Pirate Wolf Trilogy (36 page)

Dante pushed
aside the paintings and leaned over the table, sketching an
invisible map on the wood.

“
The port
is shaped thus, like a funnel, with a wide outer harbor and a
smaller, rounded inner harbor. The city itself straddles a detached
spit of land joined to the main by a stone bridge. The defenses in
the outer harbor are reasonably strong, for in order to breach the
inner, a ship must first pass through this channel”—he drew a line
through the neck of his invisible funnel—“and challenge the guns of
the castle fortifications.

“The castle
itself overlooks the channel. It was built nearly a century ago to
defend the city against repeated sackings from Algerian corsairs.
While not to be lightly dismissed, I suspect with this many ships
in port, we would not even have to risk the guns or the shoals to
make short work of the King’s fleet.”

“Shoals?”

“Aye, they run
along the leeward side of the channel, like teeth waiting to snap
at an unsuspecting keel. If I were to try to penetrate the inner
harbor, I would send the pinnaces in first to sound the shoals and
test the wind and currents—both of which have a tendency to lose
spirit inside the harbor.”

Drake was
staring hard at Dante’s squared jaw, the tightly compressed lips,
the sudden blaze of blue in his eyes. “You never mentioned where it
was you were taken,” he said quietly, “when you were subjected to
the auto-da-fe. May I presume it was Cadiz?”

“There was not
much to do between beatings but stare out a crack in the wall of my
cell and watch the harbor. I attacked it a hundred times in my
mind, and each was a success.”

“
We need
to attack it only once,” Drake said. “And it would
have
to be a success.”

“Given the fact
you are almost as audacious as I, I cannot see how it would
fail.”

Drake
weathered the challenge with a slow smile, but it was apparent the
bait was already half taken. His eyes sparkled and his complexion
was ruddy with excitement, and he stared down at the invisible map
Dante had drawn as if he could already see the harbor burning, the
ships in flame.

Restless now,
he stood up and paced to the windows. His black satin shirt was
stiff with jeweled embroidery, the sleeves of his velvet doublet
were puffed and slashed, the doublet itself was padded generously
to add bulk to his shoulders and dipped low in front to form a
stylishly aggrandized peasecod belly. His hose, while doing little
to flatter the bow in his legs, were worth more than a year’s wages
to a common sailor.

“Walsingham,”
he said, thinking aloud as he continued to contemplate the
possibilities, “has suggested we concentrate our efforts on the
smaller coastal ports. He thought a blockade off Cape Saint Vincent
would seriously hamper the provisioning of Lisbon. He has made his
suggestion in the expectations of the Spanish king choosing Alvaro
de Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz, to admiral his fleet, despite the
old warrior’s age and reports of ill health.

“On the other
hand, there is the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the current court
favorite. Richer than Croesus, he owns half of Andalusia and covets
the rest. He is neither a soldier nor a sailor, however. He spears
bulls with lancets and teaches horses to caper through the air. I
doubt he has even been on the deck of a ship, save once, years ago,
when he went to fetch his child bride from Navarre. His duchess is
more of a sailor than he, having made several voyages to the Indies
to visit her father—a governor, I believe, of one of the islands. I
heard some mention she was there now, for he was ailing. Or that
she was on her way back, for he was dead.”

Dante’s face
remained impassive but Pitt’s turned a strangled shade of red and
Spence swallowed loud enough for the sound to reverberate around
the cabin. Drake was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice
the subtle increase in tension, but Carleill passed a curious eye
from Pitt to Spence to Beau, who was also, suddenly, preoccupied
with a scrap of paper she was folding and unfolding into a tiny
square.

“
Medina
Sidonia would be the people’s favorite,” Drake decided curtly,
searching for agreement from his audience, “for he would only have
to snap his fingers to have fifty thousand men eager to follow him
into the bowels of hell. His
palacio
, as it happens, is in Cadiz.”

“In which
case,” Carleill observed on cue, “it would not enhance his
reputation any to be defeated in his own province.”

“No more than
it would enhance mine,” Drake countered, “to be seen acting too
rashly with the Queen’s ships.”

“Rashness, sir,
is what is demanded. The Queen will know this when it comes time to
choose her admiral to champion the defense of England.”

Drake smirked.
“The Queen, bless her soul, has a great deal of Old Henry in her
and thinks like a man when it comes to the strategies of warfare.
But she is also the Queen and must think of her own position when
it comes to the strategies of politics. Charles, Lord Howard of
Effingham is Lord High Admiral of England, and will no doubt
satisfy the needs of the Privy Council. I am, alas, only the son of
a common preacher and to put me in command of men with noble blood
would offend every law of nature and seigniory. On the other
hand”—his smile turned conspiratorial—“we can always hope for
common sense to prevail, and if I should shew the boldness to sail
into Cadiz and singe the King’s beard, well…”

“She will have
no choice but to appoint you,” Carleill insisted. “Noble blood be
damned.”

Drake
bowed slightly to acknowledge Carleill’s astute perception—one he
shared wholeheartedly—and not by chance his gaze settled on Beau.
His small, close-set eyes narrowed as he gave her doublet and
breeches, her ill-fixed braid, a bemused inspection.

“I have it in
my mind Bess would take to you at once, child. I half believe there
are times she would forfeit her crown if she could but once fling
her farthingale into the wind and climb the rigging of a ship.”

Beau was not
sure how to respond. Luckily she was spared the need as Drake
walked brusquely back to the table.

“Mister
Carleill—we shall have to call a council of war with all of the
captains. If Cadiz sits well with them—and I cannot see them
arguing overlong, since I have already made the decision—we shall
lay in our course and sail close-hauled to the wind. A fortnight, I
estimate, and we should be smelling the olive groves and camel
dung.”

“The, er,
question of the other captains, sir…?”

“Not now,
Carleill.”

The lieutenant
glanced at Dante. “But, sir—”

“
Not
now.”
Drake
fixed a smile in place and offered a casual explanation to his
audience. “Borough. He likes his opinions to mean something. He
also likes his pomp and ceremony and takes every care to see his
enemy has a gallant opportunity to defend himself, even if it means
knocking on the door and announcing our arrival. He holds no favor
with surprise and stealth, the very qualities the Spaniards least
expect. The very ones I admire most, unless, of course”—the bright
blue eyes went to Spence—“they are meant to impugn my own
character. Did you really expect, Captain, I would be so churlish
as to confiscate whatever goods you have in your holds? Goods other
than Indies Gold, that is.”

A slow, hot
flush crept up Spence’s bullish neck, and Dante interceded.

“You would
confiscate the teeth out of your mother’s mouth if your own were
lacking. And it was on my strong advice that Jonas kept both his
mouth and his cargo holds firmly shut.”

“Cousin,
cousin, you disappoint me.”

“
I also
know you, and know that by nightfall you would have found some
excuse to relieve us of a portion of the burden
we
relieved in good faith from a passing
Spaniard.”

“How did ye
know?” Spence gasped, drawing the keen blue eyes—which he now
suspected could see through three-foot-thick planking.

“Your hull
shows signs of recent damage,” Drake drawled. “And Dante de
Tourville is on board. An idiot could have made the equation.”

Carleill, wary
of the gleam in his commander’s eyes, kept his voice deliberately
businesslike. “Might we know the name of the ship whose burdens you
relieved? And perchance the where and when of it, lest our course
be affected?”

“Six days ago,
thereabout. She was a straggler, trying for Lisbon. We caught
her”—Dante grinned at Spence as he quoted—“with her cod open and
her pisser hanging out.”

“A worthwhile
exchange, I hope?”

“Worthy enough.
Timely, too, for we found these paintings and letters in her
master’s cabin—all of which we will gladly entrust into your care
in case your captains need convincing.”

Drake drew a
breath and laced his hands together behind his back. “And the
ship?”

“
The
San Pedro de Marcos”

Carleill’s head jerked around. “The
San
—? But she’s— she’s six hundred tons if she’s an
ounce!”

“She was big,”
Dante admitted blithely—so blithely, it sent Spence’s cup to his
mouth again and almost dragged Pitt’s gaze up off the floor, where
it had been fixed for the past five minutes.

“How hotly did
she protest?” The lieutenant’s voice had a catch of awe in it.

“We peppered
her with over four hundred rounds before she brought down her
colors.”

“Yet you did
not claim her as prize?”

“We did not
think she stood much chance of making it to a Spanish port, let
alone an English one.”

Drake cleared
his throat, which was suffused with a rising red tide of
ill-concealed jealousy. “Her cargo?”

“Plate and
bullion.” Dante paused and smiled like Clarence the cat after a
successful raid on the cook’s stores. “Sixty thousand, thereabout.
Only a rough estimate, you understand, having no guild merchant on
board.”

Drake
shook his head, the movement barely perceptible at first, then with
enough vigor to supplement the sudden bark of laughter that erupted
from his throat. “You blackhearted bastard! First Vera Cruz, then a
miraculous resurrection, then a Spanish treasure galleon. You will
have the Queen appointing
you
Lord Admiral of the defense of England if you don’t have a
care.”

There was not
as much jesting behind the words as his demeanor implied and both
men knew it. Drake ached for the command. He wanted it, he deserved
it, the people demanded it. But unless he could accomplish
something spectacular between now and June, the Queen would likely
give the nod to protocol.

And if Cadiz
had not been firmly fixed in his mind before, it was now, for an
attack on Cadiz could prove to be his most spectacular coup
yet.

“
We will
hold council on the
Bonaventure
tonight,” Drake said crisply. “You will, of course, join
us,” he added, extending the invitation to include Dante and Jonas
Spence.

“It will be an
honor,” Dante agreed.

Drake waited
impatiently for Carleill to gather up the documents. With Spence
scrambling out of his chair to follow them, the two men strode out
of the cabin and returned topside.

As he passed,
Spence plucked at Dante’s sleeve and hissed, “Do ye not plan to
tell him about the duchess? What if she’s”—he lowered his voice to
an airless whisper—“ye know … the duchess?”

“
I did
not mention our guest, firstly, because we have yet to determine if
she is Medina Sidonia’s duchess; secondly, because I have played at
whist with my esteemed comrade too many times to underestimate the
benefit of always holding a trump card back in case it is needed.
For that matter, he rarely plays without holding one or two back
himself.”

“Ye think he
isn’t tellin’ us everythin’?”

“I think he
isn’t telling us something. I just don’t know what it is.”

Beau did
not follow the men up on deck. She went to her own cabin instead
and stood on the gallery balcony to watch the famous sea hawk being
rowed back to the
Elizabeth Bonaventure.
She had seen him from a distance many times before—who had
passed through Plymouth and had not?—so his abbreviated appearance
did not startle her. Also, she knew from the sailors’ talk that he
was cheerful, first to buy a round of ale, and first on his feet to
defend his Queen and country with word or blade.

Something
about him, however, left her with an odd sense of unease. As if he
would not have been above confiscating their plunder from the
San
Pedro
had Dante
not been on board.

She
sighed and heard voices behind her, recognizing those of Dante and
Geoffrey Pitt. Pitt’s was the sharpest and she surmised they must
be discussing the fate of Doña Maria Antonia Piacenza and whether
that was her full name or not. If not, if she was the Duke of
Medina Sidonia's wife, Pitt’s little duchess might just prove to be
more valuable than ten shiploads of treasure and nothing would stop
Drake from taking her.

The voices
stopped, rather abruptly, and Dante joined her on the gallery a few
angry footsteps later.

“Love,” he said
grimly. “Such brief pleasure for such prolonged pain; the one
hardly justifies the other.”

She looked at
him sidelong. “Some people, I am sure, find the exchange fair.”

“Some people
are fools.”

Beau turned her
head forward again. “I gather you have asked Mister Pitt to find
out if the duchess has any more titles behind her name?”