An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (15 page)

Lizbeth, from below, could see them quite clearly and she knew their heads were turned continually in one direction the one from which they expected Rodney to return.

With daylight those on board the
Sea Hawk
under Barlow’s command sprang into an accelerated activity which appeared to keep them all breathless, not only from the heat, but from the speed with which their orders must be carried out.

And then, just when Lizbeth felt she could bear it no longer, when her eyes ached from watching for the man who did not come, Rodney returned! He came so swiftly that he was down the cliff side and crossing the sandy beach almost before she was aware of his presence.

But even had she not seen him, she felt that she would have known by the attitude of everyone aboard that he was there. It was not that they stopped work; it was not that anything was said or done, but in every man there was the same reaction – a sudden relief from tension which swept through the ship as obviously as a cry.

There was a boat waiting for Rodney where the waves lapped languidly against the sands and it took but a few seconds for the seamen manning it to row him to the ship. The bo’sun’s pipes shrilled as he came aboard and then, regardless of discipline, of custom and correct procedure, Lizbeth reached him first.

“Thank God you are safe! she cried.

His face was pale she noticed, but his eyes were shining with some inner excitement. His doublet was dusty and he looked as though he had lain all night in the earth or in some sandy place and had not bad a moment since to brush himself clean.

Rodney looked at Lizbeth when she spoke to him, but his first words were for Barlow, who stood a little to one side as if waiting for instructions.

“Everything in order, Master Barlow?”

“The repairs should be finished by noon, sir. We can put to sea tonight.”

Rodney smiled. This was what he wanted to hear.

“Thank you, Master Barlow. I wish to speak to the entire ship’s company.”

“Now, sir?”

Barlow glanced for the first time at Rodney’s clothes.

Lizbeth knew that he was thinking of the breakfast that Hapley had waiting in the cabin. Rodney also needed a shave, but with his usual impatience with such trifles he said sharply:

“At once, Master Barlow!”

“Aye, aye, sir.

The command was given for “all hands on deck” and the men came tumbling up from below with a haste which bespoke their eagerness. Only the blacksmiths, the men working with them, and the sentries on the cliffs were missing.

Rodney looked down on the crowd of faces upturned to his. They were a fine lot, he thought suddenly, English every man-Jack of them, and not one that he would not be glad to have by his side in a tight corner. He stood looking at them, waiting for that sudden pregnant silence that comes just before an orator says his first words. Then with the hot sun beating down he began to speak.

“You know where I went last night,” he said, and every man seemed to bend forward a little so that he should not miss one word. “The Indian whom we brought aboard guided me to his village which lies about five miles to the north of us. It is built on the edge of a bay – a natural harbour, very much like the one here, only larger.

“As he and his friends had already told me, there is a Spanish ship anchored there, put in for repairs to her steering. The ship is the
Santa
Perpetua –
large galleon of over five hundred tons and loaded with treasure from Panama. She was on her way to Havana; and when she does not arrive, there is every chance that other ships will be sent in search of her.

“I am telling you now so that you will realise all that we have to guard against. Our friend, whose father is Chief of the village, thinks that she has approximately two hundred men aboard, perhaps more. They are most of them experienced fighting men and well armed. They have posted sentries around the village and there is always an armed guard aboard the ship itself, although the officers, and the majority of the men too, have been making the most of their enforced holiday, and enjoying themselves ashore. The Indian girls are not unattractive; the native wine is potent.”

Rodney paused a minute, then looking straight at his audience, he said:

“Tonight we are going to take the
Santa Perpetua.”

A wild cheer rose to every man’s lips. It was hastily checked by Master Barlow’s “Quiet there,” repeated and re-repeated by the Petty Officers.

“We must make no noise,” Rodney warned. “Voices carry in this atmosphere. Last night, lying above the native village, I could hear conversations being carried on, orders being given, the sick groaning with fever. We have still many hours of daylight ahead of us and we must keep quiet and still for fear of discovery.

“You will all of you have your orders, you will all of you, I know, carry them out to the best of your ability. A mistake on the part of one may mean the death of all. There is no need for me to point out to you that we are greatly out-numbered in fighting strength. We despise the Spaniards but we should be foolish indeed if we under-estimate them. They have been well trained in the art of fighting hand to hand.

Rodney paused and then, as the men seemed still to be waiting, as he felt the excitement radiating from them and saw by the expression on every face the elation they were feeling, he did not dismiss them as he intended, but continued “There is one other thing I would say to you. Before I left England, before I went to Plymouth to buy the
Sea
Hawk I
stayed a few nights in Whitehall. I was not privileged to meet our Queen, but I saw Her Majesty, in fact I stood within a few feet of her.

“I was passing through the Stone Gallery when the Queen, surrounded by her couriers and Ladies-in-Waiting, came into the Gallery from the gardens. I had not been expecting to see Her Majesty and like the other people there I stood to one side, awed and surprised at her sudden appearance.

“It was a dull day, but it seemed to me as if the sun had suddenly come out. She is not tall, our Queen, and yet when one sees her, one feels that she is the greatest woman on whom one has ever set eyes. She has a dignity and grace which give her a beauty beyond words. I would like to describe her to you and yet it is impossible.

“When one is away from her, one thinks of Queen Elizabeth the woman; but when she is there, you know you are in the presence of England – this country which has bred us and which we all love because it is ours.

“I watched the Queen pass and I knew then that she was the personification of all that we struggle for, all we try to attain and all for which we will, if necessary, give our lives. She is our Queen; she is Gloriana; she is England !”

Every man listening seethed to draw a deep breath and then, without another word, Rodney turned and walked across the deck to the after cabin. There was silence for several seconds, a tribute to an orator who had moved them, to words which were echoed by every man in his heart; and then, excitedly, the chatter broke out, uncrushed by the orders for silence being given by the officers continuously long after every man was back at his duties.

Only Lizbeth did not move. She remained where she had stood listening to Rodney and only after a long time did she realise that her hands were clenched tightly together so that her fingers were bloodless, and her cheeks were burning with the same excitement that was making her heart beat almost painfully beneath her breast.

It was a new Rodney she had heard speaking, a man inspired, a man whose voice had been a thrill when he spoke of what he had seen and what he had felt. It was the first time that Lizbeth had encountered the veneration and adoration that the Queen commanded amongst the men who served her and amongst all those, indeed, with whom she came in contact.

The mere mention of her name conjured up many strange and varied memories of her past-the girl whose childhood had been so helpless, her mother humiliated and executed; the shadow of the scaffold lying dark and menacing over her own obscure yet closely watched existence. Alternately caressed and neglected, she was the heir to the Throne of England at one moment and a bastard outcast the next.

London was crowded with gibbets, Smithfield’s pyres were burning, but Elizabeth had survived these perils by a miracle of discretion, brilliance and courage.

Lizbeth had all her life heard talk of how those at Court were inspired by Gloriana as they had named the Queen; how Hawkins, Drake, Raleigh and a hundred others had wanted only to lay the spoils of their voyages at the feet of her whom they served. She had listened to a thousand stories of the devotion of the Queen’s statesmen; and she had known, for all England speculated on it, of the affection that existed between the Queen and the Earl of Leicester.

There had been chatter about stately Hatton and handsome Heneage de Vere, the dashing king of the tiltyard, and young Blount who blushed when the eye of Her Majesty was fixed upon him. There was the Earl of Essex now, tall, handsome and irresponsible, to give the gossips something to whisper about.

And yet no one, however spiteful, however malicious, could deny that Elizabeth was great. As Rodney had said, men were ready to live and, if necessary, to die for her and to count their lives either way of little consequence. And yet she was just a woman.

Lizbeth remembered the throb in Rodney’s voice and felt a strange sensation she had never known before. Although the idea was almost laughable, it was almost a jealousy that any woman, even if she were a Queen, should draw men to her in such a way that she held not only their lives, but their hearts in her hands and took such devotion as her just due.

And then it seemed to Lizbeth in that moment she learned an important lesson, one which should be taught to all her sex. She learnt that in a greater or lesser degree every woman should be to a man an inspiration, a spur, an ideal and last of all, a goal to which he must strive endlessly.

For a moment Lizbeth felt frightened by the magnitude of this; and then, standing on that sun-baked deck with hands scurrying around her, the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer in her ears and the lap of the waves beneath her feet, she smiled with an inner satisfaction and a sense of power that she had never known before. She, too, was a woman, although for the moment no one was aware of it dinner at twelve was a hastily snatched meal, but at least Lizbeth had Rodney to herself for a few minutes. The neither of them took much note of what they were eating and Rodney seemed for once to have forgotten his anger and resentment at her presence, and talked away as easily and without reserve as if they had been at Camfield. He told Lizbeth further details of his investigation the night before.

“The Indian boy went into the village to find out the latest news and then came back to where I was hidden,” he said. “He learnt that the steering of the
Santa Perpetua
has been repaired and that the ship is to leave at dawn. But there is to be a party ashore tonight. The natives have been commanded to find half a dozen bullocks and a dozen fat pigs. They were in revolt at the idea, but I gave them money and both the bullocks and the pigs will be there and a great number of casks of native wine.”

“What is that like?” Lizbeth asked.

“Very fiery and very potent. It is made from the fermented sap of a palm tree which has leaves nearly twenty feet long, and big, golden flowers three feet high. The wine is called
Vino
de Coyol.
The Spaniards got hold of some of it, but the natives have kept most of their store hidden from them. Our Indian boy brought his father, the Chief, to see me. I gave him all the money I had with me to be spent on this feast and I think the Spaniards will be surprised to see how lavish it can be.”

“And while they feast – ?” Lizbeth queried excitedly Rodney nodded.

“That is the point. While they are feasting we must strike!” He drummed on the table with his fingers, a habit he had when he was concentrating. “I want to avoid as much fighting as possible; I cannot afford to lose a single man, especially if we have two ships to put to sea.”

“Do not be afraid,” Lizbeth said softly, “The galleon will be yours, I am sure of it.

He smiled at her then.

“You told me once before I should be successful,” he said, “and yet yesterday you taunted me with being a coward.”

“I am ashamed of my words,” Lizbeth answered. “I did not understand. I wanted to fight the Spaniards, to fight and win.” She hesitated for a moment and then added in a low voice, “I had not seen then the wounds that guns can inflict on human flesh. The man with the shattered foot had it amputated last night. I did not know that men could suffer so much and live.”

Impulsively Rodney put out his hand and laid it over hers.

“I have commanded you before, leave the wounded to those who are used to such matters.”

“And I have told you that I will not obey you in this,” Lizbeth replied. “Who else on board has any knowledge of medicine or the treatment of wounds?”

Rodney did not answer the question and Lizbeth continued triumphantly.

“You see, you cannot tell me, so I must do my best. Do you know that the man into whose wound I poured the
aqua vitae
is without fever?”

“I see that by the end of the voyage I shall be drinking water,” Rodney said.

But Lizbeth did not smile in response to his jest and her brows were knit as she said:

“If only I knew more I have heard that the Indians know of plants with great medicinal properties. May I ask our Indian friend to find some for me?”

“You shall certainly ask him later,” Rodney replied.

Lizbeth looked at him then and the same thought was in both their minds. However confident they both might be, would there be a “later” for either of them? Rodney got to his feet quickly.

“I must not linger here,” he said abruptly. “There is much to be done.”

“But, please,” Lizbeth pleaded hastily, “will you not tell me exactly what your plans are?”

“You will know in good time,” he answered.

She had a wild impulse to put out her arms to him and beg him not to go. What did a galleon matter, or the Spaniards, or the Queen herself for that matter, if Rodney were safe? Lizbeth wanted to keep him at her side. She wanted but what did she want?