A Ship for The King (7 page)

Not that Faulkner – assembled among the officers, his sword upon his hip and his new hat upon his head to uncover when presented to His Majesty – even recalled much of the encounter itself. That he was honoured, he was aware, but the need to avoid the King's eyes and to make his bow at once elegant and deep, almost exhausted his concentration. Even a sly glance as King James spoke with Mainwaring, told Faulkner little beyond the fact that His Majesty had a long, pallid, lugubrious and bearded face, and wore a hat that seemed too tall for him. Somehow the huge royal standard that spent the day at the truck of the
Prince Royal
's main-mast seemed more splendid than the King himself – a consequential impression that stuck in Faulkner's imagination for many a long year.

There was, however, one moment which made a deeper and indelible mark upon him, though he was not yet to realize it. Among the several ladies accompanying the King, and whose embarkation had caused anxiety to the
Prince Royal
's people, was the slim, richly dressed figure of a girl. His eye had first been caught by her dainty feet in embroidered shoes as the yard-arm whip had lowered her to the deck. Later Faulkner caught sight of her at dinner in the great cabin, sitting near the King. He was astonished chiefly at her youth and her proximity to King James, but it was the round luminosity of her fine eyes, the colour of which he could not see, that struck him like a blow. She had, he thought, cast him a single glance, before attending to the gentleman on her right, who Faulkner thought was perhaps Lord Pembroke, the Lord Chamberlain. It seemed to him as he later considered of the events of the day, that a vast gulf existed between such as she and the likes of himself. He felt a vague resentment at the inequities of life and wondered whether he would have been so troubled if she had neither had such fine eyes, nor looked his way.

Then he chid himself for a fool; the look she had given him was of no significance, marking – if anything at all – only a general curiosity. Besides, he must remember that he might still be seeking food and employment along Bristol's waterfront and in the city's gutter. He reflected that, having come so far, perhaps the inequities of life were not entirely insurmountable. And with that comforting thought, he drifted off to sleep, aware of a faint ringing in his ears that had been caused hours earlier by the combined gunfire of the entire fleet as it saluted the departing royal barge.

The Earl of Rutland did, eventually, hoist his flag and on the day he did so – a few days after King James had dined on board – Faulkner's life took another strange turn. The long period of enforced idleness at Spithead had at least given him time to take stock; to familiarize himself with the huge ship and her working; to realize that fundamentally she was little different in principle than the little
Swallow
; to recognize significant members of her crew, particularly among the petty and warrant officers; to grow used to Adams's solicitations on his and Brenton's behalf, since they shared Adams's services between them. He also better understood his own many and varied duties which emerged from the confusion of naval protocols and privileges, discoveries which gradually reduced the apparent chaos of the great ship, slowly and subtly reducing it to something approaching order.

The delay also gave him time to impress his own character upon others. As his own confidence and comprehension grew, he swiftly lost his uncertainty and brought to bear his skills and native good sense to the daily round. Identifying those aspects of his job that tallied with those he had acquired in the service of Strange aboard the
Swallow
he was able to make his mark, so that when a seaman fouled a line as they hoisted the mizzen lateen yard, Faulkner swiftly cleared the lead before trouble followed, an initiative which drew a grudging appreciation from the boatswain who would otherwise have taken action against the wretched perpetrator of the error. It might not be what a gentleman officer did, but it clearly demonstrated that Lieutenant Faulkner not only appreciated the technicalities of the task, but also the dangers of hesitation; in short, it was clear to all who witnessed the momentary hitch, that he was a thorough-going sailor.

Word reached them one morning that the Earl of Rutland would come off to the ship that day and orders were passed for his barge to be prepared. Brenton was to go in it and embark the admiral whom Faulkner by now knew was a court appointee and no seaman. Under such a titular head, all depended upon Mainwaring and his officers, of whom several others were courtiers or soldiers, rather than men bred to the sea.

At last word was passed to the ship's company to stand by to receive the admiral and men ran to their preordained posts and an unnatural stillness descended upon the ship. Those on the upper decks could see the approaching barge, its oars rising and falling, the blades flashing in the sunshine, astern of which came a procession of wherries piled with baggage, and another boat with an ornate canopy over the stern.

‘We shall need a chair and a whip at the mainyard, Mr Slessor,' Mainwaring called to the first lieutenant, indicating the presence of ladies in the Earl of Rutland's entourage.

‘It won't be just the Earl and his suite who join us today,' Brenton had remarked earlier that morning as they were advised of the admiral's coming while they were shaving and Adams was dressing their hair. ‘There will be a number of courtiers come to provide a fitting welcome for the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham and that, my dear Kit, is why you and I have to live like rabbits in this hutch.'

The two officers were obliged to share a cabin intended for one for, although the
Prince Royal
had been built as a flagship and thus carried accommodation for an admiral and his staff, the numerous suites of those considered indispensable to the reception of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham almost beggared belief. ‘We have to remember,' Brenton had remarked as they sat over a glass of wine the previous evening, ‘that besides being the King's favourite, My Lord of Muckingham is the Lord High Admiral and therefore his flag will take precedence over Rutland's.'

‘Muckingham . . . ?' queried Faulkner.

‘'Tis my name for him,' Brenton said, lowering his voice, ‘though I shall be hanged yet for saying so . . .'

‘Then why say it?'

‘Because, my dear innocent Kit, I abhor what he is and what he stands for. He is not merely venal to the point of stinking corruption, but is also the King's catamite.' Faulkner stared, puzzled. ‘You do not know what a catamite is?' Faulkner shook his head and Brenton reduced his voice to a whisper. ‘Why, the King's creature; he who lies with the King for the purposes of carnal lust . . . sodomy . . . buggery . . .'

‘I know what sodomy is,' Faulkner hissed, ‘and I know that such indiscretions aboard a ship such as this may indeed lead you to the gallows, or a slow disembowelling . . .'

Brenton grinned with an insouciance that Faulkner found profoundly unnerving. Although there was a difference in rank between them, they were of the same age and the previous fortnight had cast them as friends. Nevertheless, Faulkner was compelled to acknowledge the other's more sophisticated worldliness. ‘Why, 'tis spoken of everywhere,' Brenton said.

‘But perhaps not so loudly here when the ship is full of courtiers,' Faulkner remarked.

‘Indeed not, but tonight it is full of honest Jacks and I take thee for an honest Jack, Kit Faulkner.'

‘Indeed, I hope you do, and now, before you preach more sedition I think we ought to get some rest . . .' And so they had turned in, though Faulkner had lain awake long after the snores of the foolhardy young Brenton filled the stale air and the great ship creaked and groaned about him as she swum, straining to her anchor and cable in the tide.

The following forenoon the sight of the approaching boats had reminded Faulkner of the conversation and the influence of great men. When he had first entered Mainwaring's service he had half expected great men to reflect something of the goodness that Sir Henry had manifested towards himself, and although he had long since lost that naivety, there remained some sense of disappointment that they did not. On the one hand it reduced their high social standing in respect of himself, but on the other it seemed to increase their unworthiness to enjoy any such superiority. Indeed, if he were truthful, he found the very notion of a king engaged in fondling another man, let alone enjoying any form of congress, profoundly disturbing. Was not a king God's anointed? And was not sodomy forbidden by biblical proscription? Faulkner was no expert on such theological matters, but the notion made him distinctly uncomfortable and in a moment of rare self-doubt, he wished himself clear of all such muddles, spiritual, intellectual or physical. Indeed, he wished himself back on the deck of the little
Swallow
, with the Scilly Isles astern and the broad bosom of the Atlantic ahead, the horizon sharp under the spritsail yard and the world full only of the potent evil of Sallee Rovers.

But now the tweeting of the boatswain's call and the shouted orders as the
Prince Royal
's people prepared to receive the approaching boats took over his attention and for half an hour Faulkner's mind was attentive to the formalities of seeing the crowd of courtiers aboard and conducted to their allotted accommodation. And that is how he came face-to-face with the young girl with the dark and luminous eyes and felt such a violent twist in his bowels the like of which he had never previously experienced.

He had returned to the deck from seeing three gentlemen into a cabin under the poop, the smallness of which sent them into paroxysms of confusion and complaint from which he extricated himself only with some difficulty. ‘I assure you gentlemen,' he had explained, ‘this is accommodation superior to anything enjoyed by the ship's officers and I am sure that you will find us as attentive to your needs as our duties will allow . . .'

‘I do hope so,' one mincing wag said, rolling his eyes in Faulkner's direction as he withdrew. ‘I don't know which I prefer,' he heard another say, ‘those hearty tars or their petty officers . . .'

The clean air of the deck washed over him as he watched one of the canvas chairs descend on deck on its yard-arm whip. A seaman reached up a hand and steadied it as it was lowered to the deck. Catching Faulkner's eye, the first lieutenant, Edward Slessor, beckoned him and then turned to its occupant.

‘Milady,' he said, ‘Mr Faulkner will show you to your apartment . . .'

Faulkner stepped forward, made a perfunctory bow and looked up into the luminous eyes that had momentarily transfixed him earlier when the King had dined on board.

‘Milady,' he said, holding out his hand and steadying her as she took it and stepped out of the chair. He was aware that his heart had begun pounding and that he was uncertain whether he was blushing like a loon or had gone as white as a corpse. He felt her fingers through her glove, tiny, delicate, and he was unsure whether to withdraw his hand now his assistance was no longer required, or to remain leading her towards the door under the poop and the great cabin, which had been partitioned and hung with velvet drapes to accommodate the ladies. In the end he led her, only half looking at her as he said in as steady a voice as he could muster – and with a second, awkward crabwise bow made between one step and another – ‘Lieutenant Faulkner at your service, ma'am . . .'

It was the first time he had referred to himself by rank and he drew strength from his new status. He felt a slight pressure from her hand as she stepped across the deck and the great ship moved slightly as she trimmed herself to the wind and tide.

‘I shall hope so, sir,' he heard her say as she looked about her apprehensively, ‘for I find this shipboard world a most confusing universe.'

The turn of phrase struck him as apt and the intimacy somewhat disarmed him. ‘Indeed, ma'am, so it seems at first, so it seemed to me but a month ago . . .'

‘Then you are no seaman?' she asked, her tone astonished, and stopped, compelling him to stop and face her. He felt foolish, confused, and then he mastered himself. It was pointless to act otherwise than truthfully. Besides, he felt compelled to tell this girl who he was and he knew it was unlikely he would have another chance like this moment.

‘You misunderstand, ma'am; I am but newly commissioned into the
Prince Royal
but have been bred to the sea since boyhood. As a flagship this is said to be the largest man-of-war in the world and she awes us all . . .'

‘Awes us all . . . why there is a nautical pun there, sir, if I am not mistaken.' She smiled and walked on, and Faulkner felt stupidly irradiated by her regard.

‘I did not intend it so . . .'

They were under the poop, now, entering the subdivided space and encountering servants and others fluttering around the influx of grandees. A ladies' maid bobbed a curtsey at his charge and she withdrew her hand. ‘I am Katherine Villiers, Lieutenant Faulkner,' she said, meeting his eyes and smiting him with her deep, level gaze, ‘and I hope to see more of you during the voyage.'

Stunned into silence, his heart leaping foolishly in his breast, Faulkner footed the most elegant bow he could muster and returned, reluctantly, to the drab duties about the deck.

And yet they were not so drab for it now seemed his every movement might be scrutinized by those beguiling eyes, his every order heard by her. It did not matter that in revealing her name he learned that she was associated with the King's catamite, or that her social standing was lunar to his earthly ambition. He carried himself with new authority, gave orders with a crisp clarity and found himself eager to be on deck, attentive, conspicuous.