Mistress of the Sea (34 page)

He pulled her hand away and kissed it.

‘As easily as I think you fair when in truth you are dark.’

‘So I am not fair?’

At that he reached for her and pulled her to him on his lap.

‘No, not fair at all; so unfair that I expect no justice. You wrong me, sweet maiden.’

‘
I
wrong
you
!’

‘Yes,’ he said, kissing her, ‘you do.’ He did not try to put his feelings into words; he doubted that he could, and he feared that if he did then she would only pick whatever he said to pieces. He simply kissed her again.

His reward was her laughter, and her arms around his.

Ellyn took up a shoe and traced the outline of a blood-smeared hole, imagining the agony of each step without protection where the skin was broken. ‘Your work could make the difference between life and death, Mistress Ellyn,’ so Drake had said. But why did the mariners need shoes now? She could guess the answer from what Will had told her. On the long march inland, the one that had led to the failed attack, the men had returned so footsore and weary that many had to be carried on the backs of the
Cimaroons,
so Will had told her. Handling their shoes gave her more understanding. She assumed Drake was planning another trek. Why else would he want shoes repairing? And in a way that pleased her, because of the message she had left with Marco; she had always supposed Drake would venture inland again – Will had said Drake still wanted a silver train. But she was also fearful.

On Slaughter Island there were few able men left. She looked up at empty shelters inside the walls of the fort, and then at her own tiny hut: the one that the Cimaroons had made for her in the week since her arrival. She scanned the trampled sand where hog bones and corn husks attracted flies in small clouds. She knew where the men would be: aboard the frigate that John Oxenham had seized, fitting her out as a man o’war, moving the ordnance from the rotting
Pascoe
where the Spaniards from the captured ships were now held as prisoners. With the bounty from Oxenham’s prize, she had seen how the mood had changed. Drake’s men had been restored, their bellies filled, fortified by wine and roused afresh by fighting talk. They were clamouring again for vengeance, and now Drake was plotting another strike. The sudden arrival of French corsairs had emboldened him even more; they had forged an alliance. But where did that leave her? She was labouring like a cobbler without really knowing what to do, cutting soles from a leather bucket since there was nothing else to use. She was trying her best, despite the pain in her hand from piercing holes with an awl, and the pricks of the curved needle, and the cuts of the waxed thread. But she would much rather have been helping to prepare for a voyage back to England.

The French alarmed her. They were Huguenot freebooters who
outnumbered
Drake’s men, with a much larger ship that was far better armed. Where would a pact with them lead? Drake had only thirty men left, and a good number of those were unfit to fight. She had seen men too weak to stand, wasted by fever and with terrible wounds. Men had died on every one of Drake’s raids, and no doubt more would die on the next. Where would it end? With her fingers inside a shoe she felt the mould of a man’s toes – someone who might be alive, or could be dead, and she had no idea who would wear the shoe next. The shoe could be for Will. She glanced up again and wondered where he was.

Only one man was near: a burly Cimaroon picking at fishing lines and hooks. It had not escaped her attention that while Will was hardly with her, the Cimaroons were never far from sight. At night at least one of them would be stationed somewhere outside her hut. She smiled at the man and looked back at her work. It was as if she had been assigned a constant guard. But did she need one? ‘I will never leave you,’ Will had said. But of course he would; he would be leaving on Drake’s trek. ‘I will never forsake you,’ he had promised. She wanted to believe him, but what did that mean? They were not betrothed. He had not asked her to marry him, or involved her in his plans, or even said that he loved her. She shook her head and jabbed with the awl.

Will’s conduct could be explained; she tried to calm herself with reason. To preserve the general harmony it was better to behave as if nothing lay between them. If Will kept his distance, and she did not openly favour anyone, then no one could be put out: she would be no object of envy, and cause no resentment – there would be no rivalry when the men were preparing for another venture. Will would have other matters to think about and better
things
to do. Or was that just an excuse: an explanation she had devised to spare herself the truth? She struggled to push the spike deeper. Then the crunch of footsteps made her start. Her hand jerked back and the spike slipped out. She yelped with pain and sucked her thumb quickly; it was badly pricked, and she had seen Will approaching.

‘What have you done?’ Will stooped to her with knotted brows. His eyes flickered as he studied her face. ‘Let me see.’

‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, though her thumb was throbbing, and the slip had upset her. ‘I was careless.’

Will eyed the pile of roughly mended shoes.

‘You have been working hard. But come with me now. The French captain has asked for you.’

She stood, brushing down her skirts with her uninjured hand.

‘For what reason? Does he also have shoes in need of repair?’

Will took her arm and kissed her hurt thumb gently, smiling as he straightened.

‘Not Le Testu. I believe he has shoes fit for a royal audience. He is a distinguished navigator who has impressed our own Captain with his skill in drawing maps.’ Will told her more as he guided her through the gate. ‘He has made a fine cosmography of the world based on his voyages to Africa and the Americas.’

In brilliant sunshine Will led her to a little boat, and the effect of his company was like balm over everything; she felt instantly soothed.

‘Get in, and I will row you over,’ he said. ‘There is a meeting in Drake’s cabin.’

She smiled at him happily, unsure how she could be of any use though her uncertainties paled.

‘What is the meeting about?’ she asked, after settling herself in the stern and watching him take up the oars.

Will sculled the boat away, glancing over his shoulder at the two ships in the roadstead, before settling into a rhythm, pulling hard with each stroke. But while his body moved, he kept his eyes upon her.

‘Le Testu was a confidant of the Admiral of France,’ he said at last. ‘But the Admiral is dead. There was a massacre in France on St Bartholomew’s Day last year. Le Testu has told us. Most of the Huguenot leaders were murdered. Thousands of Protestants have been killed.’

‘But why?’ She blurted out the question, shocked by the news, and still none the wiser as to why Le Testu had asked to see her.

Will continued to row steadily, bringing his face closer, and then pulling back, so that she found herself fixing on each detail of his strong features: the line of his stubbled chin, and the pale creases by his deep-set eyes, with an intensity compounded by his constantly shifting. Coming towards her again, he spoke.

‘The Catholics feared them. Catherine de Medici turned her son, the king, against them.’ Will heaved on the oars. ‘The wars in France grow worse. And now you know why Le Testu is here.’ He leaned forward again. ‘He wants to join us in striking at Spain.’

‘For the Protestant cause?’

Will eyed her and grinned.

‘For freedom.’

Freedom
. She thought of what that meant as she looked at the ships: the captured frigate and the French ship newly arrived. The activity all around gradually became clearer as they neared. Men were on the ratlines, and balanced on ropes under the spars,
working
on the rigging, winching up barrels and crates. They were scaling rope ladders, carrying up weapons and provisions. She noticed the gun ports cut in the sides of the smaller frigate, the little boats nearby and the pinnace roped alongside. She was free: free from Bastidas and the island and everything that had once constrained her. If she was asked to do anything for freedom, then she would.

‘How can I help?’ she asked.

‘Le Testu wants to know what you have seen of the silver trains.’ Apprehension unsettled her, and she wanted to prepare. Her recollection of the mule trains was hazy, and she supposed the questioning would be severe. If she could picture Le Testu, she might anticipate what she faced. She had already conjured up an image of him as a vigorous swashbuckler, dark and lithe.

‘What is he like?’

Will’s answer was no help at all.

‘Brave,’ he said, and smiled.

Drake was puffing on a smouldering leaf, ruddy-cheeked and clearly at ease. There was a fug of collusion in the air, in the way the smoke wreathed and curled, drifting in the sunbeams slanting through the arched stern windows. Ellyn imagined some sort of bargain must already have been concluded. She saw complicity in the way the men sat close: mariners and Cimaroons alike were all hunched around the captain’s table until, as she entered, one by one they raised their heads. She recognised wiry John Oxenham and Ellis Hixom with his hideous scars. They faced two fearsome-looking Africans, and a swarthy seaman whom she knew but could not name. With his back turned towards her was a white-haired
gentleman
wearing a faded blue cape. This man was the first to rise, and when he greeted her she was amazed, for he was Le Testu, slight and stooped with age, gracious and softly spoken, with a manner more suited to a scriptorium than a warship.

At Le Testu’s invitation, Will made a place for her to sit. Then a silver cup was pushed into her hands.

‘Would you care for some
eau de vie
, mademoiselle?’ Le Testu asked. Her bewilderment probably showed. ‘I believe you call it brandy wine,’ the Frenchman explained, while his face crinkled like an old dried leaf.

She held the cup near her lips. A trace of strong spirits caught at the back of her throat, along with the reek of weed-smoke and tallow.

‘Thank you, Captain. It is a long time since I partook of drink such as this.’

Le Testu cocked his head.

‘Ah, yes. You have lived here for well over a year, I am told, on an island near Nombre de Dios, under the nose of the Spaniards with little charity from them to sustain you.’ He smiled, blinking rapidly. ‘So please drink with us. This is the finest
eau de vie
from Armagnac; it preserves youth and makes the wit lively.’

‘Then I shall be glad of it.’

To please him she sipped, and someone chuckled as she gasped.

Le Testu raised his cup.

‘
A votre santé
. You must be pleased to be with your countrymen again.’

‘I thank God for that.’

‘And my countrymen are your friends also. Did you notice how many there were on my ship?’

She looked around the table, puzzled by the question, but no one else seemed surprised; they all drank or smoked, scratched or examined their hands. Ellyn frowned.

‘A good number, sir. I should say about forty mariners were above decks.’

‘Excellent. And in the mast tops, were any men there?’

She hesitated. An image of the French ship formed uncertainly in her mind, culled from what she had glimpsed when she had been rowed across from the fort, though then she had been concentrating on Will and what he had said.

Le Testu fixed her with his pale eyes.

‘I wonder, can you tell me how many mast tops you saw on my ship?’

‘Tush, sir! Do you not know your own ship?’ She bridled, suddenly aware that she was being tested, and affronted by the implication. ‘You have a carrack with a main, fore and mizzen, and fighting tops on them all. I believe I saw a man at the top of the foremast.’

A sound like a hand-slap made her turn towards Drake. His shoulders were shaking while a suppressed smile creased his face. Someone cackled and coughed.

Le Testu raised a gnarled hand.

‘I am pleased you are so observant. Now tell me of the mule trains if you will. You have seen them entering Nombre de Dios?’

‘Yes, they come in most days now from Panamá, and that will continue until the treasure fleet leaves for Spain.’

‘Do you know when that will be?’

She was aware that there had been noise in the cabin only when
it
stopped, and then what she heard was the slow creaking of the frigate’s timbers. The men around the table were all completely still. She answered with conviction, as best she could.

‘No later than mid-April, when the rains start, and the Royal Road becomes impassable.’

A murmur rippled and gathered strength.

‘So we only have a few weeks?’ Oxenham demanded. ‘The fleet may already be underway.’

‘What then?’ someone asked, and voices were raised.

‘God’s teeth!’ Hixom snarled.

Le Testu broke into the clamour and asked, ‘Are you sure of this?’

He looked at her. They all looked at her. She tried to explain, thinking back to Bastidas and the things he had said, through memories of the degradation she had sought to forget. She glanced at Will and saw the strength that she needed.

She took a deep breath.

‘In the third week of February, I saw Captain Bastidas, the Commander of the garrison at Nombre de Dios. He said that the fleet would sail in six weeks.’

Will nodded.

‘That would be the beginning of April.’

‘We are near the end of March now,’ the swarthy mariner broke in. ‘We might be too late.’

‘We might be rich very soon, Master Sherwell.’ Drake silenced the muttering that ensued. ‘The most precious loads will be carried last. The Spaniards will not risk leaving the King’s gold for long in that Treasure House, not since our attack.’

‘The most precious will be the best guarded,’ Le Testu said
softly.
‘Could you describe the escort for the mule trains, mademoiselle?’

‘In the main, they are light.’ She thought of the barefoot guards she had seen marching into the city. ‘The Spaniards still fear an attack by sea, not along the road. I have seen trains of about fifty mules guarded by a dozen men, mostly slaves armed with bows. Sometimes they carry firearms, but these are often old.’ Her gaze was drawn to Drake’s Cimaroon friends. She took in their proud faces and muscular shoulders. She saw pieces of armour, and bracelets of leather and teeth. The men looked menacing, but she would be truthful. ‘Since the Cimaroons do not use firearms, and the Cimaroons are perceived as the principal threat, these weapons are considered sufficient.’