Mistress of the Sea (28 page)

‘No!’ she gasped, on the point of arguing vehemently, but she bit back the objection that would have openly defied Drake’s authority. Bastidas was already answering.

‘
Sí, sí
. I swear it. Leave the
señorita
without concern. I will respect her as if she were a Spanish lady.’

What could she say without challenging Drake in front of everyone? She turned her eyes to Will, beseeching him with a look. But he said nothing, and his face revealed no more.

‘Good,’ Drake concluded. ‘Nombre de Dios shall be our surety until such time as we return for her. If she comes to any harm, or is interfered with in any way, we will burn your city to the ground.’ His eyes glittered as he fixed on Bastidas. ‘Therefore treat her well. You will dine with us?’

‘I would be honoured.’ Bastidas inclined his head, and the satisfaction in his expression brought Ellyn close to crying out.

‘If I may speak with you . . .’ she said to Drake under her breath.

‘Later, dear lady.’ Drake took her hand and kissed it, as if that was what she wanted. He smiled, seemingly oblivious. ‘Let us eat first. What best can we offer?’

Ellyn regarded him askance. There seemed little doubt about the Captain’s none-too-subtle hint that she should be attending to their dinner. But she was reeling from the shock of what he had arranged, with no regard for her wishes, or any consultation or debate. She searched the faces in the crowd, hoping for a last chance to appeal to Will, but in the crush she could not see him. She stood unsteadily and walked away. Then hurt struck her afresh. Why, after everything she had endured, why did her own countrymen not want her to be with them? And she was deeply disappointed in Will, who had made no effort to intervene in her cause, as if he cared nothing for her. Yet she had been sure of his affection. She had believed he had come back to rescue her. How could she have been so wrong? She wanted the sand to swallow
her
up. She stumbled on, head down, not thinking about where she was going until she found herself back inside shelter.

The next moment someone thrust a half-plucked fowl into her hands.

Will watched Bastidas pacing towards his soldiers in the galley, one hand on his sword hilt, elbow out, the other arm swinging with his pompous stride. The man was a coxcomb in a far outpost whose soldiers had fled when his city was attacked. He would probably be intent on retribution, however mean and petty. Will did not want Ellyn at risk because of that. He walked over to Drake and, at a nod from him, sat close.

‘A word with you, Captain.’

‘I’m listening, Will.’ Drake half-closed his eyes as he puffed on his leaf, but Will did not doubt his concentration.

Glancing round, Will kept his voice low.

‘We cannot leave Mistress Ellyn here alone.’

‘Why not?’ Drake blew a stream of smoke into the air and watched it rise. ‘She’s been here alone for almost a year without mishap.’

‘As soon as we move against the Spaniards she’ll be seized. Then we’ll be held to ransom to get her back.’

‘That could help us.’

‘How?’ Will put the question bluntly. The coolness of Drake’s response had shocked him – it was as if Ellyn’s plight meant nothing to the Captain, though he was sure that could not be true. ‘We can’t play games with her safety,’ he added.

‘This is no game, Will.’ Drake’s eyes followed another trail of smoke then flicked towards Will. ‘The Spaniards will be watching
her.
This island is close to the city. As long as she remains here, the people of Nombre de Dios will feel safe. They’ll expect us to return for her before we strike at the city again, and to do that by sea. They’ll prepare for a sea attack – and they’ll leave her be.’

‘Her life will be at risk . . .’

Drake stopped him short.

‘The life of every man in this enterprise is at risk, and Mistress Ellyn’s life is no more at risk here than with us in the thick of action, or left somewhere else with scant protection. She will be a hindrance if we remove her, and a boon if she remains. Leave her on this island, and we’ll be able to take the Spaniards by surprise. They’ll be looking out to sea while we move on them inland.’

Will frowned, even more anxious then he had been before. Drake’s reasoning made sense, but it held no assurance for Ellyn’s safety, neither did the threat made to Bastidas that the city would burn if she was harmed. In that event, it would be too late.

‘But if we attack the city again,’ he said urgently, ‘her life will be as good as forfeit, as you said . . .’

‘That’s not what I have in mind.’ Drake grunted and took hold of his injured leg, lifting it from the barrel and resting it stretched out, heel on the ground. Will had almost forgotten that only hours earlier Drake had been fighting for his life, but there was no hint of weakness in the way he argued.

‘She will be in no greater peril here than she would be in our midst. Do you think I would do anything to deliberately jeopardise a lady’s safety?’ Drake looked Will in the eye, and Will slowly shook his head. He could not believe Drake would leave Ellyn in imminent danger.

Drake turned to face the sea.

‘We’ll strike next along the Royal Road – the road between Panamá city and Nombre de Dios. We know that’s the way by which the gold and silver goes. It must be. We’ve found no bullion along the Chagres.’

Drake looked at Will, and Will nodded, remembering the raid along the river that had yielded only pearls and silk the year before.

‘The slaves who joined us last night,’ Drake went on, ‘have said the Cimaroons will help us. We’ll attack inland where the road is ill-guarded. We’ll bleed the Spaniards of their riches, and Mistress Ellyn will be taken to safety before they even have chance to cry out.’

Will bowed his head. The plan had much merit. But how would it help Ellyn?

‘In the meantime she’ll be left defenceless,’ he argued.

‘She will be safe.’ Drake bent forward, meeting Will’s gaze when he looked up. ‘Trust me.’

Leaning back, Drake settled his leg on the barrel again as if to signal that the meeting was over. So did it come down to trust? Will rubbed his brow. Was that all he had to rely on?

‘We swore an oath, Will.’ Drake inhaled deeply. ‘We came close to seeing our purpose through last night.’ He looked hard at Will. ‘You fought well.’

‘No more bravely than you.’ He could not deny Drake his bravery. And he trusted him.

Drake smiled.

‘We won’t fail again. Thank Mistress Ellyn for her loyalty, but tell her none of this. Tell no one. The lives of seventy men depend on that.’

‘I’ll say nothing.’ Will stood, his commitment given. ‘I’ll go to her now.’

‘If Mistress Ellyn would care to dine with us, I would be delighted, but I think she may not.’

Drake’s eyes narrowed again as he smoked, and for the first time Will noticed the sheen of sweat over his face; perhaps that was the proof of his pain.

Drake inclined his head and grimaced.

‘See how the cooking fares. I like my bird tenderly done.’

Feathers rolled around Ellyn’s feet as she walked inside. Men were tearing at carcasses and busy with knives. Her little house had become a kitchen, while fowl were being plucked and gutted, made ready for roasting over the great fire on the beach. She wanted privacy, and her only hope of sanctuary had been denied. She coughed. The air was thick with dust. She found a bowl and moved to a corner, hoping to hide her face, because she was trying not to think of Drake’s decision to abandon her, or the conversation she had left, or Will, or what lay ahead. For a long while she stood still because the sounds of chopping, and the feel of the dead bird she held, reminded her of her father’s end, and then of a fateful morning when Lettie had been beheading thrushes, and that put her in mind of England and her dreams of returning there with Will. So she thought of him anyway, which caused her eyes to fill with tears.

She drew quick breaths and raised a hand to her face, caught in the realisation both that she was making herself look dreadful and that a man had moved very close: someone who was talking while tossing feathers into her bowl. It was Will, speaking softly.

‘We will come back for you.’

She wanted to shake him and cling to him all at the same time. If they were going to come back, why did they not take her away now? She could barely bring herself to respond.

‘Then why leave me?’ she eventually asked.

‘We have to. Be strong for us. We will not be gone long.’

‘Strong . . .’ she whispered, shaking her head. The word caught in her throat. She could have been strong enough with Drake, able to cope with any danger, bear any hardship. Had she not proved as much? She struggled against the urge to break down and weep, scream out her grief, or throw the dead bird at Will very hard, but instead she pulled at the quills that remained in its breast.

‘Why must I stay?’

‘By staying here, you will help us most,’ Will answered gently. ‘It gives us advantage. Unless we outwit the Spaniards we’ll have no hope of seizing the treasure . . .’

‘What treasure?’ She turned to him. In the dull light she saw his handsome face brighten.

‘The bullion from Peru,’ he explained, as if he thought she did not know. ‘The bullion that is taken to Nombre de Dios.’

‘There is no treasure left in the city, and none on the way.’ She forced the words out. Had the decision to abandon her been made on such wrong reasoning?

Will looked at her askance.

‘That can’t be so.’

‘It
is
.’ She glared at him.

‘How can you be sure?’ Will moved nearer to her.

She met his gaze, her jaw tight with anger.

‘I’ve been watching what goes on in Nombre de Dios, and my boy, Marco, has been telling me about the traffic in gold and silver . . .’

‘What traffic?’ Will’s whispering became urgent. ‘Answer me fully but let no one else hear.’ He glanced round and resumed plucking, bending his head to the task, though she could tell he was also listening.

‘The armada left a month ago,’ she said plainly, ‘and all the treasure went with it . . .’

‘Where?’

‘To Spain. There will be no more now until after the next fleet arrives.’

‘When?’

‘Around Christmas . . .’ She tried to explain, wanting to help him, though she knew what she said would be no help to her, and all the while she was playing out the action of pulling at feathers and moving her hand over the bowl. But nothing fell out when she opened her fist. She was concentrating on what she had discovered about how the fleet moved back and forth, bringing goods from Seville and then spending the dry season in Cartagena, before returning for the treasure from Nombre de Dios and heading back for Spain. She squeezed all the information she could give into a few terse sentences. It was as much as she could do.

He frowned, looking round.

‘So we will have to wait . . .’

No one was near them, the shelter had emptied while they were talking, and only two men remained who were standing by the door. The aroma of roasting fowl wafted in on fumes of smoke.

Will placed his hand on her back.

‘Thank you for this. Find out more if you can. I will return for you.’

‘Take me away. Please.’ Her voice cracked. The few feathers she had managed to pull out tumbled towards the drifts around her feet, together with a knife caught by her sleeve. She bent unsteadily as she scrabbled to retrieve the blade, knowing that if Drake acted on her information he would probably be gone for at least another six months, and what would happen to her then? She could not bear so much more waiting, subjected to the attentions of Bastidas or stultifying isolation – abandoned because she was an encumbrance, an unwanted burden, a woman in the way of the enterprise of men. Even Will was not concerned enough to protect her.

‘I thought you cared . . .’ she mumbled. It was too much. She shuddered as she fumbled, not minding if she was cut, or that Will was murmuring while he stooped, crouching down at the moment she decided to rise, so her head struck his chest. Next she was swaying, close to falling, except that he caught her, silencing her cry, first with a hand, then with a kiss.

He held her tight, and the kiss was everything she wanted for as long as it lasted. But in a moment he drew back. ‘I have put your case to Drake, and he will not change his mind.’

‘No!’ she burst out. Surely he could not kiss her and then simply go? She pulled away from him, but he took hold of her again.

‘Getting you away from here depends on the whole enterprise. We are bound in this together – not only you and I, but Drake and every man with him. So you must believe me when I tell you that we will return for you as soon as we can, before you are put in any more danger . . .’

‘Believe you?’ She cried out as she struggled free. ‘How can I believe you when you leave me?’

‘Sweet Ellyn, please understand; this is not of my choosing.’

He reached for her again, but she backed away.

‘No!’

What was he thinking? That he could settle her with another kiss, or by calling her ‘sweet’? She spun round to see the two men at the doorway with their heads turning as she faced them. Had they been watching? Will had shamed and hurt her enough. When he took her arm, she shook free of his touch.

‘Get away from me!’

Let the men hear and stop him if he tried to follow her, though she knew he would not.

She walked out alone.

With his hand spread wide Kit blocked out the sun, watching the rays break between his fingers. Then he raised his right arm, joining thumb and first finger together to make an ‘O’. Through this ring, by looking up, he could see nothing of the forest but only a circular patch of sky, and clouds swelling and shifting shaped by a wind he could not feel. The sky. The same changing sky from wherever it was seen in the world: his for a moment. Suddenly he ducked, dodged and pulled the knife from his belt, wheeling round.

‘Sancho!’ Kit held the blade poised to strike, but he laughed at the same time. ‘You’ll have to wash if you want to surprise me.’

Sancho was also crouched to spring, his great arms held wide, skin gleaming like polished jet, and Kit guessed that if he had not moved first then his friend would have pounced, and taken
pleasure
in giving him a shock. Out of the corner of his eye, Kit glimpsed more of the
cimarrones
rising up from the undergrowth. Sancho drew his own knife, the size of a cleaver, and held it quivering, close to Kit’s face.