Mistress of the Sea (25 page)

‘Perhaps now you think you would like to be here, not the Isla Bastimentos. Your father is dead, I have been told.’

She did not speak.

‘I am sad with you.’

There was no warmth in the remark, and she saw condescension in his look. She averted her face.

He circled her again.

‘Why go back? There is no need to stay alone.’ He stopped and peered at her. ‘Do you still believe your English friends will return for you?’

‘It will make no difference, whatever I believe.’

By keeping her attention on the goblet, she blanked Bastidas from her sight, until he took the vessel away and placed it on a table.

‘I do not want you to be . . . disappointed,’ he said. ‘So I wish your friends to come. We are ready to greet them.’

‘Have they been seen?’ she blurted out, as a faint possibility triggered a sudden thrill of hope.

‘Not yet.’ Bastidas regarded her with hooded eyes. ‘But we know where they will go. They left provisions in a place we found – the same place they left the good people they captured. But fortunately these people did not die. They got away.’ His tone softened.
A
shiver passed down her neck when she heard him murmuring close behind. ‘Are you glad?’

‘I wish for no one to die, English or Spanish.’

The reaction was a short hollow laugh.

‘Your friends are stupid. If I had been your Capitán Draque, I would not have left prisoners.’

She watched him move towards the window. She supposed he could only have meant Francis Drake by what he said. In Spanish, ‘
draque
’ meant ‘dragon’.

‘What would you have done?’ she asked, hoping he would say more about Captain Drake.

Bastidas bowed his head, looking down at his feet in an attitude of intense scrutiny. Then he brought his heel down before a dark spot on the floor: a beetle, she realised when she saw it suddenly crawling. But then he rocked his foot forward until, with a tiny crunch, his boot was flat on the boards. Stepping back, he pressed his handkerchief to his nose and inhaled with a snort. That was all the answer he gave. His back was turned to her as he looked out over the balcony. After a while he spoke. ‘This place disgusts me.’ Stepping aside, he walked to the table, and filled another goblet from the pitcher. ‘I hope your friends come to visit us this year. If they do not, then I fear you will never see them again. Shall I tell you why?’

Ellyn kept quiet; she expected to hear nothing that she wanted to.

Bastidas raised his goblet, drank and smiled.

‘Your country and mine will be united in faith, very soon. The Pope and the king of Spain are cleansing heresy from the world. They have destroyed the fleet of the Turks. They will destroy
your
queen. And when Mary, Queen of Scotland, is Queen of England also . . .
Vaya
! English pirates will have nowhere to hide. They will be finished –
Terminados
. You wait on Bastimentos, but you wait for nothing. So, I think, we should help one another.’ He drained his goblet, set it down and folded his arms, half turning as he did, head down, as if he was rapt in contemplation. ‘Do you agree?’

She did not answer, and he resumed his pacing, drawing gradually closer until he ended behind her. She jumped when his hand brushed her neck. The shock was worse for the touch being so light. But he merely swept back her veil, pushing it away so that she felt his breath on her ear when he whispered, ‘Do you agree,
señorita
?’

With a shudder she twisted away from him, conscious of his smell all around, as cloying as ambergris, but powerful and sharp. A shiver of apprehension coursed across her shoulders and back, induced by anticipation as palpably as if he had stroked her, though he did not. His hand hovered by her cheek. She saw it when she started, and in that instant he withdrew.

She tried to keep her voice level.

‘I have no need of your help, Captain. Friar Luis looks after me, and that is enough.’

‘Ah, yes. You are fortunate to have the protection of a Holy Father.’

He walked to the table and proceeded to wash his hands, drying them scrupulously with a napkin. It made her think of what he had touched. She felt defiled.

‘I would like to go to Friar Luis now. I wish to be taken back to the island.’

‘Go then.’ His tossed the napkin onto the table. ‘And if your friends come back, I will invite you here to see them.’

The abruptness of the dismissal made it seem like an insult, though she had feared he might not let her go. The sting made her snap, ‘I doubt they will stay here because you wish it.’

His response was a smile as thin as a cut.

‘I disagree. I think they will stay.’ He walked to the window and pointed outside. ‘Their heads will be in the plaza, over there.’

Rage and disgust overwhelmed her, made her stand on impulse and speak at the same time. ‘I beg leave.’

Bastidas bowed.

‘
Adios, señorita
.’ He strode briskly to the door and opened it for her. ‘I hope we will have cause to meet again very soon.’

She walked out, meeting his eyes as she passed, though she felt demeaned by his parting. In the cloud of her thoughts were the hailstones of guilt, because she had been tempted by the prospect of quitting the island for the city, exchanging degradation for comfort and isolation for society – but only for a moment. The heat of shame was now burning her back, made worse by the soldiers who marched her away, so denying her any show of leaving because she chose to. She kept her head held high, but she wanted to run, she was so desperate to be gone – to return to her island freedom, and as far from Bastidas as it was possible for her to get.

15

Fortune

‘Captain Drake, if you fortune to come to this port, make haste away, for the Spaniards which you had with you here the last year have betrayed this place, and taken away all that you left here. I departed from hence, this present 7th of July, 1572.

Your very loving friend,

John Garret’

—
The message inscribed on a lead plaque and fastened to the trunk of a great tree at ‘Port Pheasant’, the secret cove so named by Francis Drake where he had left supplies in 1571, and to which he returned on 12th July 1572, from
Sir Francis Drake Revived,
compiled by Philip Nichols

Tierra Firme, the Americas

July 1572

WILL STOOD ON
the ridge with a commanding view of the bay, taking his turn as lookout, scanning the sea for sight of ships. He knew the Spaniards had been alerted and would be on the watch for Drake’s return. The white smoke rising was the first warning they’d received, the second was a caution left by another Plymouth captain. The
message
had been scratched on a plate left nailed to a tree. And, perhaps they should have moved on and found a better place to hide, but Drake had been against that because Port Pheasant suited them well; the cove offered fresh water and the fowl for which it was named. Moreover, as the Captain put it, ‘There’s no port more convenient for the building of our dainty pinnaces,’ and since the Spaniards called him ‘the Dragon’, he had to uphold his reputation. Drake would show no fear. But if any Spaniards came close, then the news would be out; what Drake was up to was plain to see.

A fort was being built: a huge pentagonal structure, hard against the shore, fashioned from tree trunks shifted by pulleys and hawsers, with one side open to the water, and the rest as high as a house. In this their three pinnaces would be assembled: the
Bear
, the
Lion
and the
Minion
. It was a mighty undertaking, one that left the forest cleared for fifty feet round about, but it was eating up time. While the slopes echoed with the thud of logs, tackle squealing, blows and shouts, Will’s mind teemed with questions, and most of those were centred on Ellyn – Had she been found by the Spaniards? Was her father alive? Were they still on the island near Nombre de Dios? The questions buzzed in his head with the persistence of drunk wasps, and were stirred to a frenzy by the Captain’s arrival, though Will’s greeting was calm.

‘All clear, Captain. I have seen no sails.’

As Drake shielded his eyes to search the horizon, Will looked down at the craft moored up in the bay. The
Swan
was dwarfed by the
Pascoe
, a carrack of seventy tons from the Hawkins fleet. Beside her was a ship brought in by Captain James Raunce, another seafarer in Drake’s confidence, who had arrived at the
cove
only the day after they had entered. Raunce was now allied with their venture, so his prizes were theirs as well: a caravel from Seville, and a small shallop little bigger than a fishing boat. This shallop was the vessel to which Will’s attention was drawn, for precisely the reason that it was wholly unexceptional. He could conceive a good use for it.

‘We said we would return for the Cooksleys.’ Will eyed Drake cautiously, and when the Captain remained silent and continued to gaze out to sea, Will decided to say more. ‘I could take the shallop with a few men and fetch the Cooksleys now, if you will allow it.’

‘No, Will, I do not allow it.’ Drake did not even turn. He stood, arms akimbo, with his stocky legs astride, while Will’s frustration rose. Drake’s ruddy face was impassive, fixed like a figurehead’s staring into the distance. Will clenched his jaw. What did Drake know of the debt Ellyn was owed? She had risked her life for the sake of her father and, in the event, that had spared Drake much trouble. But Will could tell she barely featured in the Captain’s thinking.

Drake took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

‘We will return for the Cooksleys, but not yet.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Which way blows the wind?’

The Captain would know, so why had he asked? Will studied a pennant on the
Pascoe
. ‘Nor-westerly, quite brisk, sir.’

Drake nodded.

‘We are fifty leagues from Nombre de Dios. With a strong headwind, and the drift against us, it might take more than a week to get near the city.’ Drake gave Will a hard look, as if this statement alone was explanation enough. ‘The slowest of our ships will set the speed for the rest.’

Will thought of the pinnaces under oars, fighting both the current and the wind to crawl slowly west, and he supposed he understood Drake’s reasoning: it would take them long enough to reach Nombre de Dios without waiting for the Cooksleys to be brought from the island first. He still argued.

‘But once we are nearer, a boat could be dispatched to remove the Cooksleys from danger should we need to leave quickly—’

‘No,’ Drake said, cutting him short. ‘The boat might be seen so close to the city.’

Will frowned. What sense could there be in fretting about a boat’s detection when Drake’s fleet would soon be obvious to every Spaniard along the coast?

‘The ships will be seen first . . .’

‘They will not,’ Drake barked. He paced around the small hilltop clearing, looking out to sea, and then again at Will. ‘We are close to the weakest link in the flow of riches from Peru: the source of Spain’s wealth. You know where that is – not at Cartagena, or along the Chagres – but over there.’ Drake pointed to the west. ‘At Nombre de Dios, the treasure house of the world, and it’s ill-protected and unwalled. Now I have the hammer to break it open: ships and pinnaces, all the provisions I could wish for, the arms and ordnance, enough men united in heart.’ Passion rose in his voice and lit up his face. ‘God smiles on us, Will, so let us seize the advantage and jeopardise
nothing
.’ He clapped Will’s shoulder. ‘The Cooksleys have waited a year; they will wait a little longer.’

That was an afterthought, Will recognised. Drake was set on his purpose. Will stared at the empty horizon much as Drake had done before, imagining their own ships passing over it. What then?

Drake gripped Will’s shoulder hard before letting go.

‘We swore an oath together. The time has come to see it through.’

Drake was calling on his loyalty, and Will realised only then that his questioning must have hurt; he sensed it with some remorse. He had the honour of being valued by the bravest man he knew, and how had he repaid that? Drake had given him his trust and this was the test. He would not fail it. Ellyn could be in no more danger now than she had been before. The island where she had been left was not far from Nombre de Dios. Once their mission was complete, he would fetch her away.

He met Drake’s eye.

‘I want vengeance as much as you.’

With an air of getting down to business, Drake hooked his thumbs in his belt.

‘Success will depend upon surprise. If Nombre de Dios is prepared for anything, then it is an attack from the sea. The Spaniards have discovered the supplies we left here; they will be expecting English carracks. We know that at Nombre de Dios they have guns along the harbour.’

Will gave a nod.

‘Aye.’

‘So we will not use our ships.’ Drake swept his hand over the bay. ‘We’ll hide them away first on one of the islands a few days hence, then we’ll approach in the pinnaces and keep close to the shore, with our weapons in barrels and so concealed. Away from the city, a few boats under oars will not arouse much suspicion, even if they are spotted. But before we round the headland we’ll wait for darkness to give us cover . . .’

*

Morrys turned to Will from the bench in front.

‘We’ll be sitting ducks in that haven.’

Will nodded in the gloom. He had sensed the shift in the mood. Morrys was not alone in his muttering. The wind was changing, whipping up waves that made the boats at anchor roll uneasily above the reef. Thunder growled over the sea. Will shuffled and rubbed at the fresh calluses on his hands. Even John Oxenham joggled his knees. He was known as ‘Ox’ for his mettle; he was not lightly unnerved. No one dozed, though they’d been rowing without rest all day. Probably most were thinking about what the Negroes had said: those they had found on the island where they’d left Raunce with the ships. Nombre de Dios was expecting reinforcements – attacks by Cimaroons had put the place on the alert. What would they face? Drake had seventy-three men in his three pinnaces and the shallop, but the city was protected by a whole battery of guns; they knew as much from the previous year’s venture. Everyone was on edge. And when the moon broke through cloud to film the sea with wan light, Will was pleased to hear the clink and thud of anchors being weighed. He was keen to be moving.