ‘the details of which need not concern you but are of importance to us both in the long run. If I am to obey the King, I must move with great speed. If I am successful then much may flow in consequence.’
‘If not?’ she breathed.
‘Let us not consider that.’ He paused, gathering his clothes and cramming his portmanteau. Thank heaven he travelled light from Helvoetsluys and habitually left most of his effects aboard the Phoenix. Having completed his preparations as far as he could, he bent over her. She was weeping.
‘Will this business of separation never end?’
‘Soon,’ he said, kissing her. ‘Soon, by God, it must.’
Outside he waited in silence before trying the door of Mainwaring’s chamber. From inside came the snuffling of an old man fast asleep. ‘Incredible!’ he breathed to himself. Then, his boots in one hand, his portmanteau in the other, he descended the stairs.
‘Spithead,’ he said to White and Lazenby. ‘We can carry the tide westwards, strike at any shipping off Portsmouth under cover of night and escape by way of the Solent.’
‘What if the wind is westerly?’ White asked.
‘We drop through St Helen’s Roads and double the Wight by way of St Catherine’s Point. Either way we retreat west, the inference being we are one of Rupert’s raiders.’ Faulkner looked up at the two men. ‘Are you game? For I’ll have none here that aren’t.’
‘I’m game,’ said Lazenby. White nodded.
‘Then roust the men out of their whores’ beds, I would leave before noon.’
‘Why the hurry?’
‘Because there are spies in The Hague would betray the orders the King thinks he has given me.’
‘Do you not act at some risk, Sir Christopher,’ White asked with punctilious regard for Faulkner’s change of status, ‘in disobeying the King?’
Faulkner looked up at White, seeking some superciliousness in his expression. Instead he found the man’s concern moving. ‘If I read the King like I read other men, and I confess that may not be possible, but, if I do, then His Majesty will be pleased with such success as we bring His majesty’s arms. He would have me strike at London’s trade at the Nore.’
‘What? Again, and so soon?’
‘Just so. Instead we shall strike at the heart of the enemy’s naval power: at Portsmouth.’
It was a bold plan, and with Rupert active in the Irish Sea and drawing some of the Commonwealth forces to the west, stood fair to succeed. The Phoenix avoided Moulton’s single frigate whose captain, with only a single ship to blockade but well supplied with spies’ information as to when the Phoenix was preparing for sea, failed to take his task seriously. By winkling his men out of their beds and leaving with all haste, Faulkner compromised his endurance, having only stores for nineteen days on board, but he proposed to be no longer than ten, if he was to keep his word to Kate.
Whatever he might have neglected in his haste to be away before either the King or Mainwaring realized he had gone, he had not neglected his preparations. It was a strong tide that carried the Phoenix down the French coast, well clear of The Downs so that she passed through innumerable fleets of French fishermen as Faulkner followed their littoral. Not crossing the Channel until nightfall would find the tide about to ebb to the west after he had passed the Nab. Again they pitched short-fused shells into two small men-of-war lying at St Helen’s but, finding nothing anchored at Spithead beyond a hoy, Faulkner’s run of luck began to falter. At three in the morning the wind fell light and the Phoenix drifted on the tide, passing the Mother Bank and approaching Cowes with but bare steerage way.
Arguing that the three or four hoys, bilanders and ketches lying off the Wight’s major port were not worth cutting out and eager not to be caught within the Solent at daylight, Faulkner held what course they could make for the western entrance, off the Needles. It was therefore almost daylight when they passed the guns at Hurst Castle without disturbing the garrison and had, by providential grace, passed the narrows off the ragged chalk stumps of the Needles themselves, out into deeper water.
With the dawn coming up astern of them they only saw the approaching ship at three miles’ distance, emerging from a light mist caused by the lack of wind. She was heading for the Needles passage where, by the time she made it, the tide would be slack and then turning in her favour.
Despite the dispiriting calm, when summoned, the men ran to their stations willingly enough, encouraged by White’s assertion that the strange vessel was almost certainly a merchantman. Not only that, she bore with her the bones of a breeze which, White assured all within earshot, would soon ‘fill in and they’d have the to’gallant yards on the caps afore noon’.
The news that a potential prize was bearing down upon them put them all on their mettle. Faulkner had had an anxious night of it and had to admit to a sense of disappointment that his stratagem, though fulfilled in one sense, had conspicuously failed in another. Although two men-of-war ketches afire was a feather in his cap, the little victory came with no money and money was the thing to please the King as much as his own creditors. The prospect of a prize was therefore welcomed by all.
Faulkner passed word for his sword and baldric. There was no time to don a cuirass; besides, he did not think he would need it.
‘They’ll have seen us,’ Lazenby remarked to no one in particular and stating the obvious, but those aboard the on-coming vessel seemed unafraid that the Phoenix might prove hostile. Unfortunately none of the growing breeze that bore her along as yet filled the Phoenix’s sails, even though her helm was hard over and her yards braced to avoid it taking them aback. Faulkner impatiently paced the deck, pausing every so often to stare at the oncoming vessel, then stare aloft at the slack and slatting sails before crossing the deck, staring at the compass and glaring at the helmsman as though that unfortunate could remedy his plight.
The stranger came closer and closer. ‘We’ll miss her by Jupiter!’ he hissed furiously.
‘Sir, might I suggest . . .’ White began, but Faulkner was one jump ahead of him.
‘Square the yards!’ he snapped and the parrells groaned and the blocks clicked as the yards came round, making a right angle with the ship’s centre-line. ‘Lie low you gunners, but all to the starboard battery and blow on your linstocks,’ he called in a low voice to Lazenby at the guns in the waist. ‘And you there,’ he instructed the topmen, his voice still muted, ‘keep below the rail, but stand by, ready to brace up on the larboard tack. D’you understand, bosun?’
‘Larboard tack, yar, yar, si
r,’ the big Dutchman replied and not for the first time Faulkner congratulated himself on engaging so fine a sailor.
Faulkner turned to White and addressed him with a quick instruction, following which the first lieutenant, who grasped exactly what Faulkner intended, went and stood by the helmsman.
‘We’ll be caught aback,’ whispered one of the guns’ crew.
‘Aye, and that varmint’ll smoke us,’ one of his mates added, but Lazenby also divined his commander’s stratagem.
‘Silence there,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You watch us put in a stern-board and . . .’
The stranger was therefore almost abeam and Faulkner had hoisted himself in the mizzen rigging, hat in hand to hail the incoming ship in a friendly manner when first the topgallants and then the Phoenix’s topsails were caught aback.
‘Ahoy there!’ he called, and then in mock fury he swung round and shouted, ‘What the hell! We’re caught aback!’ The slap of the canvas against the masts made the ship shudder and Faulkner jumped down on the deck as though about to belabour someone on deck and the helmsman, convinced that he was about to be assaulted, was only steadied by White’s curt orders. Faintly over the water they could hear the watch on the strange ship laughing at their discomfiture as they began to move astern.
‘Helm over now!’ hissed Faulkner, watching as the Phoenix’s head swung to starboard as White ordered the rudder put to larboard. Aloft the sails began to shiver and in the waist Lazenby took a look over the rail and passed word to his gun crews.
‘Haul all!’ Faulkner ordered in a voice loud enough to suggest the most routine of orders. The stranger was no longer approaching their beam; the alteration of the ship’s head had brought her round, broad on the Phoenix’s starboard bow as she began to gather headway.
‘Stand by, Mr Lazenby,’ Faulkner said with almost casual disinterest, looking across the diminishing gap of ruffled water that separated the two ships and waiting for the suspicion to dawn on the other that all was not quite what it seemed. For a moment or two nothing happened and then an officer clambered up into the other’s mizzen rigging and hailed them.
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