Treachery (47 page)

‘We cannot take that risk,’ Drake says. ‘They may not kill her immediately but they will keep her and try the same trick again, I am sure. And who knows how they may be using her in the meantime?’

Elizabeth gives a cry and presses her knuckles to her mouth.

‘Rowland Jenkes is a devout Catholic,’ I say, trying to reassure her. ‘He will kill in the name of his religion, because he believes it is God’s work, but I do not believe he would ill-use a woman.’

‘Whereas I would not have the same faith in John Doughty,’ Thomas says, with a sour face. ‘He would do anything in his power to hurt my brother, even by association.’

Elizabeth begins to cry again. Drake puts an arm around her shoulders, sending his brother a black look.

‘We can debate this all day, but they are expecting someone after sundown,’ I say, eventually, ‘and I think it must be me.’

‘Bruno is right,’ Carleill says, in that soft, assertive voice. ‘But perhaps Sir Philip is right, too. We should have armed men at the ready, set in small boats offshore, to prevent them escaping.’

‘Exactly. Carleill, you and Thomas will return to the ships to muster the men. The finest marksmen of the fleet. My wife will stay here with armed guards.’

Elizabeth looks stricken. ‘I do not want to be left alone, Francis,’ she says. ‘What if they come for me next?’

‘No one will harm you, my dear,’ he says, patting her hand. ‘Sir Philip can stay with you if you are afraid.’

Sidney nods, his jaw clamped tight. Only I know how furious he is, and what an effort it is costing him to hide it.

‘Bruno,’ Drake says, turning to me. ‘You and I will discuss our strategy. We must equip you with a boat – a light craft, something you can manage alone. And a pistol. Perhaps a pair would be better.’

‘No. I cannot conceal a pistol about my person. If they see I am armed, they will kill me and Lady Arden without hesitation. Let me take only my knife, hidden away. Jenkes will want to prolong this,’ I explain, seeing his doubtful expression. ‘He will not kill either of us straight away if he can help it. There would be no satisfaction in that for him. My best hope of getting us both out alive is to play along with him.’

‘But this is not a game, Bruno.’ He lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you are a brave man, but the consequences …’ He trails off, shaking his head, as if unwilling to elaborate.

‘It is not the first time I have faced death,’ I say, trying to sound as if I take it in my stride. ‘Someone must go, or Lady Arden has little hope. And we have established it cannot be you, sir. There is no choice. It is part of their design.’

He gives me a long look in silence, weighing me up. Whatever happens, the responsibility will ultimately fall on his shoulders. Elizabeth breaks away from him suddenly and throws her arms around my neck.

‘Bring her back, Bruno, and you will have whatever reward you ask.’

‘To return with our lives will be all the reward I need, my lady,’ I say, detaching her, conscious of her husband looking on. In his face I see only regret. I glance at Sidney and he looks away. I know what he is thinking: I am stealing the glory he dreams of. But Drake is right; there is no guarantee either I or Lady Arden will come out of this alive. Even so, I have no choice but to try.

TWENTY-ONE

The last streaks of light outline the horizon as I stand with Drake and his brother on a landing platform by the artillery tower on the headland at Millbay. The clouds are violet and indigo against the darkening sky; out in the Sound, the masts of the fleet seem picked out in black ink. Directly ahead is the dark hump of St Nicholas Island. A determined wind blows in from the sea, stinging my eyes.

Drake rests a hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you sure you are ready to face this, Bruno?’

I take a deep breath and exhale with a curt nod. I am dressed head to foot in black, and beneath my doublet I wear my belt, shortened across my chest and over my shoulder, with my knife attached in its sheath. Over this I have tied a dark travelling cloak with a hood. The manuscript, tightly wrapped in its oilskins inside the leather satchel, hangs at my side.

‘I should go,’ I say quietly. ‘They will be waiting.’

‘There are rowboats full of armed men stationed between the fleet and the island, and between the north shore and the harbour,’ he says. ‘If you manage to get back to your boat with Lady Arden, signal with your lantern so they do not fire on you by mistake.’

‘That would be unfortunate.’ I laugh; it comes out tense and high-pitched. I do not miss the fact that he says ‘if’ I return. It is obvious that, one way or another, I am walking into a trap. Lady Arden may be dead already, for all we know. I cannot allow that thought to settle for even an instant; it makes my heart trip.

Sidney has stayed behind, at Lady Drake’s insistence. The disappearance of her cousin has overturned her blithe disregard for her husband’s fears and she is terrified to be left alone, despite the guards Drake has assigned to her; if her husband cannot be at her side, she wants the reassurance of some other competent gentleman. What comfort Sidney may attempt to offer Lady Drake is hardly my greatest concern at present. I took an awkward leave of him at the Star. Both of us knew what I was facing; I could not tell if he still envied me this chance for solitary glory, or if he was now feeling the guilt of relief that he had once again been left to take care of the women. Although only one woman, now.

‘I should never have brought you here, Bruno,’ he had said, sombre. ‘I cannot help the feeling that this is all my fault.’ He had seemed unsure of himself for the first time, undecided between an embrace, a handshake or a punch on the shoulder.

‘I would only have got myself into some other trouble in London,’ I said, trying to keep my voice light. ‘It is my fault they took Lady Arden, none of yours.’

‘True,’ he said, gloomily. ‘At least I won that wager, eh? I said you would have her. Oh Christ.’ He tried to laugh but it fell away into silence.

‘
Madonna porca
. Come here, man, don’t be so English.’ I grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him tight. After the initial surprise, he threw his arms around me, thumping me on the back all the while as if this would make the act more manly. Sometimes I wonder how he ever survived travelling through Italy.

‘For God’s sake, take care of yourself, Bruno,’ he said fiercely, turning away. ‘Give those whoreson dogs a blade in the gut from me. And make damned sure you come back, do you hear?’

‘You know I will.’

I had given him a mock salute. And then Drake had arrived, and I was bundled away in a whirl of instructions and timings and defensive strategies. I had glanced over my shoulder at Sidney as I left, but he was leaning with one hand pressed against the door frame, looking at his feet, like someone trying to catch his breath after a long climb.

I think of this now as Drake peers out over the murky water.

‘I see no lights from the island,’ he says, frowning. ‘That is worrying – the gunners ought to have a lamp lit by this hour.’

‘The gunners are almost certainly not in a position to light lamps, if Doughty and his friend have got to them,’ Thomas says, grim-faced.

I step into the boat, pausing to find my balance, the bag with the book held tight against my chest. Drake is explaining about tides and currents and drift, how I need to point the prow west of the jetty to compensate, but not much of it registers. I feel cold, and oddly numb.

‘Let them have the book, naturally,’ Drake says, crouching on the lowest step above the waterline. The sea laps at his boots each time the level undulates; my little boat bumps against the wall. ‘Don’t try to fight them for it. Get yourselves out – that’s all that matters.’

I look up into his brown eyes and read there a reflection of my own thoughts: that my chances of coming back safely with Lady Arden are almost nil. Only a hopeless innocent would expect an honourable exchange from the likes of Jenkes and John Doughty. Drake and I are far from naïve. Jenkes wants the book, certainly, but once he has it in his hands he has no reason to let me or Lady Arden walk away. Especially not me. She will be a casualty of that vendetta.

‘Keep an eye on Savile,’ I say. ‘He may seize the chance to slip away while you are distracted.’

‘Leave him to me,’ Drake says, as I settle myself on the narrow plank seat and take the oars. He reaches down to untie the mooring rope. ‘I will not forget your courage, my friend.’

‘God go with you, Bruno,’ Thomas says, unexpectedly.

I scan his face for traces of sarcasm, but find none. I nod, and cast off.

Spray surges up and hits my face, stinging the open cuts, each time the prow slices through a small wave. The wind has made the surface choppy, white crests gleaming under the last light of the day, but there is not much of a swell. Even so, my shoulders ache with each heave of the oars and the island appears to float out there in the gathering dark, seeming further away with every stroke, as if it is toying with me.

After some time, I settle into a rhythm with the oars and my thoughts are free to fly ahead to the ridge of land on the horizon. The wind whips salty strands of hair into my eyes. I know that I may be rowing towards my death, though my rational mind refuses to accept the truth of this. My pulse beats fast but my thoughts remain oddly calm. Eight years ago, I climbed out of the window of my monastery to save myself from death at the hands of the Roman Inquisition. I have looked death in the eye many times since, and each time he has shaken his head and dismissed me, until the next time. Tonight he may not be so generous. But if I bolt now, if I turn back to shore as every sinew in my body urges me to do, Lady Arden will almost certainly suffer a cruel end. I do not love her – I barely know her – but I feel a responsibility towards her. I am, after all, implicated in what has happened to her, and I could not abandon her to those men, not while I have a conscience and my strength.

Sounds drift across the water from the great ships of the fleet, but they are snatched away by the wind. For me there is only the plashing of the oars through the waves, the keening of the gulls overhead, the forward motion of the boat and the rocky haunch of the cliffs on St Nicholas Island that now, finally, veer up ahead of me. As I squint towards it, I catch the flash of a lantern at the top. It hangs for a moment, apparently suspended in mid-air, then is extinguished. Somewhere out there, beyond the island, Carleill’s men wait in their boats, ready to fire on Jenkes and Doughty as they make their escape. I did not feel it my place to contradict Drake or his military commander, but I cannot believe the kidnappers would not have pre-empted this. I feel certain Jenkes and Doughty would not create so elaborate a strategy and then row straight into the path of Drake’s fleet on their way out. They must have another plan. A plume of spray slaps me in the face again and I recall my walk along the Hoe with Sam. He had talked about a network of secret tunnels used by those who bring in contraband. But if these were still in use, Drake would surely have mentioned them.

The water eddies faster around the foot of the rocks and I have to fight to heave the craft level with the landing stage, which has been built out from the shallow beach on the north side of the island. The current pulls me hard to the west and the wind drives me backwards, away from the shore; I feel my shoulders may be wrenched out of their sockets in the effort to maintain a straight course. After wrestling with the weather for so long that I fear I may never make it ashore, a fortuitous wave bumps my boat against the wooden pillars of the landing stage and I grab for the iron ladder that hangs from it, slippery with tendrils of weed. Once the boat is secured, I gather my equipment: the bag containing the book and an unlit lantern. A tinder-box, tucked away inside my doublet. I check that my knife is in place. As I climb the ladder, my arms shake with fatigue and it is a struggle to bear my own weight. Another sharp ploy by Jenkes and Doughty, to ensure whoever comes to meet their challenge will be exhausted by the journey. I could have asked someone to row for me, but the light I saw suggests they were watching my approach from the high point of the island. If they had seen two people in the boat, they might have considered the deal broken already.

I pull up the hood of my cloak and leave the lantern unlit. The wind has driven the clouds inland and clear patches of sky are widening over the water, fading to violet, the first faint glimmer of stars visible. A bright gibbous moon hangs overhead, giving some light to the uneven path that curves ahead up the cliff. I breathe deeply and begin to climb, keeping close to the rock, my ears straining for any sound that would betray an ambush. But there is no sign of life here except the gulls.

Fear holds all my nerves taut. The hairs on my body bristle. At any moment I expect to hear the whistle of a crossbow bolt, or feel a cold edge of steel against my neck, but I reach the top of the cliff path without hindrance, which only makes my fear all the greater. Ahead I see a clump of scrubby trees and my heart lodges in my throat; surely here, in their shadow, is where they will take me, unguarded as I am? But all I can hear is my own ragged breathing and the moans of the wind. I whip around at every creak of a branch, every snapping of a twig. As I follow the path through, there is a sudden flapping of wings and a crashing of leaves as I startle some bird out of its roost; I smother my instinct to cry out, but by the time I emerge from the trees on to a wide grassy expanse at the summit of the island my whole body is trembling.

In the moonlight I can make out the form of a small chapel. To the south and east of it, the outline of ramparts, the half-finished fort Drake had mentioned. The place is entirely still; there is no sign of any movement save the branches of the trees and the scudding clouds above me. If there were soldiers stationed here, I fear Thomas Drake was right; the men waiting for me will have made sure they could not interfere.

I walk towards the chapel, slowly, one cautious step after another. As I draw closer I can make out its narrow pointed windows, black slits along the side, and a low arched door at one end. It has no tower, just a gabled roof that looks in need of repair. There are no lights anywhere. This is where they want me, I think to myself as I approach the door. This is where they will be waiting. Jenkes will appreciate this setting; Jenkes the faithful son of Rome, who hates all heretics with a holy fury and regards their murder as an act of piety. Will he shed my blood in a holy place? The chapel is exposed on all sides here, the wind cutting across the clifftop, scything at the hood of my cloak. I pull it tighter around me and walk up to the door, my tread as silent as I can make it.