A Ship for The King (2 page)

‘Is this a portion that you would give to your son, Mr Jones?'

The old man sensed a trap but could not quite fathom it. ‘Why, Captain, I, er . . . er my wife . . .'

‘Tell your wife to produce another such pannikin at once. Be off! And bring the boy a spoon, he is not a dog.'

He handed the lad the pan of thin stew. ‘Eat it before it cools.'

The youth took it and wolfed it down, slurping at the rim of the pan, scooping up the small lumps of salt meat and sucking on them greedily. When he had finished Henry bent and said, ‘Open your mouth wide.' He obeyed and the man remarked, ‘Good teeth, by heaven. How the devil did you manage that?' The lad shrugged. ‘The query was rhetorical, Mr Rat. But, heavens, I cannot call you that. Forgive me. I asked if you knew your father's name; do you know your own?'

‘My mother called me Kit, sir.'

‘And your father's name?'

‘Robert Faulkner, and he was married to my mother.'

‘So you are Kit . . . no, no, that is not what you were baptised, assuming you were baptised; you are therefore Christopher Faulkner.' He paused, scrutinizing the thin pale face with its over-large eyes. ‘D'you recognize the cognomen?'

‘You mean the name, sir? Christopher Faulkner?'

‘Just so.'

‘Aye, sir. I do.' It was the lad's turn to pause, and then he asked, ‘Is that what cognomen means, sir; my name?'

‘Indeed. And where are you from?'

The lad shrugged. ‘Hereabouts, sir. I live on the waterfront as best I may, sir . . .'

‘And what would you do with yourself?' the man named Henry asked, his tone dallying as he awaited the slow and resentful approach of the ship-keeper with a second pan of stew.

‘Why, find somewhere dry and warm, sir, for the night.'

‘Eat this and go and curl up in the galley near the stove . . .'

‘Cap'n, have I to look after vagabonds?' the ship-keeper protested.

‘Indeed, Jones, you do not. You shall attend this young fellow on your son's account, payment for which was a length of leather hose fastened by rivets of excellent Welsh copper, which belonged to this ship and which has since passed into the hands of others without the prior knowledge of Captain Gideon Strange, or myself. And if I find one hair of this child's head has been touched by you or your son tomorrow, I shall see you answer for the crime of theft, even though you instruct your son to recover the hose this night.'

The ship-keeper visibly cringed at the mention of the word ‘theft' and indicated to the lad, who had now finished the stew, that he should follow him forward into the warm shelter of the galley.

‘Thank you, sir,' said the lad, half-fearful of following the old man.

‘One moment, young Kit. Tell me, had you a wish upon which your life depended, what would it be?'

‘Why, sir, to go to sea and make my way like you, sir.'

A broad grin spread across the gentleman's face. ‘Like me? Oh, I think not. Not like me at all, but to go to sea is an easy road to which one has only to trim your sails. It is the coming back that proves the greater problem.'

‘Would you take me on your ship, sir?'

‘Do I have a ship?'

‘Is this ship not yours, sir?'

‘I am part-owner of her, yes, but I have in mind something better. Have you the stomach for a fight, Mr Kit Faulkner; and perhaps a gamble on life's hazard?'

The lad frowned, conscious that he was being dallied with, while the old ship-keeper stood by sucking what remained of his caried teeth, and awaited his release, whereupon, the lad feared, he would receive a beating in exchange for his night's lodging. ‘I do not understand what you mean, sir . . .'

‘Henry, for God's sake has that boy not had sufficient of your charity that you must make an evening's entertainment of him?'

The gentleman turned back to his companion who had emerged from the cabin and, wrapped in his cloak and carrying a satchel under his arm, seemed destined for the shore again. ‘A moment, Gideon,' the gentleman said fishing in his pocket and withdrawing some silver which he passed to the ship-keeper. ‘Tend this boy, Jones, and tomorrow see him clothed decently and brought to my lodgings by noon. Discharge this and recover our hose and I shall drop the matter of reporting the theft. D'you hear me?'

‘Aye, sir. Shall be done as you say, sir.'

The man named Jones led the youth forward to where a small deckhouse stood; it housed the ship's galley. Inside it was dark, but the glow of the galley stove threw out a seductive warmth. With much grunting and tongue-clicking Jones drew the galley fire, then indicated that the lad could sleep nearby. Carrying the bucket of hot coals on deck to dump over the ship's side for fear of fire, and which the port regulations required, he left the lad to himself.

Kit Faulkner lay down and curled up as close to the warm cast-iron stove as he could. The sudden transformation in his circumstances reminded him of happier times and he was all but overcome with tears for a second time that day. For many months the sheer necessity of staying alive had denied him the indulgence of self-pity and he might have sobbed himself to sleep had not a distraction caused him to rub a hand across his grimy face. The cat's miaow might have been interpreted in many ways; outrage, perhaps, at finding the hearth occupied, or a welcome to another whose existence was as perilous as its own. Whatever feline logic drove the animal, it nudged up to the adolescent boy and he found himself stroking its inquisitive head. A moment later it curled up beside him and both were soon asleep.

The two men, Captain Gideon Strange and Captain Henry Mainwaring, were less eager to retire and spent the evening dining on mutton and some rotgut Portuguese wine that their landlord had the effrontery to attempt to pass off as claret. Both men declared they had drunk better but had matters more pressing, conducting their conversation in Strange's private lodging rooms, where Mainwaring was his guest. Both were part-owners of the
Swallow
, the ship in which Kit Faulkner had found temporary refuge and which had but lately arrived from the Mediterranean. Although not the sole owners, the two partners held the largest number of shares in the vessel, between them commanding forty-eight sixty-fourths, with Mainwaring holding a moiety more than Strange. The latter, however, was the master and the two regarded each other as equals in their business. Having pored over the accounts to their mutual satisfaction, filled themselves with the landlord's mutton and filthy wine, Mainwaring called for pipes and tobacco before turning the conversation to other matters. When both had wreathed their heads in an aromatic blue haze, he ventured his news.

‘Gideon, I have news for you that will upset the tranquillity of our arrangements, I fear.'

‘Oh? Pray, what is amiss? Is it that wretched boy?' Strange waved his hand to dissipate the cloud of smoke in order to see his companion better. Mainwaring removed his own pipe and stared into the distance. He was a handsome man, clean-shaven and in his early thirties. He had a strong face, a straight nose and a well-formed mouth. A hint of coming fat hung on his cheeks but he was not ill-made, with a strong, lean body that spoke of physical power, even when seated after a hearty meal. Not for the first time Gideon Strange thought it was his friend who should have borne his own surname, for there was something indefinable about Mainwaring: the man was an enigma. In truth, Strange knew that the suspicion arose from his ambivalent past, and the reflection was given added weight by the consideration that had Mainwaring not had a chequered career he, Gideon Strange, would not be sitting in lodgings in the city of Bristol, comfortable in the knowledge that he had just completed a prosperous voyage to Smyrna. Indeed, he was only too conscious – and the thought made him cold with sweaty apprehension – he would still be toiling under the hot sun of Barbary, a slave to the Moors. Thank God, however, Providence delivered him through the timely agency of one Captain Henry Mainwaring.

As if sensing Strange's reflections, Mainwaring turned to his friend and smiled, an open, charming smile that could turn a woman's head and never failed to elicit a similar response from Strange himself. ‘No, Gideon, not the boy, though I shall come to him later. No, what I have to impart to you concerns you directly since I am summoned to London and will, perforce, hand over my part in the management of the
Swallow
to your goodself, assuming, of course, that you are willing to undertake it.' Here Mainwaring held up his hand to prevent Strange from interjecting. ‘I would not impose on our friendship and would yield eight sixty-fourths in the
Swallow
to make you both master and majority shareholder if you agree.'

‘That is a most generous offer . . .'

‘And take Mr Rat as apprentice – not with the object of making of him cheap labour, but advancing him quickly in seamanship and navigation . . .'

Strange frowned. ‘What on earth for?'

‘Gideon, the country has need of competent seamen, men to command, not simply to hand, reef and steer. A youth who knows nothing else, who is bred to the sea, and one, moreover, who thinks that all his ambition lies thither, is the perfect clay with which to mould so necessary an object. Take him and make him . . . that is all I ask.'

Strange shrugged. ‘Very well. I shall if you wish it, but think you he has the mind for it?'

‘By my reckoning the lad is sharp and shrewd and I may well have need of him. To such natural talents he has nothing to add beyond a hunger and with it, I suspect, a hunger for knowledge would surely follow his appetite for apple cores.'

Strange rubbed his chin in contemplation. If he was less eager to espouse Mr Rat's cause, he was even less eager to challenge Mainwaring's judgement. His partner was not infallible by any means, but he was not often wrong in judging men. Had he been prone to such a fault he would not have so transformed himself. ‘So,' he said, ‘may I ask why you intend to relinquish your business here and go to London?'

‘I have been granted audience of the King,' Mainwaring said casually, blowing a cloud of smoke into the thick air and staring at it as it roiled upwards towards the low, stained and dingy ceiling.

‘By heaven, you have not!'

‘Indeed, Gideon, I have.' Mainwaring turned and looked at his friend. ‘You are surprised?'

Strange shrugged. ‘Were it any other shipmaster in Bristol, I should be astounded, but you – no, I am not surprised, though I am continually amazed. However, think you that our gracious King might not have a motive in so commanding you?'

‘Undoubtedly His Majesty has a motive . . .'

‘I mean one more devious than mere curiosity at setting his royal eyes upon a lately pardoned pirate.'

Mainwaring laughed. ‘Lately pardoned? Come, come, Gideon, you are unjust, I have been pardoned two years. Besides, what mean you by devious? They say His Majesty is a mighty devious shrewd prince, which surely is a necessary quality for one whose business is with ambassadors, bishops, courtiers—'

‘And catamites,' Strange interrupted.

‘Catamites? Mean you to impute some unnaturalness to Jacobus Rex, Gideon? Have a care or you will end your days in two pieces upon Tower Hill – if you are lucky.'

‘Come Hal, 'tis well known that the King has his favourites. This boy George Villiers, lately made Marquess of Buckingham, is said to be pretty and with a delicacy about his features better fitting a lady than aught else.'

‘I suppose it is said so in every tavern from here to Wapping, and it may well be true, but what has this to do with me?'

‘Why, that the King, our master, may have many favourites and you have already attracted his attention thanks to your pardon. How you managed it is a mystery to me, but I would warn you that there must be a price to pay.'

‘Come, Gideon, I was granted that on account of taking a Moorish ship in the Thames, besides other captures of the King's enemies, one of which yielded you your freedom.'

‘True, and for that I am grateful, and it is in gratitude that I warn you to be careful when you attend the King.'

‘You are in serious vein,' Mainwaring said staring hard at Strange and smiling at the concerned expression of his face.

‘Well then, why else would His Majesty trouble himself further on your account?'

‘Because, my dear Gideon, I have written a work upon the suppression of piracy and His Majesty has graciously consented to accept a copy from my hand. His Majesty, being himself an author, has a great love of books. On that account I am to wait upon His Majesty.'

‘His Majesty would do better to commission some vessels of his own to cruise upon the coast as a guard to frighten and deter these villainous Moors from our shores . . .'

‘Ah! You have the rudiments of a verse there, Gideon, damned if you haven't . . .'

‘Hal, 'tis a serious matter. These descents upon our people and the carrying of them off into slavery in Barbary are now a matter of regular occurrence. Why, whole parishes have been abducted!'

‘I know very well what has been happening and do not need to be told, though I comprehend your bitterness . . .'

‘I lost five years of my life to them . . .'

‘And
I
risked all by placing my existence on account, Gideon . . .'

‘But I was forced into slavery, Hal. You chose to go
on account
, as you put it, and I have never understood why. Were you not in a fair way to becoming a man of parts without so desperate a measure?'

Strange paused, sensing he had been importunate, trespassing on Mainwaring's feelings, though the conundrum had long fascinated him. Mainwaring he knew to have been of good family and, at the age of thirteen, or thereabouts, attended Brasenose College before being admitted to the Inner Temple. Some years later, conceiving himself a military rather than a legal man, he had been granted the Captaincy of St Andrew's Castle in Hampshire. Mainwaring had bought an armed ship, the
Resistance
, from the King's own master shipwright, Phineas Pett. He had also solicited and then been granted a commission from the Lord Admiral to cruise against pirates. Here was the great irony: having been entrusted with this task by the Lord Admiral, the Earl of Nottingham, Mainwaring had gone to sea and, in company with another ship, the
Nightingale
, had turned his coat. Instead of attacking pirates, of which there were numerous groups – both native-born and Moorish – off the coasts, many of which used remote bays in Ireland for their recruitment, Mainwaring had revived the sentiments of
El Draco
, Sir Francis Drake. Declaring his hatred of the Spanish and of Popery he thereby suborned his entire crew, announcing he intended to attack Spanish trade for the purpose of enrichment. Thus turning pirate himself he embarked on an indiscriminate and private war of which dark tales were told of his consorting with the King of Morocco and selling into slavery those of his captives who would not join him. It was in one such foray that he had discovered Strange, chained to the oar of a Moorish galley, and, trading Catholics for Protestants, obtained his release. In three years Mainwaring had acquired a squadron of five armed ships with which, in 1615, he appeared among the cod-fishing fleets on the Grand Bank of Newfoundland. His name had been linked with that of Peter Easton, the self-declared Admiral of a loose confederation of seamen, who, dispossessed of their living by King James's indifference to his Navy Royal, had found themselves driven to this extremity.