"They have come," Bothwell said. "My men!" He suddenly realized his
horrible predicament. "The soldiers are all ashore! There is no one
to fight!" Throwing down his napkin, he raced out of the house.
Sinclair followed.
They stopped at the top of a cliff overlooking the harbour. The ships
of the Lords were closing in, when suddenly all four of Bothwell's
ships in the harbour hoisted sail, cut their cables, and fled.
"They decided not to wait to be boarded," said Bothwell, approvingly.
"But the full complement of men is still ashore!"
As they watched, the chase began. Bothwell could see the biggest ship
of the Lords, the Unicorn, pursuing hotly. Clearly it felt itself to
be the leader, the one meant to run him to ground. It had to be manned
by Kirkcaldy and his archenemy, William Murray of Tullibardine the man
who had started the placard campaign against him. Grange, that lying,
foul, false bastard! And Tullibardine, in the pay of the Lords to
frame him for the murder!
Would I were aboard, he thought, I'd welcome a grapple with you and
make sure I cut your throats, no matter what.
As it was, he had to watch helplessly from shore as the ships ran north
out of Bressay Sound.
One of his ships was slow. They had nicknamed it Tortoise, for it
always lagged behind and was incapable of matching the others in speed.
Now the Unicorn marked it out for a victim and was following it
closely, catching up with every second.
The captain of the Tortoise managed to keep just ahead. Then,
suddenly, it looked as if he had lost control; as Bothwell watched, the
Tortoise was driven into an area where the waters became milky with
foam from hidden rocks. It steered directly for the breakers, in a
brave, seemingly suicidal gesture. Then the ship, which only grazed
her keel on the rocks, shot up and out through the cresting foam into
deeper waters.
Too late to alter course, the bulky Unicorn followed in its wake, and
from his lookout point Bothwell saw the vessel shudder and strike. She
was stuck on the rocks, and lurched to one side. Dozens of sailors and
soldiers were flung overboard, falling like little pieces of dust. A
boat was let down, and quickly it was jammed with people. Someone
jumped from the Unicorn's deck into the boat, causing it to spin around
and almost sink. Then, even while Bothwell and Sinclair were watching,
the Unicorn sank in the roiling waters. Bothwell gave a hoot of
delight.
"He did it on purpose," said Sinclair. "The captain of that ungainly
ship knew her draught and knew the water around the rocks, down to an
inch, I'll warrant." He laughed. "What a feat of seamanship!"
The rest of the pursuing fleet had to stop and rescue their fellows,
and Bothwell's ships disappeared from sight over the horizon.
"They will anchor at Unst," said Sinclair, "and wait for you there.
That is the northernmost island. Gather your men and head north. Here,
I will give you horses." He clapped Bothwell on the back. "Pity our
meal was interrupted. I see you won't have time to see the seals
today."
Bothwell mounted hurriedly and clattered down into the town. He knew
where to find the most part of his men, and they would have to borrow
horses to get across the island in time. Already the Unicorn's boat
was making its way to shore, and Kirkcaldy would start searching. He
must have realized that Bothwell had not been aboard the Tortoise.
Bothwell found some hundred men in the town, and as he was supreme lord
of the isle and had the authority, he commandeered nearly all the
horses in the town. They were brought out, sturdy, woolly beasts, and
even a number of pet ponies. Anything that had four legs and could
carry a man would do, even mules and donkeys.
"To the north!" cried Bothwell, rallying the men, and hastily they set
out, making for the interior of the island. They rode as fast as they
could on the uneven terrain, passing over the wrinkled green landscape
strewn with boulders. They rode hard for twenty miles under that
strange, huge, cloudless sky until they ran out of mainland. Then,
abruptly, the land ended, and they found themselves staring out across
two miles of open water separating them from the next island, Yell.
Where were the boats Sinclair had promised? Bothwell dismounted and
clambered down to the shore. He saw fishing boats, and gestured to
them. Slowly agonizingly slowly they rowed closer.
"We need to cross!" he yelled, indicating his party. The fishing
boats just sat there. Then one of them rowed away, around a
headland.
Bothwell felt his pulse racing. How would they manage to cross? The
sea was too turbulent even to think of swimming in it, and the distance
was too great, even if the water had not been numbingly cold. Neither
the horses nor the men could survive it. He felt oddly concerned about
the borrowed horses.
Damn! Were they to be caught here, like the fish in the nets being
hauled aboard the boats? Kirkcaldy must be hot on their trail.
The fishing boat reappeared, and with it six larger boats. As they
slowly came nearer, Bothwell gave silent thanks.
"We'll take you for a fee," the captain of one of the boats said. He
named an outrageous one. Bothwell argued a moment, hoping to strike a
better deal, or at least not leave the impression here that he was an
absolute fool, but he kept glancing over his shoulder. Kirkcaldy might
come up over the rise at any moment.
"Done," said Bothwell. "Now let's load!"
The men were herded onto one kind of boat, and the flatter, heavier
boats agreed to take the horses. But only a few could be ferried
across at a time. It took three crossings to get everyone onto the
shore of Yell.
"Let us go!" cried Bothwell, touching spurs to his horse, and they set
off north again, across land so forlorn it looked as if even God had
forgotten it. Black rocks, brown bare soil, a sheen of green from moss
and bracken and the wind, like a creature itself: a howling, whistling,
tearing wind that had ice in its mouth. Now, in the late afternoon,
white, puffy clouds appeared and raced across the sky, demonstrating
the speed of that wind.
They rode twelve miles along that cold, rocky desert, and then they
came to another strait, Bluemull Sound. This one was much less wide
than Yell Sound, and although Bothwell thought of risking a swim
across, five boats were nearby and willing to ferry them across again
for a high fee.
They stepped ashore on the rock-strewn beach of Unst. Night was
falling, but they did not dare to light fires for fear of betraying
their whereabouts to Kirkcaldy. They huddled on the beach and tried to
sleep, covering themselves with their cloaks. The wind was so fierce
that it tore right through the material, and the crashing of the sea on
the rocks kept them awake. When dawn came up, they shook the sand and
pebbles off their cloaks and prepared to scour the island.
By midmorning they had found the ships, anchored in a sheltered bay.
Bothwell signalled by flapping a cloak, and soon a boat was on its
way.
"Thank God!" said both Bothwell and the men in the boat.
"Quick thinking," said Bothwell to the captain of the Tortoise, once he
was safely aboard. "As fine a display of seamanship as ever I've seen.
I watched from shore."
"When I saw that fat ship, I said to myself, "She deserves to be
wrecked," " said the captain. "That bishop they had aboard, the one
who's supposed to try you and pronounce sentence it was he who jumped
and almost missed the boat. I wish he'd sunk like his ship."
"I wish it as much as you nay, more, for that turncoat churchman is the
very one who married me to the Queen. What a vile betrayer," said
Bothwell. "The rest of the ships stayed behind; they were hard put to
rescue all the men and try to regroup."
"They'll be here before long," said the captain. "I would say we have
only a few hours' head start. What do you aim to do?"
"Why, fight, of course," said Bothwell. "What else?"
"They have more men and more ships."
"Then they will be cocky. If you think I mean to flee without a fight,
or if that is what you wish, I release you now. I will not have the
fainthearted on my side; and you have already struck a mighty blow for
us. You may in all good conscience be excused."
"Nay. I'll stay," he said. "But we have only a few hours to
prepare."
"So be it."
Bothwell counted the men and realized a large contingent was still on
the mainland. He dispatched his treasure vessel, the one carrying his
plate, jewels, armour, and personal belongings, to sail back to the
western side of the island, to Scalloway, to collect the men left
behind.
It was early the next morning when the first of the enemy ships came
over the horizon. There was so much mist that they had come fairly
close before Bothwell or his captains were able to spot them.
"Enemy! Enemy! Alarm!" cried the sailors. The cannon were loaded,
and the soldiers manned the decks, standing shoulder to shoulder with
their harquebuses. Torches soaked in pitch to set aflame and throw
onto the ships in close fighting were at the ready, as were longbows
and grappling hooks if it came to boarding and hand-to-hand fighting.
They cut the anchor cables and started out of the bay, to avoid being
bottled up or run aground. The whistling wind filled the sails the
second they were unfurled, and the captains steered for open water.
The seven ships of the Lords followed, and began firing their
long-range brass cannon. But they were still at too great a distance,
and the cannonballs fell harmlessly into the water.
The Tortoise, true to its name, fell behind its fellows, and soon was
boarded by Kirkcaldy's men. Bothwell was down to two ships now, and he
wished the captain of the Tortoise had elected not to fight. He hoped
that Kirkcaldy would be merciful, but mercy did not seem to be a
leading trait of the Lords.
Cannon fire was hitting their ships, tearing through the sails and
riddling them with holes, and thudding into the wooden sides. Bothwell
gave the orders to reply, and the guns of the Pelican roared in answer,
striking the sides and deck of the Primrose, the James, and the Robert,
raining down on the heads of the hands on deck. The four smaller ships
hung back out of range, like reticent maidens.
A fireball landed on the deck, expanding up into a sphere of pure
flame. The soldiers fled, but some had their clothing set afire, and
had to roll on the deck or be doused with water. In the confusion they
left off firing, and the Primrose, with Tullibardine aboard Bothwell
could see him manning the deck was able to approach closer and let
loose with the close-range guns. A rain of gunshot fell on them,
scattering BothwelPs men and once again disrupting their defence.
Bothwell rushed to one of the cannon and loaded and fired it himself.
He aimed right at the waterline of Tullibardine's ship, hoping to sink
it, but the hole that appeared in the side was above the water.
The fight continued, all the time working its way farther and farther
out to sea. The shoreline grew hazy and disappeared. The ships fought
on, volleys of cannonballs landing on deck, blasting holes in the
vessels. The sails were aflame on the Robert, and it lost control of
its steering and revolved around and around like a wheel in the
water.