The Hawk and the Dove (30 page)

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “Let’s go up on deck and see what happens.”

Within the hour the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
and the
Defiant
weighed anchor and sailed majestically from Plymouth Harbor out into the North Atlantic Ocean. A dozen small ships played follow-the-leader, and after a lengthy hesitation the vice-admiral aboard the
Golden Lion
had no alternative but to give orders to his captains of the navy vessels to weigh anchor and sail for Spain.

Matthew and Sabre stood for over two hours at the rail until the harbor emptied. They looked at each other forlornly. It was a heavy feeling of deprivation to be left behind. He noticed the familiar light of speculation steal into her eyes and he held his breath. Finally he let it out with a great rush and shouted, “Why the hell not?”

They danced a little jig and fell into each other’s arms, laughing like lunatics.

Matthew was too busy giving orders for setting the sails so that they should keep well behind the fleet of ships sailing the Atlantic, to worry about the consequences. When his conscience nagged him, he pushed away the thoughts. He was tired of his brother always taking the lion’s share and he was resentful that Hawk hadn’t asked his help on this great adventure. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and, he reasoned, before the mission was completed Hawk might be damned thankful for his help.

The main fleet of thirty vessels was prepared for the long voyage and well victualed, but not so the
Devon Rose,
which had embarked on the spur of the moment. Matthew had to stop at Brest on the tip of France to take on fresh water and supplies. His hopes for a romantic interlude were rudely dashed, for from the moment the ship entered the Bay of Biscay, Sabre had
mal de mer.
She vomited and retched the five days it took to cross, until finally she had had enough and begged him to turn back.

He laughed at her, told her she was only seasick and her stomach would right itself the moment they sighted Spain. Her queasiness abated slightly, but she couldn’t believe the stifling heat of the small cabin as she huddled miserably, clad only in a thin shift. She had brought only warm woolens and velvets, not realizing then that they would be going on a voyage to Spain.

By the time they reached Lisbon, she could stand it no longer and demanded that Matthew put into port so she could buy some cool cotton dresses and a couple of protective
sun hats so she could stay up on deck to catch any breeze that fluttered their way.

When Matthew entered the Gulf of Cadiz he cautiously weighed anchor at Faro, which belonged to Portugal rather than Spain. They were well out of sight of the Invincible Spanish Fleet but easily within earshot of the boom of cannons, and he waited tensely for this signal before sailing into the action.

The English fleet stood out to sea off the port of Cádiz. Drake and Devonport knew their only hope in hell was a surprise attack. Drake had a lighter, faster pinnace among the fleet of ships, and he and Devonport decided to board her and go scouting straight into Cádiz harbor.

What they found amazed them. More than thirty galleons and merchant ships sat almost unguarded at Cadiz. Only sleepy skeleton crews moved about in desultory fashion in the heat of the afternoon. They cudgeled their brains to try to remember if this was some sort of religious day or Spanish holiday, for it was certain the port town of Cadiz was totally off guard.

Hundreds of casks made from seasoned wood with sound hoops to hold the seams against wet and vermin were stacked, ready to be taken aboard ship once they had been filled with water, wine, flour, salted beef, sugar, spices, fish, hard biscuit, and dried fruit. It appeared to their trained eyes that most of the ammunition and powder had already been taken aboard the ships, and a few sailors were even now loading such a cargo onto a ship called the
Argosy.
Their small pinnace, carrying no flag, hadn’t even been challenged by a port authority. Drake gave the signal to take them back to the
Elizabeth Bonaventure.

“Even if Vice-Admiral Borough is reluctant to take action the two of us could take Cádiz,” Drake said.

Hawk agreed. “If we strike today while they are sitting ducks.”

“I am willing to shoulder the responsibility of acting in England’s best interests,” Drake said. “You heard Borough’s jackass suggestion yesterday that we send a message to the governor of Cádiz to parley?”

Devonport grinned. “You intend to plunge in without meetings or even the opinion of the vice-admiral?”

“I do,” confirmed Drake.

“I’m with you all the way, Francis. They have two choices. They can either weigh anchor and follow us or turn tail and run.”

“I’ll go in with the
Elizabeth Bonaventure,
with your
Defiant
at my heels. We’ll pick out one ship and destroy it totally and see what happens.”

“Let’s fire on the
Argosy.
She’s loaded with ammunition and gunpowder.”

“Then we are agreed,” said Drake calmly.

“Matthew, we’ve sat here in the sun for three days! We can’t see anything, we can’t hear anything, we can’t even smell anything but stinking fish.” She wrinkled her nose and cooled herself with a straw fan. “Perhaps they’ve all been captured,” she said, letting her imagination run riot.

“Without a shot being fired?” he scoffed.

“How do we know we could hear anything from here?” she countered. “Let’s get closer!”

He had just about decided to sail on to Cadiz when she had challenged him. “You have no idea what a sea battle is like, Sabre. The explosions of the long guns and cannon can make your ears bleed. Ships’ guns can be packed with
red-hot iron balls, nails, any iron missile that’s razor-edged. At any moment the rails or the planking of the deck can be smashed out from under you. It’s like a rain of death to be fired upon. Your fate is even worse if your vessel is boarded by the enemy. A clean gutting from a sword is the best you can hope for. Other tortures aren’t so pretty!”

“You are just trying to frighten me!” shouted Sabre, her heart hammering wildly at the ghastly pictures he had drawn. “Don’t worry about me, for if I stay here I shall die of boredom and you can feed me to the fish.”

He turned from her to shout an order, then said over his shoulder, “You’d best go below.”

She set her teeth and shouted, “Not bloody likely! Give me a spyglass so I don’t miss anything.”

Vice-Admiral Borough was absolutely incensed as he saw the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
hoist her flag and sail past him into Cadiz Harbor. His frantic signals were ignored by the
Defiant
also as it passed, close on the heels of the
Bonaventure.
His unbelieving eyes swept the English fleet and watched the
Golden Hind
follow suit.

Both Drake and Hawkhurst positioned their ships on the port side of the
Argosy,
and as they sailed brazenly into Cadiz Harbor, flying English flags, they caused no small commotion. Panic had set in among the Spanish sailors that they had been caught so unbelievably unprepared.

Hawkhurst’s long legs were braced against the roll of the ship. He was stripped to the waist with one arm raised as he issued commands to his gun captains. His arm fell and suddenly the
Defiant’
s double decks of starboard gun batteries erupted with fire. The ship lurched
violently with the recoil as his crew hauled the bronze muzzle-loading cannons inboard to reload. The air was filled with black smoke and the reek of gunpowder. The well-trained crew reamed out snouts, put the powder cartridges in place, rammed iron balls into the muzzles, packed and primed the guns, all within a minute, and turned their sweaty, smoke-streaked faces to Hawkhurst, shouting, “Clear!” and watched for his arm to descend again.

Cannon fire filled the air, whether from Drake’s ships or from the enemy Hawkhurst could not be sure, but suddenly the air was rent with the unmistakable explosion of powder kegs going up, and the rigging and masts on the
Argosy
were blown to smithereens. The
Argosy
keeled to one side and the sea poured into the open gunports. Most of her crew were trapped under the antiboarding netting that was laced across her decks. The screams of the trapped and drowning could be heard on the shore and on every ship at Cadiz.

The
Argosy
sank in less than two minutes. Then a most astounding thing happened. As Vice-Admiral Borough and his fleet sailed reluctantly into Cádiz, they witnessed the Spanish surrender. Only one ship sunk and they gave up in total defeat!

It was then that the work began. All the English suddenly started pulling together, their differences set aside for the moment. The true leader of this expedition had emerged as Drake and the sailors, to a man, followed his lead. They allowed the skeleton crews to leave their ships unharmed, then systematically they unloaded the Spanish ships of their cargoes and loaded them onto the English galleons.

Hawk was startled to see Matthew board the
Defiant
He grinned his congratulations to his brother as Hawk shouted, “What the hell are you doing here? Never mind —we’re stripping these ships of their cargoes. Take anything that isn’t nailed down—ammunition, food, clothing, saddles, horse armor, tents, wine. The trick is to get the hell out fast before reinforcements come flocking from Seville.”

As each ship was loaded it left Cadiz Harbor and set course for England. Then Drake and Hawkhurst set fire to the empty hulls and set them loose on the flood tide. In all they had destroyed a total of thirty-three Spanish ships.

Sabre stood at the rail of the
Devon Rose,
mesmerized at the sight of the burning Spanish galleons that lit up the darkening sky and turned it the color of flame. The horror of the sinking of the
Argosy
would stay with her forever, yet the other things she had witnessed that day had held her spellbound at the railing for hours. Her face was blackened from the smoke of gunpowder and streaked with the tears she had shed. She ached from standing and finally pushed herself from the rail to go below. Hawk caught a glimpse of her as she moved from the rail, and though the
Defiant
was a good two hundred yards from the
Devon Rose,
he could never mistake the sight of her. Grim-faced, he lowered a small boat and rowed himself over to his brother’s ship. He came over the side like an avenging angel, blackened with sweat and grime. He did not trust himself to speak. Instead, he strode up to his brother and laid him out flat with one blow—all six feet of him. The crew gaped. Though they were loyal to their captain and would have knifed any other man who came aboard and assaulted him, they stayed out of this one. It was between Hawkhursts.

Almost without breaking stride Hawk strode down to the cabin and flung open the door. Sabre had just washed her face and stood in white pantaloons with a tiny white cotton busk covering her breasts. His face was terrible to behold, and fear gripped her and rippled along her veins. Without a word he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder like a sailor’s canvas bag, and strode up on deck. She pummeled his back and kicked her heels, but unheeding, he went over the side and dumped her unceremoniously into the bottom of the rowboat.

She was so afraid of him at this moment that she did not dare open her mouth to speak. The veneer over the brute male, always so very thin where Shane Hawkhurst O’Neill was concerned, had disappeared completely. He had turned into a savage beast. The small boat banged into the side of the
Defiant,
throwing her backward with her legs in the air. He again slung her over his shoulder and began ascending the rope ladder. Suddenly grinning, cheering sailors were reaching down to haul her aboard, and when they let her go she fell to the deck, mortified to be so roughly handled, her white drawers streaked with the grime from Shane’s body. One look from their captain ended the capering, jibing laughter of the crew, and again he hauled her over his shoulder, this time managing to knock the breath from her solar plexus. He opened his cabin door and threw her onto the berth. He rummaged in an oaken sea chest and took out a small, heavy whip. Without taking his eyes from her face he slapped the weapon into the palm of his other hand and repeated the threatening motion half a dozen times.

She whispered, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m going to give you a good thrashing! You are the
most willful woman I’ve ever encountered. You have every undesirable Irish trait in the book!”

“And you don’t?” she demanded.

He was incredulous. “Still you defy me, after I’ve warned you time and time again. You’ve been asking for a lesson—begging for a bloody lesson, and I think it’s time I gave you one.”

“You are a brute and a bully … don’t brandish that whip at me,” she spat.

“You had better pray I keep brandishing it, because when I stop, I’m going to use it!”

She narrowed her eyes like a cat. “I swear, if you use that thing on me, Shane Hawkhurst O’Neill, I’ll take a terrible vengeance … one day I will hold the whip hand!”

He lashed out, striking the locker beside the berth. It cracked like lightning, and the tip touched her bare thigh with a sting. Then in a black rage he snapped the whip in half and flung it from him in disgust. He departed before he lost total control, locking the door behind him. Sabre was so frightened and humiliated, she burst into tears. She drew her knees up under her chin, crying and rocking herself. The day had simply been too much for her and she needed the release the good cry gave her. She fell asleep exhausted, without even washing herself.

Early the next morning she awoke with a start and it took her a few moments to orient herself. As memory of Shane’s treatment came flooding back to her, her heart sank with a feeling that was very close to fear. He had been so angry and still would be angry, if she knew anything about him. Any moment he would come, and when he did he would punish her. He would probably give her a beating. Perhaps he would even tell her he was finished
with her and tell her to pack her things when they got back to Thames View. She was in total misery. No one even had brought her breakfast or inquired if she needed anything.