Reckless Angel (22 page)

“You've a quick tongue, little maid,” Will said, laughing. “But I think ye'd find the climate at home harsher than here.”

“Have you come to aid the king?” Daniel asked, shushing Lizzie with a swift gesture as her mouth opened eagerly to respond to Will's statement. A degree of license could be permitted around the family dinner table, but in company children should generally be seen and not heard.

Will nodded vigorously, taking a deep draught of his wine. “The Scots will fight for him as soon as he has an army and comes to Scotland at its head. We will defeat Cromwell and his New Model yet.”

“That is why we go to Madrid,” Henrietta said. “Daniel goes as His Majesty's ambassador to the king of Spain to ask for funds to raise an army.”

“I wish we could go too,” Lizzie bewailed.

“And I also,” said Julia. “Such an adventure!”

“Wouldn't it be,” agreed Will, meeting her eyes across the table.

Henrietta intercepted the shared glance and her jaw dropped in surprise. She looked at Daniel, but he was cutting a recalcitrant piece of fowl for Nan and could not have noticed anything.

“Why do you not stay here while we are gone, Will?” she suggested thoughtfully. “There is plenty of room. It would be a good idea, do you not think, Daniel, to have someone to keep watch over things?”

“Why, certainly,” he agreed readily. “But how does Will feel about sharing houseroom with two children and their governess?”

“He will not mind it in the least.”

“Perhaps you should permit Will to answer for himself.”

“Oh, do say you would not mind it,” Lizzie pleaded, before the startled Will could reply. “We would be
very, very good…not the least trouble, and we could all—”

“Elizabeth! If you insist upon interrupting, you must leave the table.”

She fell silent, but Will found himself subjected to two pairs of pleading eyes fixed upon his face. He scratched his freckled nose. “I would not mind it in the least, but I could not impose on your hospitality in such fashion, sir.”

“Nonsense!” Daniel said in the tone he had used to Lizzie.

“So there you are.” Henrietta beamed around the table. “You will live here while we are gone, and I'm sure you will make many friends.”

“I trust so,” Will replied, looking at Julia.

I
t seemed to Henrietta that she had been at sea all her life. Her body moved easily with the motion of the ship, the taste of salt was always upon her lips, and her hair was constantly tangled by the wind.

They had been storm tossed in the Bay of Biscay and she had been so sick she had wept for death. Daniel had wrapped her up and carried her on deck, where even the lashing wind and the drenching spray were preferable to the stuffy confines of the tiny cabin, where the floor would not keep still and her stomach slavishly followed its gyrations. For hours, she had shivered in his arms while he patiently coaxed brandy between her lips until enough had stayed down to provide a little warmth in the pit of her aching stomach. Eventually she had fallen asleep, waking six hours later, still in his arms, still on deck, to find herself starving hungry and the continued bucking and heaving of the vessel no longer in the least troublesome. Daniel, on the other hand, had been so stiff, frozen and cramped by his long vigil, that he could barely move.

Henrietta leaned her elbows on the port rail, lifting her face to the fresh breeze, finding it possible to smile at the recollection of that hideous experience.

“What is so amusing?” Daniel's light voice reached her, and she looked up at the quarterdeck, where he had been talking with the ship's master, an irascible Dutchman who required much diplomatic handling from his passengers.

“Nothing.” She shook her head, still smiling, not about to shout for all to hear that she had been thinking of her husband's loving care and the smile had been not one of amusement but of warm contentment.

Daniel came down the ladder to the foredeck. “Y'are a fibber,” he accused, administering an admonitory tap to her behind.

She laughed. “Maybe so, but I'll hold my own secrets.”

“With a prosperous wind, we should make landfall by morning,” Daniel said. “Once we have rounded the Straits of Gibralter, 'tis but a short sail to Málaga.” The ship's master had refused to put in at Bilbao for them to disembark, insisting that his cargo was bound for Málaga, and if they had wished to disembark at Bilbao, they should have taken a ship with that destination. The fact that there had been no ship from Amsterdam sailing to that port at the time when they had to leave had fallen upon deaf ears, and there had been no inducement Daniel could offer to persuade him to change his mind. So they slogged along the coast of Portugal, through the Gulf of Cadiz, and were now headed for the Straits.

“And a long ride to Madrid,” she said.

“Aye, but we'll take such rest as we need,” he replied, gazing across the blue Mediterranean, sparkling under the May sun. They were hugging the coast of Spain as they approached the Straits and the sea was dotted with small craft, feluccas and fishing boats for the most part. “What the devil is that?” Daniel said suddenly as an unfamiliar shape rounded the Straits. His question was answered by a shout from the lookout in the mizzen top.

“Man-o'-war!” the cry rang out, and the ship came alive with scurrying figures. Daniel pounded up the ladder to the quarterdeck, where the captain, glass to his eye, was staring out to sea.

“What kind of man-of-war?” Daniel demanded.

“Turkish galley,” the Dutchman said. “Under full sail. We'll never outrun her.”

“Merciful heaven!” Henrietta arrived on the quarterdeck just in time to hear. “Shall we fight them off, sir?”

He ignored the question and instead bellowed for brandy. The flagon appeared immediately, and he drank deeply before handing it around the crew gathered on the quarterdeck.

“What the devil d'ye intend doing, man?” A corpulent figure, wig askew and coat unbuttoned, clambered up the ladder, a panting, red-faced lady at his heels. A bellicose merchant and his cowed wife, they were the only other passengers on the vessel. Daniel was studiously polite to them, but Henrietta had the lamentable tendency to burst into giggles when in their company.

“Oh my…oh my!” gasped Mistress Browning, fanning her heated face with her hand. “Oh, we are quite undone! We shall all be carried off for slaves!”

“'Twill be a Turkish harem for you and me,” Henrietta said with wicked relish, turning eyes wide with horrified innocence upon the lady, who seized the railing with a moan of terror.

“Your sense of humor is at times gravely misplaced,” Daniel said in sharp rebuke, as Henrietta stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. “If it comes down to battle, we are ill equipped to beat them off.”

“But our ship carries guns,” moaned Mistress Browning.

“Sixty guns and two hundred crew,” her husband snapped.

“But little enough ammunition,” the Dutchman declared, wiping his brow with his spotted neckerchief.

“How should that be?” Henrietta lost all desire for mischief.

“We're carrying too much merchandise,” Daniel informed her succinctly. “Our master in his wisdom decided there was no need to spare room for unprofitable cargo like gunpowder and shot.”

“What will happen if they board us?”

“Your tasteless jest may well prove to be no jest,” he said.

“We will surrender the cargo. Surely they will be satisfied with that.” Master Browning was beginning to lose some of his high color and more than a little of his bluster.

“Goddammit! But I'll not lose my ship. 'Tis worth all of thirty thousand pounds!” swore the captain, taking another swig of brandy. “Give the men a tot, then clear the decks,” he bellowed at the bosun. “We'll fight with what we've got. Good Dutchmen are more than a match for those heathens!”

“By its speed, it would appear to be well manned,” said Daniel thoughtfully, staring across the expanse of blue water at the rapidly approaching vessel. “But we might bluff 'em.”

“How so?” Henrietta asked the question a little hesitantly, unwilling to risk again the cutting edge of Daniel's tongue, for all that she was now obliged to admit its justice.

“With a show of strength.” He turned to the ship's master. “Master Almaar, if the galley sees only a man-of-war, and no sign of booty, 'tis possible they will see no profit in a fight. If 'tis merchantmen they're after, they will go in search of other prey.”

“Aye.” The Dutchman nodded. “We'll run out the guns, muster the crew fully armed, clear the decks of all but cannon. Get the women below. There's no place for women on a man-o'-war, and if the heathens get a smell of 'em, we'll not carry the bluff through. You, too, sir.” He waved dismissively at Master Browning. “Ye've the look of a merchant about ye…too soft by half.”

The merchant huffed indignantly, but turned to the ladder, pushing his wailing wife ahead of him, muttering that he hadn't paid good money for passage just to fight for the protection of the captain's cargo, so he wouldn't lift a finger anyway.

“Fool,” Daniel observed dispassionately. “Come, Henrietta, you must go to the cabin. I will fetch my
sword and pistols, Master Almaar, and join you directly.”

“Oh, but you cannot expect me to stay below while y'are in danger,” Henrietta protested, pulling back on his hand as he took her own. “I will stay hidden behind the foc'sle.”

“Sweet Jesus, Henrietta! When will you begin to take this seriously?” Daniel exclaimed, jerking her forward. “Those are Turks in an armed galley bearing down upon us, and they are not coming to pass the time of day!”

“No, I realize that. 'Tis for that reason that I would be with you,” she said with what she considered perfect reasonableness.

Daniel did not trouble to reply. In the cabin, he fastened his sword belt, slung a bandolier across his shoulder, and thrust two pistols into his belt. Catching her chin as she sat disconsolately on the narrow cot that served them both as bed, he tipped up her face, saying with a teasing smile, “Sulking does not become you, elf.” When her expression did not alter, he offered in placation, “It is not that I would not have you at my side, love, but if I am concerned for you, then I'll be of little help to Almaar.”

“And if you are killed, then I daresay I shall be quite content to be a slave in a harem,” she said, turning her head away from his capturing hand to hide her trembling lip.

“I do not think you are destined for such a fate,” he said briskly, deciding he could spare no more time in attempted conciliation. “I will be back as soon as 'tis safe.” He left the cabin, closing the door firmly. He took a step toward the companionway, then stopped, turning back to the cabin, frowning. He remembered Nottingham, and he remembered the king's execution. Reluctantly, he shot the outside bolt on the door.

Within, Henrietta heard the unmistakable grating sound and stared in disbelief. Tears of hurt and anger scalded her eyes. Leaping to her feet, she jumped the
small space to the door and hammered on it with her fists, bellowing at the top of her voice.

On deck, Daniel found the ship stripped for action. Two hundred men, bristling with swords, knives, and pistols, lined the deck rails or stood at the ready beside the guns, rolled out, pointing their blunt muzzles at the approaching galley. Not a sign of softness showed, no hint of the bales of silk and cotton, the Venetian glass, the Dutch porcelain, the Flemish tapestries, that made up the vessel's rich cargo.

Daniel took up a place beside the master on the quarterdeck. When Almaar handed him his glass, he took it without a word, training it on the approaching galley. Under full sail it was a magnificent sight, water foaming beneath the curved prow. A hundred pairs of oars cleaved the water in rhythmic rise and fall, augmenting the power of the wind, and as the galley drew close the most foul stench wafted over the water, sullying the fresh, salt-tanged air of the open sea.

“God's death!” Daniel covered his mouth and nose, and the captain beside him spat over the rail.

“'Tis the galley slaves. They're chained to the oars, never released, just hosed down when the reek becomes too much for the delicate noses of their masters.” He called over his shoulder to the man at the wheel. “Bring her 'round into the wind, helmsman.” The great ship swung slowly, head into the wind, so that the sails now flapped idly, and she came to a stop on the smooth water.

Below decks, Henrietta became aware of the change in motion as the floor beneath her rolled gently from side to side under the slap of the waves. Her fists ached from pounding the door, and her throat was hoarse with shouting, but she continued nevertheless, deaf to the voice of reason, almost beside herself with the passionate need to escape her imprisonment and see for herself what was happening on deck. Only by being there could she judge how best to help.

Then, miraculously, the bolt scraped, the door
opened, and an alarmed cabin boy stood there, staring wide-eyed at the tearful, distraught Henrietta.

“Oh, quick!” she said, her tears drying. “Ye must lend me your clothes. Here.” Running to the sea chest, she drew out a leather bag, selecting a half crown, which she held out to the stunned lad. “Make haste.”

He took the coin, turning it over in his hand, then shrugged. It was no business of his to question the whims of this crazy woman, and half a crown was half a crown. He took off his blue wool cap, heavy tarred jacket, and worsted britches, handing them to the impatient Henrietta, before taking himself off in his shirt and drawers.

Henrietta dressed rapidly. The lad could have been no more than twelve, but she still needed to secure the britches with string at her waist, and the bulky jacket swamped her slight figure. Her braided hair disappeared under the blue cap. She left her feet bare and crept from the cabin, up the companionway and out onto the deck, where all motion seemed suspended and a tense silence hung almost palpably over the scene. She found she was not in the least fearful as she slipped into the line of sailors at the deck rail. A quick glance upward satisfied her that Daniel was still standing, alive and healthy, at the captain's side, and for safety's sake she decided to remain on the main deck, where she could watch both him and the proceedings from a discreet distance.

The galley had come head-to-wind on the starboard side, and now swung gently in the breeze, great white sails flapping, oars still. On the high poop deck stood a group of men, bearded and swarthy, the breeze flapping the loose material of their baggy trousers, the sun sparking off the wickedly curving scimitars at their belts.

The wind shifted slightly and Henrietta choked as the dreadful stench wafted like a miasma over the deck where she stood. The men around her coughed, swore, covered their mouths and noses. For long minutes the
two vessels and their crews and commanders assessed each other under the sun.

Then one of the Turks came to the rail of the poop deck and called up to Master Almaar in heavily accented English, the lingua franca of the sea. It was a demand for identification. The Dutchman returned answer that his was a Dutch man-of-war, patrolling the seas as protection for Dutch merchantmen. Silence greeted this; the men on the galley conferred.

“A gesture of goodwill on our part might serve us well at this point,” Daniel remarked thoughtfully.

“Aye, 'tis a good notion.” Master Almaar drew a pouch of tobacco from the pocket of his jerkin. The pouch was of intricately worked leather, the tobacco the finest Dutch. He walked to the edge of the quarterdeck, looked down on the main deck, scanning the crew until he made out the small figure of the cabin boy.

“Hey, lad. Come here!”

Henrietta did not realize it was she who was being addressed until her neighbor nudged her. “Eh, master wants ye, boy.”

Her heart in her throat, she approached the ladder to the upper deck, keeping her cap low, her eyes on her feet.

“Take this and give it to the man with the gold chain,” Almaar instructed, dropping the pouch at her feet. “Look lively, now.”

“Come on, lad.” The bosun stepped forward, swinging his rope's end. “Over the side with you.”