The Quality of Mercy (49 page)

Dunstan said, “Looks all the more genuine that way.”

Shakespeare wrapped his neck in a dirty scarf. He said, “You’re certain you’re familiar with the Spanish language—”

“Fluent,” Dunstan said.

“Fluent enough to fool a native?” asked Shakespeare.

“Spanish and Portuguese are our native tongues,” Thomas said. “The languages are the least of our troubles.”

Dunstan threw on a jerkin. He was the first one completely dressed. He said, “Very quickly, let me summarize our plan. The names — I am Domingo, Thomas is Tomas, and Shakespeare is Guillermo. Best it is to keep them as close to our real forenames as possible. We are three brothers, Spanish mariners who — thanks be to the Almighty — escaped from the fierce hands of the English devils. We battled bravely, but alas, our carrack was split and sunk by enemy fire. All we were able to keep from our boat was the Spanish flag.” He rubbed his gloved hands together rapidly. “What next? What next?”

“Calm,” Thomas said, checking his rapier. He slid it back into its hilt.

Dunstan continued their story: “We were incarcerated by the English Drake —
el Draque
— but blessed Jesu showed us mercy and we escaped from the foul Isle in a fishing boat.”

Thomas said, “You speak to the enemy first, Dunstan. You’re the oldest and look the part.”

Dunstan frowned but held his tongue. No sense in vanity at a time as this. He muttered, “Where is Becca with the dry powder?”

Thomas sneered, “You’re not really going to use… guns, are you?”

“Aye,” Dunstan said. “We need as much protection as God and man can give us. Regard the size of that vessel, brother…. Dear God…”

Dunstan began praying in a language Shakespeare didn’t recognize. Then he remembered. They were Jews, they spoke to their God in Hebrew. Shakespeare began to say a few prayers of his own. Five minutes later he pulled a pistol from his breeches, offered it to Thomas and said,

“Take the pistol, Thomas. Dunstan is right. You cannot be overarmed.”

Thomas stared at the thick slab of metal, the arced barrel. He shook his head. “Twill weigh down my breeches.”

“Take it,” Dunstan ordered. “As your older brother I am responsible for your welfare—”

Thomas waved him off and took the pistol. “Anything is better than hearing your lectures.”

“There’s Becca,” Shakespeare said. He staggered over to her, grabbed her hand and walked her to the others.

Rebecca said, “I could only dry a small amount of powder on such short notice.”

“Whatever you have is more than we had before,” Shakespeare said.

The boat lurched forward.

“God’s blood!” she swore. “Doesn’t the sea ever tire of kicking its heels?”

“The winds are not nearly as strong as they were an hour ago,” Thomas remarked. “I can speak without shouting.”

“Give me what you have, Becca,” ordered Dunstan. “We must get to our station or the boat will sink.” He looked ahead at the approaching galleon. “Marry, what was an armed ship — flying the Spanish flag — doing in England’s port?”

Thomas said, “It flew the Italian flag while docked in Dover. Or so they told me.”

Dunstan said, “Well, now she flies the Spanish flag — the two-faced fiends!” He turned to Rebecca. “The powder, mistress.”

Rebecca handed them each a small packet. “I’ve oiled the leather. It should prevent moisture from seeping inside the pouch.”

“We’re best off loading the guns now,” Dunstan said.

“And risk shooting off my ballocks?” Thomas said. “Go ahead, brother. I’ll wait.”

Dunstan thought a moment, then stowed the powder in his jerkin. “I’ll wait as well. No sense being intemperate.”

Shakespeare filled a pistol with gunpowder and gave it, as well as a dagger, to Rebecca. He said, “Watch well the captain. And don’t believe a word the cur tells you. Whatever you do, do not free him unless we tarry so long you have no other option.”

“You’ll need the pistol more than I,” Rebecca said.

“I have one in my breeches, Becca,” Shakespeare said. He clasped her hands with his. “A kiss for luck, wench.”

Rebecca threw her arms around Shakespeare and kissed him passionately. Dunstan turned his head aside. Strange it was to feel monstrously jealous at this moment, but he couldn’t help himself. Rebecca broke away from Shakespeare’s lips, quickly kissed her cousins on the cheek. She stared at the men for a moment, standing at the tip of the boat, their tattered clothing flapping in the wind. Shakespeare waved his hand in the air.

“Go before they see you,” he shouted to Rebecca.

She nodded, crawled inside the hatch with Krabbey and shut the door. She could smell his foul breath, yet the presence of another was somehow comforting. She rested against the slimy walls and closed her eyes in prayer. She heard Thomas yell for the men to take their positions.

“Cut to the starboard side, next to the forecastle,” Thomas ordered as he pulled the riggings portside. The boat began to sail toward the galleon — a flea attacking the bear. The
Bounty
rocked and swayed, but swiftly floated to its desired position. A few minutes later, shouting could be heard from the massive ship. Faces began to form — hundreds of them, staring over the ramparts.

“Help me drop anchor,” Thomas commanded his brother in Spanish. A minute later the boat lurched forward, strained against the pull of the waves.

A voice from the galleon yelled,
“Amico o nemico?”
Friend or enemy?

Dunstan approached the side of the boat. His throat was dry, his hands shook. Never had he felt such fear, but never had he such an opportunity to overcome it.

“Amico o nemico?”
the voice asked again.

Still trembling, Dunstan wondered if he should continue the conversation in Italian or switch to Spanish?

The voice screamed a third time.
“Amico o nemico? Rispondi ad alta voce o rischi di perdere la testa!”

“Come on, Dunstan,” Thomas whispered to himself. He and Shakespeare were crouching behind the boom, hidden by the mainsail. “For once, darken your damn liver.”

Finally Dunstan stammered out,
“Hablo Español.”

“Che?”

“Hablo Español,”
Dunstan screamed at last. Relief it was to find his vocal cords! He crossed himself and screamed out praises in Spanish to the Almighty for redemption.

There was a conference on the ship. Dunstan waited, his heart beating swiftly and strongly, filling his body with its frantic rhythm.

A voice yelled from the galleon,
“Amigo o enemigo?”

Dunstan shouted back,
“Nosotros elevamos la bandera del Rey, de La Majestad!”

“Quien es usted?”
demanded the voice.

Dunstan shouted,
“El marinero de la flota de La Majestad, atacan a los malignos Ingleses de mal corazon — el Draque. Nosotros manejamos el bote robado y escapamos. Pero antes no turimos en nuestras manos la bandera Espanola.”

“Como se llamo el buque?”

“Que?”
asked Dunstan, not hearing the question.

“El nombre del buque en el cual navegaron?”
asked the voice.

The name of the Spanish boat upon which they had sailed? Invent one, dolt. Just keep talking.

“La Santa Catalina.”

“Y como es el nombre del bote Ingles?”

Dunstan’s thoughts raced. The English boat that grappled and boarded them… He said, “The
High Adventure
.”

Shakespeare noted that Dunstan spoke the English name in a perfect Spanish accent. A good player he was.

The voice asked Dunstan,
“Como se llama? Como se llaman vuestra tripulacion?”

“Rodriguez,”
Dunstan answered back.
“Somos tres hermanos. Me llamo Domingo….”
He wildly waved the othersto come to him.
“Aqui estan mis hermanos. Se llaman Tomas y Guillermo.”
The trio of “brothers” stood side by side, looking upward to the ship. They could hear rumblings above. The minutes moved slowly. Finally Dunstan whispered,

“What do you think?”

“As fine a performance as I’ve ever seen,” Shakespeare said. “How did you come by the name Rodriguez?”

“Tis my grandam’s maiden name,” Dunstan said. “A salty wench she once was, full of spit and fire, as Becca is now. The old woman’s head has gone foggy of late.”

There was no response from the galleon. By now they could make out the men — bearded faces swathed in chewed-up clothing. Arms moving like thousands of wriggling worms. The blinding flash of metal hilts. A drone of deep voices spitting out curses.

“A God’s sointes,” Thomas muttered, staring at the warship in front of them, “what are they talking about?”

“What if they board the
Bounty?
” asked Dunstan.

Shakespeare said, “It would be difficult to send men down here. We’re so much lower than their ship. I think they’ll tow the
Bounty
— like a spare pinnace — and ransack her when they disembark.”

More men appeared. God Almighty, how many hundreds were there? Or rather, thousands?

“Look,” Shakespeare said. “Up to the right.”

The men raised their heads. A rope had been thrown over the rampart and tumbled down to the deck. There it stood, suspended from the galleon, a sinewy brown piece of hemp cord as lethal as the bite of an asp. Thomas took the rope and tied it to the masthead of the
Bounty
. A second rope followed a moment later.

“I’ll go up first,” Dunstan said. “They already know my voice. Wait a moment before you come up, Tommy. I’ll speak with them casually. If I ascertain that they mean to give us aid and comfort, I’ll do nothing. If I see they desire us harm, I’ll wave you off.” Dunstan secured the cord to his stomach and pulled the knot tightly. “Wish me good fortune and much hap, Tommy.”

The brothers embraced.

It had been twenty hours since Shakespeare had uttered a sound. He understood some Italian but very little Spanish, and since the Ames brothers spoke only Spanish, he was not only the mute brother, but the dumb one as well. But he had to give the brothers credit. Whatever they said must have been thoroughly convincing. They’d been taken in and treated well, having been fed typical sea fare — mealy biscuits and rancid salt beef — and allowed to sleep unguarded and unmolested.

He lay in an empty hatch as black as tar, feeling the gentle motion of the sea. What had been choppy waves in a fishing boat were nothing more than ripples kissing the keel of the galleon. The hole was a decent size, enough room for him to lie down as long as he bent his legs. The space had once stored spirits, and the wet, wooden walls smelled like a distillery. Tiny droplets of broken bottle glass sprinkled the floor.

God in heaven, what was he doing here? Miles away from his family, away from his work and London — with these
Jews
. But he was with Rebecca as well. Poor girl — holed up with that vile Krabbey, hiding in the hatch of the
Bounty
. The boat was being towed by the galleon, and he hoped that the waves weren’t too hard on her stomach.

Dear Becca. His Jewess, an enchanting Levantine beauty, forbidden to him as a Christian. To his absolute surprise, that now excited him rather than repelled him. But it wasn’t the only reason he’d come along. Something about what these Jews were doing felt righteous. Though Shakespeare would never understand the mulish will of the unbaptized, neither could he fathom the cruelty of the Inquisition.

Shakespeare heard footsteps and feigned sleep. A moment later the trapdoor to the hole was opened and a body dropped down, then the door was closed. Shakespeare felt a strong tap on his shoulder.

“What cheer have you?” a voice whispered.

Dunstan’s voice, Shakespeare thought, the words English. Still, it could be someone masking as the Ames brother. Shakespeare didn’t answer, pretended to snore.

“Rouse, Shakespeare,” Dunstan said, shaking him slightly. He lit a piece of tinder wood that gave off a tiny flicker of light. “We’ve serious business to discuss.”

Shakespeare rolled over and pointed to his throat.

“Tis me, Sir Dunstan,” the brother said. “Would I converse with you in English, if we were in the company of the Spanish?”

Shakespeare regarded the silhouette, recognized the profile. He said, “One cannot be too sure who is the trickster and who is the dupe. What news have you?”

“We must execute our attack soon,” Dunstan said. “We’re a day away from Brussels.”

“Have you found Miguel’s location?” Shakespeare asked.

“We’ve skulked about the ship for four hours and have found nothing,” Dunstan said. “The ship is immense. Three decks above, three below, hundreds of hatches and cabins and holes. Hundreds of seamen as well. No one took notice of us. And no one has leaked a word about the capture of an Englishman or the finding of stowaways. I don’t think they know about Miguel.”

“The captain of the ship must know,” Shakespeare said.

“Yes.”

“Then we must get him alone,” Shakespeare said.

“Tommy’s very thought.”

“What time is it?”

“Two in the morning,” Dunstan said.

Sunrise four hours away, Shakespeare thought. Without the cover of darkness, the work would be that much harder.

There was a long silence. Finally, Dunstan asked,

“Have you any ideas?”

“No.”

Dunstan said, “Thomas thinks the only way to get to the captain is to overcome him by force.”

Shakespeare said, “And if the struggle is heard?”

Dunstan drew his finger across his throat and made a rasping sound.

“Yet I see no other alternative,” said Shakespeare. “Where’s Thomas?”

“Guarding the entrance to the hatch as we speak.”

“Have you two devised a plan?” Shakespeare asked.

“Rudiments,” Dunstan said. “We’re open to suggestion.”

“Pray, let me hear you out.”

Dunstan told him the scheme. An hour later Shakespeare and Dunstan knocked on the door to the hatch and Thomas dropped inside the hole. Another thirty minutes passed before they felt ready to begin.

“Yer pisshead mate ain’t comin’ back, lad,” Krabbey said to Rebecca. “It’s been over a day, and you haven’t heard a fart from him. He’s as good as dead, and so will we be if you stay like a horse’s ass and do nothing but shit.”