Mistress of the Sea

by Jenny Barden

  ‘Good day, Will.’ The voice was Drake’s. Will turned to see the Captain drinking deeply beside him. Will brought his hands to his lips and did the same.

  ‘Come with me.’ Drake strode off to the gate.

  They walked along the beach and looked out to sea. Stretching to the horizon were countless coral islands topped by mangroves and palms. The Pascoe was almost invisible, covered by foliage and with her masts down.

  Drake slowed but did not stop. He frowned.

  ‘What are the men saying?’

  Will understood; he answered truthfully: ‘Some of them say, perhaps we should go back. They fear disease more than the Spaniards.’

  ‘So, do we quit?’

  Will bowed his head, unsure how to answer.

  Drake sighed.

  ‘Aye, perhaps we should, while there are still enough of us left to sail the Pascoe . . .’ There was defiance in his voice though not his look. He strode on. ‘But to leave with nothing, after so much sacrifice . . .’

  He lapsed into silence, and Will noticed the slight limp in Drake’s gait as he trudged over the sand. By the sea all the scrub had been cleared. It was possible to circuit the entire island without leaving the shore. Will wondered whether Drake was intent on doing just that. He seemed thrown into a mood that Will had not witnessed in him before: sombre and bleak.

  Drake turned.

  ‘What have we achieved?’

  Will looked from Drake to one of the corners of the fort; the rest was largely hidden behind mangroves and brush. What could he say? The truth was they had achieved little, but brooding on that would do no good. He sought to dispel Drake’s melancholy; there was not much else he could do to be of use. He seized upon every triumph he could think of.

  ‘We have put the fear of God into the Spaniards, attacked where they thought they were impregnable, terrorised their trade routes, captured many prizes . . .’

  ‘Ships with cargoes of no real worth. Am I to go back to the Queen and present her with trifles? She will not thank me for beans and flour . . .’ Drake drew breath. ‘The whole of the Spanish Main is on the alert. Nombre de Dios has been reinforced, warships patrol the seas around Cartagena and after six months of opportunity I have less than half the men I came with, and no riches of any account.’ He looked away, as if only the sea could understand. ‘I have not had my vengeance. That is . . .’ He shook his head slowly. ‘That is failure.’ His voice dropped until it was close to a whisper. ‘My brothers are dead.’

  ‘They died bravely.’

  Drake craned round and looked Will in the eye.

  ‘Joseph died like a dog that has been kicked over and over. He died wretchedly, in my arms, spewing blood.’

  ‘Even the best soldier cannot fight disease.’ Will tried to offer some comfort. ‘We have been beset by mishaps, through no lack of courage. Consider the catastrophes that have afflicted us, yet we have endured them – Raunce parting from our venture—’

  ‘Raunce left because he had not the nerve to carry on. That was no catastrophe.’

  ‘But we have endured much worse: sickness like a plague, the loss of the Swan—’

  Again Drake cut across him.

  ‘No,’ Drake said, still walking. ‘Losing the Swan was no accident.’

  ‘What then? I thought . . .’

  ‘You thought the Swan sank because she had sprung a leak and we could not bail her out fast enough.’

  ‘We did our best to save her, toiled a full day at the pumps, both your brother’s crew and the Pascoe’s . . .’ The memory of the disaster was still raw in Will’s mind. He did not want Drake to suppose that their efforts had fallen short.

  Drake shook his head.

  ‘I ordered holes drilled in her hull. I had them covered over so they would not be noticed. Only the carpenter knew.’

  ‘Why?’ Will grasped Drake’s arm without thinking. His voice rose. ‘In the name of God, why?’

  ‘The Swan had to go.’ Drake’s answer was firm. He looked at Will’s hand, and Will released his hold. Will would not have dared touch him if he had thought about what he was doing, but then Drake had never before been so forthright. Will drew breath. It was for him to listen, not question. He supposed the Captain had few left to confide in who might not threaten his authority. Leaders could not easily be friends. But that made the truth no more bearable. He clenched his jaw as Drake carried on.

  ‘The men had to be committed. I did not like what was necessary. My brother loved that ship. She was John’s, and I took her from him. Even command of the Pascoe was no recompense. He died without knowing what I had done . . . for this venture . . . for a greater cause.’

  ‘We all swore an oath to see this venture through.’ Will could not disguise the edge in his voice, however much he wanted to show his loyalty. He could barely contain his grief. ‘Did you not trust your own men?’

  ‘You have heard them talking.’ Drake looked again at the sea. ‘There could be only one ship able to get back to England. One ship to hold us all to the venture. But now . . .’ He turned back, and Will saw a depth of sorrow beneath the blithe confidence he was used to. Drake raised his chin. ‘I thought it could be done.’

  ‘And I,’ Will murmured and sighed. The anger had left him. Drake’s decision had been made long ago. Nothing would be achieved by questioning it now. He needed Drake to be strong. ‘We have come so close. There was a king’s ransom within our grasp at Nombre de Dios, and only ill luck stopped us seizing it.’

  ‘No’. The denial was soft, and perhaps, Will supposed, Drake was thinking of something else in his low spirits, so Will went on. ‘Consider the storm that spoilt our powder . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The ball that struck your leg . . .’

  ‘No!’ Drake was vehement. ‘We were never close. There was nothing to take.’

  ‘But yes, if not in the Treasure house, then certainly in the Governor’s house. Remember all the silver . . .’

  ‘There was none.’ Drake lumbered on. Will caught him up.

  ‘You saw it. “Silver enough to fill our ships”, you said – more than we could carry.’

  ‘There was no silver.’

  Will stopped, stunned.

  ‘But why did you say otherwise?’

  ‘The men had to believe that the treasure was close.’ Drake snapped and carried on. ‘They had to have faith.’

  ‘Faith in treasure?’ In a few long strides Will drew level with Drake, challenging him with the question, repeating it, because he could not make pretence of his reaction. He had never believed Drake to be so ruthless. By his own admission Drake had destroyed his brother’s ship; he had lied about the silver. How else had he used those sworn to his endeavour?

  ‘They are men of fortune. You know them.’ Drake’s voice dropped. ‘Perhaps I expected too much. I thought a river of bullion flowed through Nombre de Dios, and it would be an easy matter to dip into it with daring: strike the Spaniards where it would hurt them most, divert their riches and be avenged.’ He drew his hand over his brow. ‘I did not expect the river to run dry.’

  Will glanced down. He had given Drake his trust, and now he knew where that would lead: to one end, and one end only. Drake would let nothing deflect him. The enterprise was greater than anyone, mariner or brother, man or woman. Drake would only help Ellyn if that did not interfere with his purpose, and he would not readily sail for England without achieving his goal. They had to succeed. Will turned to him.

  ‘The bullion will flow again. The Cimaroons have told us the treasure fleet has arrived. Once the fleet docks at Nombre de Dios, then the mule trains come from Panamá. Ellyn confirmed as much before we left her.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Drake looked grave.

  ‘I cannot rely on what the Cimaroons say. They mean well, but they want to please us. They tell us what they think we hope for. Treasure means nothing to them; the silver trains are of no significance.’
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br />   ‘Ellyn understands what is at stake.’ Will paced beside Drake and eyed the sea. ‘She was certain: the mule trains begin moving after the fleet reaches Nombre de Dios. The convoy was expected around Christmastide. If it has arrived, the timing would be right. She has a keen intelligence.’

  ‘Aye.’ To Will’s surprise, Drake voiced no reservation. ‘She does. I’ve sent Ox in the Lion to scout for sight of the Spanish ships.’

  They had almost reached the point at which they had started, and the talk of Ellyn made Will long to comfort her with a message: to let her know she had not been forgotten. She would be wondering what had happened to them. He no longer trusted Drake to ensure her safety, at least not before seizing the treasure he wanted. Will stared at the reef. His gaze shifted to the horizon and the small lumps of scattered islets. Then, slowly, the square of a sail came into view.

  Drake shielded his eyes.

  ‘Well there is our Lion. We may soon know more.’

  Will could see that the Lion had a capture. There was a frigate further out. If the treasure fleet had arrived, they might yet have another chance. He studied the pinnace. The Lion was driving ashore with prisoners aboard, rich merchants from the look of them. He saw everything more clearly as the Lion’s oars brought her in. A mariner jumped into the shallows and raced up the beach. Will strode with Drake to greet him.

  ‘There are above a score of ships . . .’ The man gasped as he neared. ‘In Nombre de Dios . . . The fleet from Seville . . .’

  Drake smiled broadly, eyes twinkling as he clapped Will’s back.

  ‘Rouse the men, Will. We have a venture to finish!’

  That night the air was still. The sound of honing and stropping made a continuous sharp swish; voices were muted. The heat was trapped. As Will walked through the fort, he caught the smell of resin and tallow. Someone was bent over a longbow, waxing the yew. By the light of the half-moon he made out more.

  ‘Are you ready, Morrys?’

  ‘Aye, Will. Keen to get goin’.’

  ‘I feel that too.’

  Will could sense the urge to be gone in every wan face that turned towards him, and in the remarks as he passed.

  ‘Sleep easy.’

  ‘God keep you.’

  In one of the corners of the fort, a candle glimmered behind a screen. The shifting shadows revealed huddled forms. Drake would be in counsel with Black Diego and Ox, deciding how eighteen Englishmen and thirty Cimaroons could best attack a mule train loaded with bullion and under guard. With so small a force they would need the advantage of surprise, a plan of daring and much courage. But every man in the enterprise was eager for some action at last.

  Will spotted Hix sitting with his back to a post. His friend had no reason not to be sleeping; he had been chosen to command those left guarding the Pascoe and the fort, but Will sensed what he would be feeling: envy and frustration. He had known those feelings, too.

  ‘Fare thee well,’ Hix said, and nodded as Will strolled on towards the gates. Perhaps Hix understood something of Will’s mood, just the same; he did not question why Will walked out onto the beach.

  In order to think Will needed some space. He began the same circuit around the island that he had made with Drake only hours before. In the dark he could make out footprints that the tide had left untouched; some might have been his. The sea shone, and the rippling lines of surf made a luminous verge to the silvery sand. He walked fast and breathed deeply, taking in the aroma of sap and brine. Away offshore, strange greenish patches glowed, bobbing on the waves. One of the mysteries of the sea was that it sometimes made its own light. When most things were obscured, a few became clear. The night revealed stars.

  He was worried for Ellyn – more worried than he had ever been since leaving her near Nombre de Dios. ‘She will be safe,’ Drake had assured him, but that was when he had seen her last, over half a year ago. ‘Trust me,’ Drake had said. But did he trust Drake now? If the attack on the silver train succeeded, then their fortunes would be made. But all would be lost unless they were able to escape. What if they failed? Whatever the outcome, Ellyn’s position would be more precarious. Will picked up a pebble and threw it far over the sea, watching light shimmer where it sank. He had to face what he knew. His conversation with Drake had helped open his eyes. He could not rely on the Captain to safeguard Ellyn at any price. He could not comfort himself with the notion that seizing Spanish bullion would help her. It might put her in worse danger. He would have to find her, and take her away from the reach of the Spaniards. But when? How? What if she was no longer on the island where she had been left?

  His feet sank in the loose sand. He ploughed back towards the spume. He could not go to her before the attack; if he tried to and was caught, then the Spaniards would discover Drake’s intent, and all those with him would be trapped. But he must go to Ellyn straight afterwards. He must find a way, even if that meant defying Drake, and in the meantime he would send her a message. She had to be on the island when he got there. She had to be ready, and not in the city.

  He reached for another pebble and hurled it away with all his might, and again he saw a faint burst of pale greenish light. The waves sparkled against the shore. How could he get a message to her?

  He stooped down once more and picked up a shell.

  18

  Heart

  ‘If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.’

  —Words written on a window pane by Elizabeth I, in response to those marked on the same pane by Sir Walter Raleigh: ‘Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall’ (as recorded in Thomas Fuller’s Worthies of England)

  ELLYN HAD BEEN shut in the same room for hours, long enough for the heat to become intense, and for the slivers of light to mellow and widen. She knew she was in the garrison where Bastidas had once questioned her, somewhere high, under the roof. The wooden ceiling was sloping on one side, and occasionally, in the distance, she heard musket shots and orders. From the window came the sounds of people below. She was sure that, if she could look out, she would see the plaza and the government buildings, but the shutters were bolted closed, just as the door was firmly locked. So she stared at the light because there was little else to look at, except for the gecko, inert on a beam.

  The room that imprisoned her was small and hot, empty of furniture save for the chair on which she sat. There was a guard outside who coughed and shuffled. She pinched a fold of her skirts, feeling the weave of the worn fabric, and wished that she’d had time to clothe herself more carefully. Soldiers had taken her from her island even before she was properly dressed; then she’d been ferried to the city, marched in soaked skirts through the streets and confined in the garrison without any explanation.

  She ran her fingers through her uncombed hair, tidying it as best she could. ‘You are bella,’ Bastidas had said when they had dined together on Twelfth Night. How long ago was that? She could not reckon it clearly. Perhaps seven weeks had passed since she’d been with him last, and then he had seemed intent on flattering her in his own peculiar way. Yet his aims must have changed. She recognised a cloying scent like ambergris in the room, powerful and sharp. The smell was his.

  She would not despair. She thought of the message she’d received that had been hidden in a shell. It had been delivered only a few days before, given her by the Cimaroons who often brought her fish. She had come to trust them. The giant with the scars had handed her the shell, holding it to his ear before pointing inside its lip. She had found the slip of paper coiled into its folds. The message had been unfurled as she now smoothed out her skirts; then she had committed the words to memory:

  We are very close. Be ready. I will come for you soon. Burn this after you have read it. Your voyager, Will.

  Could Bastidas have found out? Yet how? She had done as Will had asked. No trace of the message remained. But perhaps the Cimaroons had been followed. It was always possible they had betrayed her. She shook her head. She would not believe that.

  The Cimaroons could te
ll her little except that the message had come from ‘the English of the Dragon’, and not ‘el inglés de la luna’ or ‘the Englishman of the Moon’. Drake was known as the Dragon, so this confirmed what she hoped. But she had no idea who the other Englishman was who was said to be marked by the moon, and she did not much care, since Will was not with him.

  She stared at the slivers of light. ‘We are close’, Will had written, and she took hope that he might find her, despite the manifest difficulty that he could not know where she was. ‘Your voyager’, he had signed himself, and she clung to those words: he was on a voyage to reach her – her ordeal would end soon. She could even hear footsteps. Her heart raced. But the striding outside was surely too crisp to be Will’s. Then she knew. Even before she heard the guard stand, she knew Bastidas was at the door, and when she turned, there he was, dressed austerely and armed with dagger and sword.

  Bastidas closed the door and paced slowly around her. When he spoke his tone was cold.

  ‘I am trying to think why not to send you to Spain – for examination by the Holy Office.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘The Inquisition,’ he added quietly.

  Ellyn tensed, though she tried not to show it.

  ‘I am not a heretic.’

  ‘You have lived as one for years.’

  ‘I attend Mass with the good people of Nombre de Dios. Ask Friar Luis—’

  ‘Friar Luis does not speak for the council of this city.’ Bastidas stepped towards her. ‘There are many here who believe you should be made to account.’ He moved around to her other side. ‘Inglesa.’ He moved closer. ‘English woman.’

  She kept still.

  ‘It is not a sin to be English.’

  ‘No?’ Bastidas began to stalk around her once more. ‘You are stained with the sins of your friends, the corsairs.’

  ‘No more now than I have ever been.’ She watched him, certain that something must have changed. Suddenly she was desperate to know. ‘Has there been news of Captain Drake?’