Warlord's Gold: Book 5 of The Civil War Chronicles (27 page)

But they were already on their way to the door and the stormy cliffs beyond, Squires and Fassett bolting first, Cordell close behind. Even as Tainton reached the threshold and looked back, he could see that the fire was spreading quickly, leaping from tapestry to panelling, climbing the walls and lapping at the ceiling like the shore of the lake of fire he had studied in the Book of Revelation. The blaze had taken hold, and there was no stopping it.

St Mary’s, Isles of Scilly, 13 October 1643

The jaws of the garrison men dropped open in disbelief as the procession made its way out into the open space between the thick outer walls and the large central keep, heads dipping immediately as rain greeted them in thin but relentless diagonal sheets. The Captain of Star Castle was up ahead, babbling in urgent tones to the men at his flanks. A line of bedraggled men and one woman filed in their wake, each as pale-skinned and grubby as the next, while two dogs yapped happily as they wound their way in and out of the striding legs, content to be outside and oblivious to the evidently terse conversation conducted at the front of the line.

The men on either side of William Balthazar were his very antithesis. They were tall, as he was tall, but their faces were hard and grim, their frames strong and lean, and their gaits confident. These were creatures of a different world. One of violence and blood and cruelty. The Captain of Star Castle seemed to shrink in their presence.

‘Blithering fool,’ Titus Gibbons snarled as they strode rapidly over the muddy yard. The winds were vicious, buffeting them so that he was forced to clamp a hand to his hat as he walked. ‘They are shipwrecked. Instead of aiding them, you sling them in gaol like common footpads!’

‘How dare you, sir—’ William Balthazar spluttered, peering above the rim of his spectacles, for the lenses were speckled with raindrops. ‘I am Captain of Star Castle, and—’

Gibbons halted, pointing at the tattered man who walked with them. ‘And this is Captain Stryker of Mowbray’s Foot! Killing Cavalier, ban-dog of Prince Rupert himself, and a particular friend of mine.’

‘Jesu—’ Balthazar whispered as the others gathered around them. ‘I—I do not understand. They said you were a rebel.’

Stryker’s innards griped, stabbing and twisting. He spat at Balthazar’s feet. ‘I told you who I was.’

Balthazar adjusted his spectacles unnecessarily. ‘You had no credentials.’

‘
Pah
!’ Gibbons roared. ‘If this man is a rebel, then I’m the bloody Pope!’

Stryker hoped the sailor could not see the colour rise in his cheeks. His allegiance had never been iron-bound, and his time with Gloucester’s rebels had muddied the waters further. He cleared his throat quickly. ‘You have my deepest thanks, Titus.’

Gibbons grinned, rubbing his freshly shaven chin and flicking water from the end of his nose. ‘What a place to find men so fond of land, eh? And Will Skellen! Bless my blackguardly soul, sir, but you were never a friend of the high seas!’

‘’Pon my honour, Cap’n Gib,’ Skellen’s rough-hewn voice replied, his head rising above the rest of the ragged assembly, ‘I verily despise it now.’

Gibbons laughed, looking back to Stryker. ‘And what brings you to this God-forsaken rock?’

‘Crown business, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Gibbons looked pointedly at the cowed Balthazar. ‘And imprisoned by that same Crown, it seems.’

Balthazar swallowed awkwardly, as if his mouth were full of nettles. ‘A misunderstanding, Captain Gibbons. Captain Stryker, I—I was mistook.’

Skellen stepped forwards, his deep-set eyes more shadow-darkened than ever. Stryker held up a staying palm. The tall sergeant’s anger would get him killed if he raised a hand to so senior an officer with half Star Castle’s garrison looking on. ‘Misled,’ Stryker said quickly. ‘No matter. Where is Tainton?’

Balthazar swallowed again. ‘I do not know. He took ship two days ago, but would not disclose his destination.’

‘Hold,’ Titus Gibbons interrupted, clearly baffled by the man’s ignorance. ‘Are you not in command of these islands? De facto governor? How does this Tainton fellow travel without your permission?’

‘He had papers,’ Balthazar said, his voice rising to a bleat. ‘A royal commission.’

‘It is over, then,’ Stryker said. He glanced up at the bilious clouds blooming like inky toadstools overhead, then at the pale faces gathered like white pearls in the closing dusk. ‘We need food and water. My men are in dire health.’

Captain Balthazar nodded. ‘Y—Yes, right away.’ He clicked his fingers to summon an loitering officer. ‘Lieutenant Lowe, see to vittles for these men.’

‘Do not expect a decent meal, Stryker,’ Gibbons said as they watched the garrison men scuttle off in search of provisions. ‘Balthazar could not empty his boot of water if the instructions were etched into the sole.’

Balthazar visibly bristled at that. ‘I have apologized, sir,’ he said through lips set in a tight line. ‘Tainton’s papers were—wait.’ He looked at Stryker. ‘Who is he?’

‘Tainton?’ said Stryker. ‘He is an agent of the Parliament.’

‘But his papers—’

‘Were falsified,’ Lisette Gaillard interrupted, pushing her way through the beleaguered crowd, ‘you stupid bastard.’

Titus Gibbons had evidently not noticed her up until now, for he stepped towards her, snatching off his hat – the feather sodden and drooping – and finishing the motion in a sweeping bow. ‘
Enchanté
,’ he said as he straightened, stealing her hand, filthy as it was, to kiss her knuckles lightly. ‘Titus Gibbons, master of the good ship
Stag
, placed upon this earth to see to your every whim.’

She ignored him, glaring instead at Stryker. ‘We must go to Tresco.’

‘He’ll be long gone, Lisette.’

Her blue eyes blazed in the gathering gloom. ‘And you wish to tell our masters how we lost the gold? Without so much as trying to get it back?’

Stryker considered her words. At best their mission would be considered a failure. If she decided to tell Killigrew exactly how events had come to pass, he might be in deadly trouble. He looked at Gibbons. ‘We must go to Tresco.’

‘My ship is yours, Stryker.’ He winked, replacing his hat.

‘I am in your debt.’

Gibbons blew out his cheeks in mock relief. ‘It is a welcome feeling to be finally out of yours, old friend. To where do we sail? New Grimsby or Old? The weather turns against us, and I would not risk a landing outside their protected harbours.’

Lisette reached out, touching fingertips to Gibbons’s elbow. She might have stabbed him such was the immediacy of his attention. ‘As far south as you may go, Captain,’ she said sweetly, sweeping a matted strand of soaking hair from before her eyes. ‘We are bound for Carn Near.’

Gibbons gnawed his lower lip, raking her with a salacious stare he did not bother to conceal. ‘The southernmost tip?’

‘That is right.’

Gibbons thought for a moment, keeping his eyes on hers. ‘Dangerous waters in winds such as these.’

She licked her lips slowly. ‘For me,
monsieur
?’

A small sound rumbled from the sailor’s throat and he sighed. ‘There is a place I know. We’ll put you ashore on our skiffs.’

‘
Merci, monsieur
.’

Stryker bit down on his annoyance. ‘Titus . . .’ he cut in, pointing at the seamen who had survived the
Kestrel
’s descent beneath the waves. ‘These three were part of our first ship’s crew.’

Gibbons tore his eyes from Lisette and touched the brim of his hat to the sailors. ‘You’ll join my crew?’ They said that they would. ‘Then welcome, my lads. Now what,’ he said to Lisette, ‘is at Carn Near?’

‘A house,’ the Frenchwoman answered, glancing at Stryker. ‘It is there, at Carn Near. Cecily told me about the house, and I found it.’

Stryker nodded. ‘She told us there was a retainer in place.’

‘
Oui
. A good man.’ Her expression darkened. ‘Now Tainton will have him.’

‘Will he talk?’

She shook her head. ‘I do not think so. That is why there is no time to waste.’ She looked at Gibbons again. ‘Is it possible to sail in this storm, Captain?’

‘You do not yearn for a bath and some rest? A few hours’ sleep, perhaps?’

‘I do not,’ Lisette said. She looked up at the angry sky. ‘Is it possible?’

Gibbons screwed up his craggy face, a gesture that suggested the notion was risky at best. ‘I enjoy a challenge, mademoiselle. Get some food in your bellies and we’ll be off.’

‘And weapons?’ Stryker said to Balthazar.

The Captain of Star Castle nodded rapidly. ‘Yes, yes, I will see to it immediately.’

Stryker kept his single eye fixed firmly upon Balthazar. It glittered quicksilver in the rain-lashed dusk. ‘You have my sword, sir.’

The storm battered and harried their crossing. The
Stag
was a redoubtable little sloop with as much compact strength as she had speed, but the winds were vicious and the waves lapped all the way up the hull to send stinging spray over the deck. The sky was not black, but a blue of the deepest hue, lit by a bright moon when the blanket of clouds scudded from out of its way.

Stryker gripped the hilt of his sword with one hand and clung on to one of the taut ropes with the other. The rope was as thick as a man’s upper arm, a fact offering a modicum of reassurance, but in spite of that he found himself praying for the first time in what seemed an age. He chided himself for his timidity, yet the sinking of the
Kestrel
had left so indelible a mark that he feared he would never truly recover. The salt and the wind and the burning, choking, relentless water, sucking him down, tossing and tumbling him like a child’s toy, dragging him to the bone-chilling deep. As the
Stag
leapt like its namesake, rising on the crest of a swell that threatened never to end, he gripped the rope tighter and prayed to God that they would stay afloat.

They had departed St Mary’s as the storm turned evening to night. Balthazar had been true to his word, filling their bellies with food and providing clean water, muskets, blades, coats, bandoliers and good-quality black powder. He had returned Stryker’s sword with a look of utter relief, perhaps, as Skellen later suggested, imagining the consequence had he not been able to produce it, and then they had left him to wallow in his wretched confusion, standing on the sharply angled rampart of Star Castle, hunched and forlorn against the rushing gale.

Gibbons had cast off as soon as his crew were ready, his bluff confidence fooling nobody in the face of the tempest, and Stryker, guts in constant spasm after the rich food, was thankful that the men did not entertain thoughts of mutiny. Ordinarily he would have threatened and bullied them, but after the
Kestrel
’s sad demise, he could hardly have blamed them. In the event, they seemed as keen to reach Tresco and wreak revenge upon their captors as he, while he suspected Lisette’s determination was as intoxicating for them as it was for him. No man would want her to think less of him.

Now, as the black rise of Tresco’s southern coast loomed out of the sea like Jonah’s whale, Stryker looked over at her with a lancing pang of longing. Gripping the rail some ten or twelve paces along the deck, she was staring out to sea, dressed in the green soldier’s coat Balthazar had issued from his stores, her hair ragged and tangled, tossed and twisted by the wind. Stryker yearned to reach out to her; craved her.

‘We shall not land!’ Titus Gibbons bellowed at his side.

Stryker turned to see the Royalist privateer, cassock buttoned tight over his chest, hat consigned to his cabin so that his hair flowed freely. ‘So you said!’

Gibbons shook his head. ‘No, you do not understand, Stryker! The skiffs will be taken if we lower them, splintered and swallowed. There is nothing for it!’

‘We will take the risk!’ Stryker called back, stealing a glance at Lisette.

‘No, you won’t!’ Gibbons persisted. ‘I owe you my life, old friend! Remember Antwerp? I will never forget. The Diegos had my ship pinned under their guns. Then one battery turned upon the other. It was a miracle!’

‘A simple enough thing! They were looking out to sea, paying no attention to the landward!’

‘Even so,’ Gibbons pressed, ‘your intervention saved us, and I will be eternally grateful. But this—’ He paused as a jet of salty spray dowsed them. ‘This is too much. You will not survive it.’

‘If we find the gold, you will have a cut!’ argued Stryker.

‘
Ha
! Take a look for yourself, old friend!’ He let his eyes drift to where Lisette stood. ‘And take your blinkers off!’

Stryker craned his neck over the rail. The waves were huge, white-crested, fizzing and frothing as though giant sharks thrashed just beneath the surface. He imagined small skiffs bobbing amongst those heaving swells, and knew there was nothing to be gained by forcing the issue.

‘We must remain aboard the
Stag
,’ Gibbons said. ‘Wait the tempest out. Pray we have more patience than she.’