Chapter Five
by Paula B and CJ
6 July 1564
Penzance
The Mast and Anchor
Just after midnight
Webb strode toward the one sound louder than the sea to his left. The muddy street of the tiny hamlet was mostly deserted, only an idle sailor stumbled toward his bed. The youth, Tiner, barely kept up with him.
The Mast and Anchor was Penzance’s one tavern. It was surprisingly neat and tidy for such a place. Its denizens were usually rowdy but few caused the owners any real trouble. Bawdewyn Roberts and his wife Harriet were well liked throughout the whole of Cornwall and sailors knew they could drink in peace for a fair price and without fear of losing their purses. Also, Harriet Roberts had a way with local ingredients and many a man preferred her stews to their wives’ fare.
Pushing open the heavy oak door he entered the smoked filled room. In the buzz of the conversation, Webb could make out the burred r's and the long oo's of Cornwall's common dialect. Even at this late hour, a dozen men sat at tables. Tall tankards of ale and mead passed back and forth between them. Mrs. Roberts was setting a huge trencher of eel stew at one table. The serving wench and sometimes strumpet, Lauren Singer was making her way toward a table in the corner. That was his destination. Long strides carried him across the room. He ignored the muttered curses of varlet and vassal. He wore his usual garb of black doublet and hose and if he stood out from the rough men of the sea it made little difference to him.
Staring down at Captain Chegwidden’s first mate he snapped. "Why did you have the boy bring me here, Tronada." His lack of sleep was beginning to show and he stumbled over the simple foreign name.
The tall thin man studied the queen’s man before him. Webb would be shocked, and no doubt dismayed at how well known his reputation was. Sitting up in his chair, the Moor indicated a chair. "Sit, Lord Clayton. If my name causes you trouble, please call me as the men of the Trident do, Turner."
"Turner, Tronada." Webb waved his hand. "It makes no difference. Why aren’t we on board the ship?"
"Sit, sir. The ship will not sail for another hour. And, I thought you should speak to sweet Lauren, here."
The blond strumpet tossed her hair and snorted. "Yoor lordship." She laughed knowingly. Few men of the village and beyond had failed to sample Lauren’s favors. The future Duke, in his youth, had been among them.
"Lauren, you have news?" If he remembered romping with the girl, his sigh gave little hint of it.
"Aye, yoor worship." The girl simpered, but said nothing more. Webb started to reach into his pocket, but Tronada held up his hand.
"You’ve been well paid, girl. Tell Lord Clayton what you told me."
"I’m busy, yoo know. I’ve got me tables wait."
"Lord Clayton?" Harriet Roberts placed another hot loaf of bread on the table.
Webb's manner softened considerably. "Mrs. Roberts. We need a moment of Lauren’s time." Harriet Roberts was quite possibly one of the kindest people Clayton Webb had ever met. The word had long ago gotten out to the sailors up and down the coast that if you were short a farthing, the Roberts would stand you to a meal and their stable always had room for an indigent to sleep for a night. Anyone in the village who needed help need only ask.
"Well, girl." Harriet said sternly. "Go on now. Tell his lordship yoor story. Heaven knows you’ve been tell'ng the whole village and beyond, anyone whoo’ll listen."
"Sit, girl." Webb indicated the bench against the wall.
"The least yoo can do is to let me wet my thirst." Lauren whined.
Webb could see that even Mrs. Roberts was losing her temper. Throwing a coin on the table he sighed. "I’ll pay for that, missus."
"Aye, yoor lordship." Harriet glared at Lauren who paled and ran to the keg and dipped the ladle deep and filled a pewter cup. Returning to the table she flopped down and drank deeply.
"Now, girl." The first mate of the Trident snarled. "Tell your tale."
"Well the missus can tell it too." The girl sniffed but at Harriet’s stern look she sighed and began. "Well yoo see, 'Tis like this. 'Twas seven, nay eight days ago. Cap’n Wallace’s ship, The Gorgon, set sail from the dock, sir. Only the first mate, Mr. Palmer and the second mate, Mr. Rabb, were still here." She took another sip of her mead and only Tronada seemed to notice the sharp intake of breath from Lord Clayton. "Mr. Palmer is very cruel to the lad, if yoo ask me, sir. He does have the nicest blue een, he does."
"Mr. Palmer?" Webb sighed.
"Oooh Nay! Mr. Palmer is bad through and through. Nay, sir. Mr. Rabb, and he seemed right scared, he did. I tried to get him to tell me about it, but he just looked like a lost one. He and Mr. Palmer sat here for a full day after the boat set sail. Well, Mr. Palmer did anyway. Me and Mr. Rabb kept a little company, for just a bit, yoo hear me? Mr. Palmer wanted me too, but…" She shuddered and gripped the tankard with both hands. "Well, Mr. Rabb, bless him, kept him away from me. Mr. Palmer was very mad. He said something about finding a willing lass." Her voice dropped low. "I seen him take the village road, I did. Twould have been the way Miss Francesca would have come down from Chegwidden. I liked Miss Francesca. She didn’t put on any airs with me."
"You see this Palmer fellow again?" Webb asked.
"Nay. 'Twas the cabin boy what come for Mr. Rabb. Caught us in the back. Bold as can be. I asked right out, I did, ‘an where have yoo come from, me fine lad?’ and the flapped-mouth little dewberry up and told me ‘from Widow’s Cove’."
Webb and Tronada exchanged startled looks but before either could say anything, Bawdewyn Roberts came up with more mead. "Aye, she’s tell'ng the truth there, sirs. Seen the ship with me own een, I did. I had to get some supplies from Poundstock and I saw the ship anchored there in the cove. 'Tis been calm there all season. The boys up that way have had a rough time of it. ‘Tween her majesty’s crack down and the calm weather, there has not been much…" his commentary trailed off at the aghast look from his wife. "…I mean…trade and such."
Webb waved away the explanation. Pirates had long lived up and down the coast of his family’s duchy. He knew exactly how most of the people along this part of England had made their money for centuries. "What else did you see on your way back from Poundstock?"
Roberts thought for a moment. "Noth'ng that would have anyting to do with Miss Francesca. Saw a black coach rid'ng hard toward the town. Funny. Had a herald on the side of the door, couldn’t right make it out, though."
Webb sighed bitterly and asked. "Do you have a piece of chalk?"
"Chalk?" Roberts looked confused, but Harriet reached in to a small pouch at her waist and pulled out a white chunk and handed it to Webb.
On the table Webb traced a reasonable facsimile of the dragon and lion with the words ‘semper eadem’ at the bottom and E R at the top. "Was this it."
"Oh, aye, sir. Now I remember the E and R at the top. What does that stand for, sir?"
Webb whispered "Elizabeth Regina".
"Lord love yoo, the queen’s coach? What was it do'ng aboove Widow’s Cove?"
Before Webb could explain the door burst open and the cabin boy ran back in. "What is it Tiner?" Tronada demanded.
"Cap’n says you best be com'ng now or he’ll leave without yoo, he will."
7 July 1564
Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of southern France
The Gorgon
Late night
Francesca sat huddled in a corner of the tiny cabin. Her tears had long ago dried and she had pushed away the kindness of both the fine ladies from court. The bleeding had stopped. She had accepted the fresh water that the one lady, Beth, had managed to convince the second mate to bring.
"Hell-hated ratsbane." Beth Hawkes seethed to Sarah MacKenzie. Both ladies stood together staring down at the young woman who had been thrust into their carriage a week ago. She had been weeping and clutching her torn clothes to her and Beth had known immediately what had happened. "Vile pillock." She continued.
"Enough, Beth." Sarah sighed. "'Tis over. All we can pray now is that he leaves her be." She glanced at the door and shuddered. "Wallace will come for me soon. He said he would." She tried, but couldn’t keep the shudder from racking her body or her voice.
"It’s been a week, Sarah. Perhaps he’s forgotten. Like that villainous first mate has forgotten the poppet there."
Sarah left her friend and sat next to the poor thing. Francesca tried to jerk away but Sarah cooed softly. "There now. Twill be fine now. Won’t you tell us your name? Remember? I’m Sarah and this is Beth." She heard the sniffle and feared that the tears would begin again.
However, the girl raised her face and stared at the two women who had tried so hard to comfort her. "My name is Francesca. I’m the daughter of Alberthol Chegwidden of Cornwall."
The meager light cast by the candle in the swaying lantern just picked up Sarah’s kindly smile. "Indeed. You know we both know someone from Cornwall. Don’t we, Beth."
"We do? Who?" Beth giggled.
"Silly." Sarah pulled the girl into her embrace. Francesca shivered in the cold and Beth draped the rank blanket around her. "Aye. Do you know, Lord Webb?"
"You know the Duke?" Francesca gasped and sat up clutching the rag around her.
"Well, yes. Actually, I have met the Duke and Duchess. She’s a fine lady, but they are seldom at court. No, I was referring to their son, Lord Clayton Webb."
"Oooooooooo." The calm voice turned into a wail.
Beth and Sarah exchanged shocked glances. "Francesca! Dearest, what is it."
"You’re Lady Sarah MacKenzie." The girl brought her hands to her lips and the light caught fresh tears forming in her eyes.
"Aye, but how do ye know that?" Sarah reached out a hand and was surprised by the strength with which the girl clutched it.
At first she shook her head but finally Francesca sighed piteously, thankful for something else to think of besides her assault at the hands of Palmer. "He was home for Easter last." She compared her work worn fingers to that of Sarah’s. Though cut and bruised, the lady’s hands showed how soft life at court could be. Francesca did not long for such a life. She liked tending her father’s house and garden. He treated her well and had taught her all manner of things that most girls didn’t even want to know, like the stars and how to tell your way by them.
And books! Oh if there was one thing that Alberthol cherished above all things it was his books. She could remember as a small child reverently touching the illustrated manuscripts. The stories in ‘The Canterbury Tales’ still thrilled her. However, the look on her father’s face when he would read learned texts from Spain and Italy told of his love of reading and learning. When she was very young, he would sit for hours reading to her and her mother. She missed her mother terribly, but Aunt Adele promised that someday she would convince her brother to return to Italy and take them all to the New World.
Her mind began to wander further but a warm squeeze from pretty courtier next to her returned her to the present. "Francesca, how do you know my last name?" Sarah gently insisted.
Francesca sighed and brushed the knotted tangles from her face. "Well you’re all he talked about then wasn’t it."
"Lord Clayton talked about me?" Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper that was all but drowned out by Beth’s snorted laugh. "What?" She demanded of her friend.
"What indeed. You know as well as I do the man is besotted." Beth said with no little asperity.
"I know of no such thing. He’s never said a word." Sarah retorted back, the lie apparent in her blush.
"Oh, yes, miss. Sure ‘en I don’t know much about such things, having never had a man look at me the way Lord Clayton looked when he spoke about you. But I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s always treated me with such respect and kindness. Course, I’m sure he was sore afraid of both his poppa and mine should he not." The first laugh they had heard from the girl escaped her lips. "Not to mention my Uncle Martyn."
Anxious to keep her talking and not thinking about the rape, Beth quickly pressed. "Tell us about your uncle and why the queen’s chief agent would fear him."
"Oh Uncle Martyn is a privateer, miss." Francesca said it with pride completely forgetting her manners by not addressing Beth by her title. "He has a right sore temper too, miss. I remember once when his lordship returned from Oxford with several friends. They had been riding and one of the boys got lost from the others. He found me walking and…." Her voice trailed off as the events of nearly ten years ago returned to mimic more recent events. Her voice dropped to a whisper but continued. "I’m quite sure he meant nothing by it. He was just talking but he had his hand on my arm. Uncle Martyn was coming up from the village and saw us. Told the boy to get away and stay away. Well the boy must have been someone very important because he started to talk back to Uncle Martyn. Thank goodness, Sir Neville and Clayton came up just in time. The duke pulled Martyn off the boy. Clayton demanded to know what was going on and when I told him, he hit his friend. Said, ‘Show proper respect to your betters, Lord Hamilton.’"
Beth gasped. "Lord Charles Hamilton? The Duke of Northumberland?"
"If you say so, mi…your pardon, your ladyship." Francesca lowered her head to her knees, the recent memories once again overtaking her.
Sarah rose from the tiny bunk and returned to stand by her friend. The room held two bunks and a hammock. According to the second mate, Mr. Rabb, it was his own quarters that he shared with two other officers of the ship. It was Rabb who made sure the cabin boy brought their food and water and emptied their chamber bucket. Crossing her arms under her breasts she glared at Beth who just returned her stare with amusement. "He most certainly…."
"Does love you." Beth finished for her with a sigh. "Oh Sarah, you silly twit. Why do you think he would stand there for hours leaning against something and watch?"
"Well he wasn’t watching last winter when he taught you to fence. If that’s what you were really doing." Sarah retorted only to have Beth laugh in her face.
"Sarah MacKenzie you know better than…." Her words were cut off by a drunken voice singing.
"…for feare of yll name,
And true loue embrace ye, to purchace your Fame.By force I am fixed my fancie to….
Sarah gripped Beth’s arm but Beth gently pushed her away and reached under her skirts. "Beth, what are….my god, where did you get that?"
"From the body of Lord Hatton." She gripped the small lethal dirk in her hand. Sarah quickly looked around and finding nothing but the chamber bucket, picked it.
"Cap’n sir? You feelin’ awlrigh’?" Just outside their door they hear the cabin boy quake.
"Out of my way, whelp." They heard a crash and cry from the boy that Rabb had left to fetch for them. They heard the drunken Wallace careen about obviously searching for something. "Oh there 'tis." They heard the rattle of keys and waited until the door’s leather hinges creaked as it swung open.
"Well now, Sarah, my love." Daniel Wallace obviously had too much to drink, but he staggered toward Sarah. "Come my sweet wench. 'Tis cramped in here. I’ll take you to my cabin and let these two have a little more room." He lunged at her, reaching out. As Sarah twisted away, he grabbed hold of her dress’s shoulder and tore it from her. Screeching a Scottish war cry she swung with all her might, catching him on the hip with the slop bucket, spilling the urine down his pants. "You filthy slut." He roared and pulled her to him. "We’ll see what good you are to that foul whore of a queen when I’m through with you."
Francesca screamed as Sarah began to struggle in earnest. Beth tried for an opening but the pair kept spinning around. Finally Wallace pushed Sarah against the wall and took her by the neck and began to choke her. Beth took a deep breath and plunged the jeweled dagger into his back.
Sarah watched in horror as a look of incredible surprise suffused Wallace’s face. His eyes opened wide and for just a moment held a look sobriety and certainty of his death. With her last ounce of strength she pushed him off of her. He staggered backward toward the door and fell into the arms of the second mate, Rabb. His blue eyes were wide with shock and he stared at Sarah with pain and regret.
8 July 1563
Captain's Quarters
The Gorgon
Early Morning
Clark Palmer paced the width of the plush quarters. One thing about Daniel Wallace, he never begrudged a penny on his ship or his personal property. Heavy curtains covered the port windows and the bed was thick and comfortable. <<<It would be my bed if I had anything to say about it.>>> The weak knock on the door brought a wry grin to his face. Rabb had been scared at what Palmer might do when he found out. Little did the son of the Welsh pastor know that the new captain of the Gorgon couldn’t have been happier.
"Enter." He said with a sneer.
"Uhm…sir? Mr. Palmer."
"That will be Captain Palmer from now on…First Mate Rabb."
"Captain!" There was shock and confusion in the man’s face. Palmer sat in the heavy oak chair behind the table that Wallace used to eat at as well as work. Harmon Rabb had only been with the crew for two voyages. Palmer suspected that they had been two eye-opening experiences. Palmer knew that before the Gorgon, Rabb had served on two merchantmen. Two ships that, were they anything but English, would have probably fallen to Captain Wallace and his crew. As it was the last ship, The Molly O out of Bristol had fallen to the Spanish pirate, Galindez. Of course, Galindez, being the honorable fool that he was, had set the captain and his crew adrift near the Isle of Gibraltar. Rabb had told Wallace that he wanted to fight for the queen instead of just sit on the high seas waiting to be boarded. Rabb, in Palmer's opinion, was a fool, too. An honest fool. Well for while anyway. A few more voyages with Palmer and he would be as dishonest as the rest of the crew.
Palmer’s smile was cold. "Aye, you have a problem with that, Mr. Rabb?"
Rabb returned the cold stare. He had known the day after they set sail that this was a mission that would not be approved of by the queen. He hadn’t been on board when the first two women had been stowed in his cabin. He assumed they had been brought aboard while he was taking his pleasure in Penzance. He spared but a second to the laughing eyes of the girl, Lauren. She was a sweet, carefree girl. Generous with her favors, demanding little more in return than a good romp that left her panting in release.
He had been on watch when Palmer had brought his ‘serving wench’ on board, her dress torn, her mouth swollen. Her tears had dripped from her eyes as the blood had dripped down upon the wooden deck. It sickened him, but made the other men laugh. Most of them anyway. Young Michael Roberts, the innkeeper’s brother who had signed on as coxswain at the same time Rabb had come on board as second mate, had met his eye in surprise and disgust. Later, when Roberts had told him the real identity of the girl, he had investigated below decks. He had heard the entire story from the two ladies. Francesca Chegwidden had been curled up in a ball crying. Meeting the fierce brown eyes of Sarah MacKenzie, he silently vowed to keep her and her companions safe. He couldn’t do that if he argued with Palmer.
"No Sir, Captain."
"Good lad. Now here’s the plan, my lad. Old Wallace thought he would keep it all for himself, but I’ve got bigger plans."
"Keep what all to himself, Mis…Captain Palmer?"
Palmer ignored the almost slip. "You’ve seen ‘em ain’t ya? The two of them will fetch a heady price at Rua Senhora da Graça."
Rabb stumbled over the words. "I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t know that place."
Palmer threw back his head and roared. "What kinda sailor are ya, boy? Rua Senhora da Graça, in Portugal, is the largest slave market in all of Europe."
Rabb gulped but managed to keep his expression neutral. "Sorry, sir. I didn’t know that. We never got to Portugal on the Molly O."
"Ya never got anywhere on the Molly O, now did ya, Rabb?"
"No….sir."
"Well then, let’s make sure the ladies continued to be well tended."
"Uhm…sir?"
"What is it Rabb?"
"What about…the other one?" He didn’t want Palmer to know that he knew who Francesca was.
"Who? Oh the chit? Clean her up. I’m sure I can sell her too – course she ain’t a virgin no more, but who cares, who’ll know for sure."
Rabb shuddered and backed out of the cabin. He found Mike Roberts waiting for him just outside in the corridor leading to the captain’s cabin. "Sir? What’s gonna happen to Miss Francesca and the two ladies?"
"For now? Nothing. Palmer wants to sell them at a slave market."
"Cor’" Mike breathed. "We aren't gonna let that happen, are we, Mr. Rabb?"
Rabb shook his head. "Look around you, Roberts. What are we going to do by ourselves? We’re going to have to watch and wait for an opportunity."
"I’m with you Mr. Rabb."
Captain Palmer gazed out at the sea gulls following the ship. They were that close to land, only a week out of Portugal. He could have sent for the girl again, but she was no longer just a quick release for his passion. She was worth money now and he could get a pretty penny for the three of them. He wondered briefly what the two girls had done to incur the wrath of Wallace’s court strumpet? Oh well, once he disposed of the three of them and had enough money to maintain the ship for the winter he might go back and find out. He doubted seriously that the queen would care about two stray, soon-to-be-despoiled ladies. After all there were plenty of women in the world, what was two more?"
13 July 1564
Bridge of the Trident
Late night
Martyn Chegwidden paced the deck. He didn’t know why he expected to see her. She never got this close to the ship. She seldom went all the way to England for that matter, preferring to meet him in more secluded spots. He knew she would be in Portugal. He paused at the rail and allowed memories of their fifteen years together swim in the dark calm sea below him. It hurt him that he could never talk to anyone about her. His shoulders heaved in wry humor. <<<Who would I tell? What friends do I have? Tronada knew, but what was there to say to the very circumspect Moor?>>>
His brother, Alberthol, was still trying to deal with Marcella’s supposedly necessary desertion. Martyn never understood the fiery Italian beauty, but since Francesca and young Dylan were the closest thing to children that he would ever have, he had put up with her tirades about the evil of Henry. For a while things had been calm in the Chegwidden house when Mary assumed the throne, but when Elizabeth took power it had been the last straw. Martyn himself had taken her home. They had spoken less than ten words the entire trip. <<<Thank God, she left the children where they belonged.>>> Francesca was the apple of his eye. He would have his revenge on the coward who had taken her. He had asked Cordelia if she knew if the girl was safe but, while his lover assured him that his niece was still alive there was a sadness and anger in her eyes that spoke volumes.
"I see you and the queen’s popinjay have much in common tonight, Captain." The soft burr of Tronada’s voice broke his reverie.
"Popinjay, Tronada? You would do wise not to underestimate Lord Clayton Webb. He has a well deserved reputation." Chegwidden sighed to the sea. <<<God, I miss her.>>> He had such a foreboding about this mission. His very bones ached for her.
"Ah, that’s why you treat him with such respect?" The sarcasm was gentle.
"He doesn’t need my respect, old friend. He has the respect of the Queen of England." Martyn studied the sky above them. "Do you think she has anything to do with this weather?"
"The sea demon, Captain?" Tronada came and stood next him at the rail. He hadn’t believed what he had seen, he considered himself to be a good Christian like his father. His mother had told him of the Abgal – mercreatures who were supposed to be guardian spirits. He somehow doubted that Captain Chegwidden looked upon his water bound lover as a guardian angel or angel of any kind. "Only God can calm the weather."
Martyn lowered his head. "Ah, but which god, Tronada."
His first mate hissed, "Blasphemy, Captain." But there was a tenderness in his next statement. "All sailors are superstitious, Captain. It does no good to displease any of the deities that are worshipped by those less educated than ourselves."
"You spend too much time with my brother, old friend."
"Your brother is a good and learned man, captain."
Martyn breathed deeply. "Yes. Yes he is." Clapping a hand on his first mate’s shoulder Martyn turned away from the rail. "Maintain our course, Mr. Tronada."
"Aye-aye, captain." Dark, worried features watched as Chegwidden slowly descended to the lower deck. If Tronada were truly a superstitious man, he would blame his worry on the dark-clad courtier who had gotten almost as little sleep as the captain.
Instead of going into his cabin, Martyn began a last short tour of his ship. <<<Something isn’t right this trip.>>> Martyn slowly paced the ship from stern to bow. He saw Neville Webb’s son leaning against the rail staring down into the water. "Ye best be getting some sleep. Dawn will be here in a few hours."
Webb ignored the suggestion. "Interesting figurehead, Captain." He touched the woodcarving. The pale skin and pert breasts seemed to glow in the moonlight. The green scales were almost iridescent. But the hair, a rich chestnut brown with reddish highlights shot through it was what caused him to touch it. For a moment Webb had though the damn thing was alive and tried to run his fingers through the wavy hair. He didn’t dare bring himself to try and see the eyes.
"Is it now?" Chegwidden growled. His crew knew better than to touch the excellent likeness of his lover, but only one knew the real reason. It had been her gift to him when he got his first ship. He had no idea how the carver had captured her likeness but it was a perfect. All the crew knew was that since the figurehead had been installed the ship had weathered storms that should have capsized them. Twice, in the middle of a clear calm sea a mysterious fog bank had hidden them from Spanish men of war that would have captured them. And once, when they had been becalmed with not a cloud in the sky a mysterious wind had picked up and sailed them straight to safe harbor.
Webb heard the warning in the voice. "It’s an excellent work of art." He soothed but removed his hand from carved head. "I’ve noticed in the daylight. The colors are superb. Do you have to paint her every time you are in port?"
Chegwidden grunted noncommittally. That was another thing that new crewmen made the mistake of whispering about – at least until an old hand shut them up. In the ten years the figurehead had been in place, no one had touched a brush to it.
"How long." Webb whispered.
"Till the coast? If the wind holds good another two days."
"You going to tell me who you got your information from?"
Chegwidden glowered, Tronada had insisted that he come up with a plausible lie. Left up to him he would have just refused to answer. "'Twas one of Wallace’s men. He jumped ship. Said he’d take no part in it."
"Well why didn’t he come with us? He would have been rewarded handsomely." Webb asked angrily.
"Calm yourself, man." Chegwidden growled. "You’ll do the queen no good if you’re all dizzy-eyed."
Clay turned and stomped away from Martyn and the captain of the Trident found himself dumbfounded. Surely he hadn’t heard what he thought he heard. Surely the man hadn’t softly snarled ‘to hell with the queen.’ Martyn took it as a sign that he was more tired than he thought. Gently touching hair of the figurehead he whispered to the sea. "Goodnight my love."
Webb entered Tronada’s cabin. The first mate had offered it willingly to him and after checking out the other available bunks, Webb had reluctantly exiled the man to the second mate’s cabin, creating a cascading effect.
The cabin was as neat as could be arranged. Webb pulled off his hose and britches and hung them with his doublet on a hook on the wall. The cabin boy had left clean water and he wiped off his face before lying down, his knees drawn up slightly. He wondered for a moment how the first mate managed it. The man stood a good three inches taller than he. Reaching up he pulled down the lantern from its hook and blew out the candle inside. A small porthole let the moonlight in and he allowed the sounds of the waves and the rocking of the boat to finally put him to sleep.
Laughing brown eyes returned his dour expression. "Come Lord Clayton, surely you know the Galliard. It’s the most popular dance. Even the queen dances to it. See her there with Lord Dudley."
"Yes, Lady Sarah. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do it." He thought that she would leave him be then, but instead, pulling him by the hand, she led him outside to the small balcony. There she insisted that he follow her lead and walked him through it. Of course he knew how to dance. But he was afraid that had he partnered with her, even across the dance floor someone would see the way he looked at her. The balcony was so small that they found themselves much closer than they would ever be on the dance floor. He could smell the scent of the rose water she bathed in. He tried desperately to not fall in love with her but her eyes seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Her lips parted and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He inclined his head and she leaned closer….
"Ahoy! Ship ahoy!" He jerked awake to find the sun streaming in the through the porthole. The cries of sailors running past his cabin had him reaching for his clothes. By the time he made it up on deck he could feel the tension even as the men moved together doing the jobs they were assigned. The gun crews were readying the canon.
Throughout it all he could hear Captain Chegwidden shouting orders. Tronada stood rigidly behind the pilot. Webb recognized the grace of organization that held these men together. He looked toward the two horizons until he saw the ship in question. A sleek Corsair bore dead on them. He inwardly groaned. <<<God, not now. We don’t have time for this, now.>>>
When the ship was less than a league away he could clearly make out its colors and now his groan was audible. Striding forward he demanded in a low angry voice. "Captain, why haven’t you blown him out of the water?"
Not even bothering to turn Chegwidden, in an almost conversational voice called, "Mr. Tronada?"
"Aye, Captain?"
"If Lord Webb utters another word, have him put in chains and thrown below."
"Aye-aye, Captain." The look that the first mate gave him told Webb that while Tronada didn’t want to do it, he would. Gritting his teeth, Webb stood between the two men, his hand on his sword, but he did not utter another word.
The minutes stretched like hours as the Corsair came closer. The flag that flew from the mast was meant to strike fear in the heart of any honest merchantman, but the crew of the Trident just stood at their posts. Occasionally one would look toward the helm, but Chegwidden kept his eye to the spyglass. Finally he signaled the crow's nest and Webb looked up in time to see a black flag bearing a stylized stick figure and blood red heart flutter in the wind. The other ship continued to approach and Webb held his breath as he noticed that the gunwales were covered. At another signal from Chegwidden the cannons of the Trident were also covered.
Like dancers at court the two ships moved together gracefully. Webb could finally make out the name of the other ship, The Revenge. It was sleek and deathly looking next to the bigger, heavier Trident. A long plank was angled between the two hulls. Chegwidden stepped down to meet the man gracefully climbing up toward the other ship. Webb followed but hung back at Tronada’s grunt of warning.
The man on the plank had a flair about him. His long black hair was tied back. A knotted kerchief protected his brow. A thick Van Dyke mustache and goatee accentuated his Spanish features. There was little doubt that this was the captain of the Revenge. The two officers stood glaring at each other. Chegwidden’s arms were at his side. He towered over the other man, who looked into the glowering face, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back.
"What is it you want, Galindez?" Chegwidden’s voice was a low growl. It made the hairs on the back of Webb’s neck stand out. It was a warning pure and simple. The response from Galindez was not quite what Webb had been expecting.
The loud laugh seemed to echo across the sea. "Ever the gracious host, Martyn. What do I want? I want to talk. I’ve seen something and I think you should hear, perhaps see it."
"I’ve got no time for treasure hunting, Victor. Say your piece. I have business in Portugal."
"Indeed my friend." He lifted his arm and every man on board the Trident tensed. But Galindez just snapped his fingers and two crewmen from the Revenge stepped on to the plank, dragging something behind them. They tossed it at their captain’s feet. Turning, they jumped back onto their own deck.
Martyn just stared at the bundle below him. "Open it!" He growled. One of his men edged forward and gingerly pulled at the loose end of the shroud. When he was down unrolling it, the bloated body lay face up, black empty sockets staring up at them. Chegwidden had little time to react, but Webb was immediately on the Galindez, his dagger at the pirate's throat. "Where did you find this?" Webb hissed.
"Lord Webb!" The bellow could probably be heard back in London. Chegwidden grabbed his arm, but Webb kept the point firmly at Galindez’s throat.
"I repeat, sir! Where did you find this and where is his ship?" Strong fingers gripped his wrist and Martyn pulled him back firmly, but gently. Galindez glared and rubbed the blood from his throat. Only then did Webb notice that the gunwale coverings had dropped and eight vicious 50 pounders stared down at him. He let Martyn pull him back some more and finally lowered his dagger. Breathing heavily he sheathed it and waited.
"I thought it might be of interest to you." The Spanish pirate sneered and shouted something in Spanish. The coverings were replaced and the tension level lowered considerably.
"Why did you think that this would be of interest to us?" Martyn asked calmly, his grip never relaxing from Webb’s arm.
A confused look came over Galindez’s face. For the life of him, Galindez was loosing the dream that had led him to the body so freshly disposed of that it still floated on the surface of the ocean. So new to the denizens of the deep that only a few patches of soft tissue and the eyes had been eaten away by small fish. The dream, so vivid moments ago, now so quickly fading that it left him almost disoriented. His reputation and the respect that his men held for him were at stake so stumbling for an answer was not an option. Instead he puffed out his chest and found conviction in his next speech. "You do not find this interesting? We found it now three hours ago. Do you not recognize the man?
Chegwidden recognized the body immediately. He tried hard to give nothing away. <<<Well Webb had certainly taken that option from them.>>> "Aye. I recognize the devil’s bastard. You say you only found it this morning?"
"Its what I said, wasn’t it."
"Captain…uhm…Galindez…uhm…your pardon, sir." Webb finally extracted his arm from Chegwidden’s bruising grip. "Forgive me, this man, Daniel Wallace, is wanted by her majesty, Elizabeth, Queen of…"
Galindez waved his hand. "I know who the Queen of England is. Who are you to dare touch Victor Galindez, scourge of…"
Chegwidden harumped. "We know exactly what you are the scourge of, Galindez. Now both of you come to my cabin. We have much to discuss.
15 July 1564
Lagos, Portugal
Midmorning
Webb stood at the bow of the ship looking across the bustling port town of Lagos. The Trident had docked early this morning. He surreptitiously scanned the other ships in port; carefully keeping his eyes off the one ship that held any fascination for him.
He couldn’t believe the way the last two days had sped by. He wasn’t even sure that he had slept at all, but for the first time since they had set sail he felt there was a possibility that he might just find the women. Hopefully, it would be in time.
After Chegwidden brought Webb, Tronada and Galindez into his cabin, the Spanish pirate laid out everything he knew, which wasn’t much. When he said he just happened upon the body floating in the water, for some reason Webb didn't believe him. He glanced up and caught a look pass between Chegwidden and his first mate. Worry and almost fear colored the Moor’s face, but Chegwidden’s held a look of pure triumph. Later, when Webb asked the first mate about it, Tronada hurried away, but not before Webb caught the man glancing toward the bow of the ship and quickly crossing himself.
"You know what it means, of course." Galindez needlessly pointed to the body. Even Webb, as much a landlubber as any Cornishman could be, understood the importance of the condition of the body. "The sharks hadn’t even gotten to the body yet. I’m surprised we didn’t see the sail of the boat that cast him overboard."
Chegwidden simply grunted and demanded. "What port would they have made for?"
Galindez demanded in return, "First, tell me what is going on." The man still acted like he wanted nothing more than to return to his ship and sail away. An almost embarrassed look had been on his face since admitting that he had found the body floating in the middle of the calm sea.
Chegwidden looked like he was going to explode with anger so Webb, trying hard to recoup some respect after his earlier actions carefully explained the two-fold trip.
When he was done, Chegwidden calmed down and Galindez had an almost feral look in his eye. Webb expected the man to insist upon leaving to try and claim the ransom for the three women himself, or to demand a high rate of payment. Either of which, Webb was prepared to negotiate. He was stunned at the man’s offer.
"I and my ship are at your disposal. But." The Spaniard’s eyes turned cold. "If Wallace is dead that means that Palmer is in command of The Gorgon. Palmer and I have much to settle. If I do this, he is mine."
"If he has harmed any of the women, then your claim is in dispute, Captain." Webb hissed. "But if all he does is carry them to Portugal and we can stop them before harm comes to any of them, you are welcome to the dog."
Chegwidden finally interjected. "We need to have more information. We need to find someone on that ship who will tell us what is anon."
For the first time since they entered the cabin, Tronada had cleared his throat. "My father’s tavern is visited by all the sailors in port. Remember, Martyn?"
Chegwidden suddenly appeared to be lost in thought and while Webb was surprised by the Moor’s use of the Captain’s given name, neither Chegwidden nor Galindez seemed to notice. "Aye, old friend. That’s where you should start."
"Me?" Surprise and worry instantly returned to the first mate’s face. "What of you? She’s your niece!"
Chegwidden focused on Webb. "Do you swear to save her life as you would the lives of the two ladies of the court?"
Webb indignantly retorted. "You need not worry upon those lines and you know it."
Martyn smiled at his first mate. "You see, old friend. We have a good group here. You know I must check my own sources."
Webb watched as anger seemed to cloud the first mate’s eyes for a moment but Tronada regained control and bowed before making for the door. The Moor paused before closing the door as he left. He turned back to the men in the cabin and said, "Of course, Captain. I will see that food and drink is sent in."
Webb started to go after the angry man but again, Chegwidden gripped his arm. "Leave him, Lord Webb."
Galindez stood. "I’ll eat on board my own ship, but first we need to dispose of the body. I, of course claim the knife in his back."
"No!" Webb glared between the two men. Galindez just quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "No." Webb repeated more calmly and took his own knife out from his belt. "The knife is not yours to take, but this one is mine to give." Handing it to the Spaniard, Webb quickly left the cabin. Galindez and Chegwidden shared a surprised look and followed him.
"You there!" Webb pointed to a sailor standing against the rail.
"Sir?" The man looked from Webb to his captain.
"Bring me a small barrel of salt and a half keg of gunpowder."
"Do it, Owens." Chegwidden nodded calmly.
"Aye, Captain."
Pulling a boarding ax from the wall Webb took a cleansing breath and walked over to the corpse of Wallace. Men from both ships were now standing and staring at the scene before them. Taking another deep gulp of air, Webb raised the ax only to have it pulled from his hand.
"Her majesty demands proof, Lord Webb?" Galindez’s face was completely neutral.
"Aye." Webb hissed.
"She has the heart of a warrior. Have you ever taken a man’s head as trophy, Lord Webb?"
"No. But I’ve beheaded a calf or two in my time."
"Of course. Step back." Tossing the ax to one of Chegwidden’s men he growled. "You know what to do?"
"Aye." The man whispered.
"Then make sure the keg is marked properly. Come Lord Webb. Gentlemen do not dirty their hands in such a way." Webb just stared at the pirate in confusion. Reaching down, Galindez pulled the knife from Wallace’s back and held it out. "This is yours?" Galindez asked.
"No." Webb whispered as he took it. "It was Lord Christopher Hatton’s. The queen gave it to him on his last birthday." He shook his head trying to clear it. <<<How had Wallace gotten it? Why did the question even occur to me?>>> The day suddenly grew dark and he found he was staring not at the body of Daniel Wallace but Wallace’s back as he was attacking Sarah. A rage not his own suddenly took him and he saw and felt the dagger rise and plunge into Wallace’s back. It was a feminine hand that gripped the weapon; tattered lace hung from the wrist. The last thing he remembered was Sarah pushing the dead Wallace away from her.
He awoke, resting against a bale on the deck. Galindez was holding a goblet of wine to his lips. He expected to hear a vicious or at least amused barb from the pirate, but once again he was surprised.
"There is much we do not understand on this trip, eh, Lord Webb." Galindez left the wine with him and stood.
Webb saw a sailor hoisting a keg to his shoulder. The keg was painted black with a white skull and crossed bones smeared over it. No one would mistake that keg for gunpowder. He felt his hip and found the jeweled handled dagger resting there. Webb hoped that Hatton was still alive when he returned to court with it.
Neither man had spared a glance as two sailors picked up the headless corpse and threw it back into the sea. "You are ready, Webb?" Galindez’s gentle question shook Webb from his musings. The sun hung high overhead and the stench from the wharf nearly gagged him. Nodding he spared a moment to study his attire.
Tronada had firmly insisted that courtier’s garb was completely out of the question for their visit to the Leça da palmeira. Unfortunately, Webb had been stumped. Martyn’s small selection of clothes, while nice enough, would have engulfed him and made him look like a small child playing in his father’s clothes. The same held true for Tronada’s wardrobe. The Moor was even taller than Chegwidden.
Webb had almost steeled himself to donning the filthy offering of the third mate when Galindez had thrown a parcel at him. "I have always wanted an outfit that I could wear before my king." Webb rather doubted that Galindez would get within 100 miles of Philip II, but he quickly made the trade. Webb thought he looked rather dashing actually. The fawn colored britches reached his ankles and he tucked them into his hobnailed boots. The soft white shirt fit him fine, though he felt almost naked with the collar opening as low as it did. He buckled the leather sash around the thigh length leather vest and hung his own sword from it. Reverently he hid Lord Hatton’s dirk in the waist of the pants. The flintlock pistol was seated at his waist.
"I’m ready, Galindez. Where is Tronada?"
"He’ll meet us there."
"You know the way?"
"Of course? You take me for a boy?"
Webb sighed and ignored the parry. He looked around for Chegwidden but couldn’t find him.
"The Captain is below decks. He has much to do before he meets with his contact tonight." Galindez talked as he led the spy down the gangplank.
"Who is this mysterious contact?" Webb huffed as he jumped down to the dock.
"Mysterious, my friend. Wise men learn not to ask questions they do not wish the answers to."
"You fear the truth then?"
"I fear nothing but finding the right woman my friend." Galindez slapped him on the back but his tone clearly said he no longer wished to discuss Chegwidden and his curious informant.
"Would it be so bad to find the right woman?" Webb took the hint, grateful that the Spaniard had changed the subject.
"Bad for the woman, Señor."
"Too true, Galindez."
The pirate stopped and glared at him. "No names if you can help it, my friend."
"Very well…my friend."
"It is down this alley." Galindez turned down the narrow adobe lined street. The sun beat down and heated the passageway to oven temperatures. Webb, who had spent time in the south wasn’t surprised but he still preferred the more even temperatures of Cornwall. Even in winter the temperature was never really cold and in summer the Atlantic breezes kept the countryside cool. He was glad now for the open neck of the cotton shirt.
"In here." Galindez pulled back a heavy curtain and they found themselves in a dimly lit cantina. Heavy glazed tiles covered the inside walls and earthen baked brick paved the floor. A heavy wooden plank formed the bar that stretched across one wall. Unlike English taverns there was no fireplace here. A small ceramic chimineastood against one wall, its belly cold. Instead of wood smoke filling the room, the latest import from the New World lent a yellow fog hovering just above their heads. There were barrels of heady wine and the aroma mixed with the tobacco smoke was intoxicating.
"There he is." Galindez whispered.
Webb had already spotted Tronada, who was sitting with two other men at a corner table. There was something familiar about one of the men. Hanging back so he could study the two, he let Galindez lead the way. One was tall, about his age with bright blue eyes that he could see even through the smoke coming from the thick cigar in his mouth. There was concern and worry on the man’s face as he watched them approach. The other man, boy really, knew Webb. He could tell it by the wide-eyed shock in his face. Tronada must have said something because the boy – <<<dear God it was Bawdewyn Robert’s brother>>> – quickly lowered his eyes. Webb remembered hearing that Michael Roberts had gone to sea a few years ago. It had certainly been that long since he had seen the lad.
Flopping down on the heavy chairs, with their backs to the room, Webb exchanged knowing glances with the Trident’s first mate. Tronada poured rich red wine from a pitcher into two empty goblets. Keeping his voice pitched low he introduced the two men. "This is the new first mate of the Gorgon, Rabb. And this boy says you know him?"
Remembering Galindez’s admonishment he nodded to the blue-eye man before turning his attention to young Roberts. "I saw your brother and sister-in-law not two weeks ago. Neither mentioned you saw them when The Gorgon docked at Widow’s Cove." He had decided not to mention Penzance and he suspected that there was more than one ‘Widow’s Cove’ along the coasts of Europe.
Roberts’ voice cracked. "The captain wouldn’t let me go ashore. He was afraid."
"Afraid?"
"Afraid I would jump ship. I should have, your lor…uhmp." The boy gasped and held his side where Tronada had roughly jabbed him. "Sorry. But please…sir…you have to help her."
"We plan on it. Now tell us what you know." Webb glared at the first mate.
Rabb looked around the room and whispered. "Not here. I’m sure that more of the crew will show up any minute.
"I’ve already taken care of that." Tronada cut in. "You see the steps directly to the left of the bar?"
"Yes."
"You and the boy go up stairs to the room on your right. We’ll meet you there within a few minutes."
Roberts had just cleared the portal leading upstairs when rough cries loudly announced several sailors entering the tavern. "Aye, and weren’t I glad when the cap’n finally got them off the ship."
"Aye, were true bad luck, them three women, I’ll tell ye that." Several other voices grumbled their agreement and settled at a table not far from them.
Tronada and Webb exchanged glances. Turning to Galindez, Tronada whispered. "Go keep the first mate and the boy calm, while we listen for awhile." Ten minutes later they were satisfied that anything more would be a repetition of previously moaned complaints. Making a show of settling their bill, they went outside and Webb followed the Moor around the corner. A long white staircase led up to a solid door. There was a gentle rap on the door and it swung open to reveal an ancient woman stooped nearly double. She stepped out of the way to allow them to walk into the surprisingly cool corridor. Tronada led them down to a room just off the top of the staircase.
The three privateers sat around a small table. A large tankard of wine and a tray of goblets took up the entire space. Webb waved away the offered drink and chose to lean against the wall instead of sitting. Tronada pointed to the first officer. "Rabb says he knows where they are taking them."
"Who’s they?" The spy demanded.
"Captain Palmer and two of his men. I mean two men who have served him longer than I’ve been on board." Rabb hastily explained.
"Where are they taking them? To whom?" Webb’s jaw worked and his hand compulsively fingered the dagger at his belt.
Rabb gulped and whispered. "Rua Senhora da Graça."
15 July 1564
Praia de Dona Ana
Lagos, Portugal
Midmorning
Martyn sat upon the rock, scanning the ocean. He knew she would come, and he wondered what news she would bring. <<<Is Francesca still alive? Do these animals truly intend to sell her?>>> He scowled, worrying about his niece. He noticed a motion in the water and his countenance relaxed as Cordelia broke the surface.
"How long have you been waiting, my love?" Cordelia asked.
"Not long. It just seems so. Have you news of my niece? Pirates found that bastard Wallace. Even the fish avoided him." Martyn looked into Cordelia's eyes, "I suppose that was your doing?"
"Yes. He was an evil man. From what I could hear, and you know I hear well, one of his own men is claiming that he killed him. But it wasn’t. It was one of the women." She smiled. "She has an old soul, my love. I’m sure she was a warrior maiden in Atlantis."
Martyn shook his head. The tales she told – he knew better than to correct her. He had come to realize there was more to heaven and earth than he could imagine.
"The man seems to be watching over the women as well, keeping the other men away from them. He speaks aloud to himself on the deck when he draws the watch. The men on the ship can’t hear him, but I can. I think the warrior maiden has captured his heart." Cordelia paused and lifted herself onto the rock.
Martyn had learned long ago not to try to help Cordelia, so he waited patiently, watching the light on her iridescent scales. He watched her tail shimmer as she shook the water from it and began the transformation which turned her tail into long, shapely legs.
At first, Cordelia was afraid her metamorphosis would repulse Martyn, but even after all these years, it fascinated him.
"Nothing more will happen to the women while he watches them. He has convinced the new captain that they will sell better at the slave market without bruises or scratches," Cordelia explained, hoping to reassure Martyn.
Catching Cordelia's eye, Martyn repeated her words, "Nothing more? What has already happened?"
Cordelia lowered her head, unable to keep Martyn's eye. "The new Captain. He is called Palmer. He is a cruel man, Martyn. As evil as Wallace, perhaps more so."
"What has he done to them? How has he hurt Francesca?" Martyn asked, unable to hide the anger in his tone.
"Martyn, are you sure you want to know? Will anger make you fight any better? Or will it simply make you angry and be a hindrance if you need to fight?" Cordelia said.
"How has he hurt my niece?" Martyn repeated.
"She is strong, Martyn. Like you. She is frightened, but she is strong. And nothing more will happen," Cordelia answered without telling him anything.
"Cori, tell me. How has this Captain Palmer hurt my niece?" Martyn felt his anger rising.
Cordelia sat quietly for a moment, remembering the sailors' talk of the slave market. <<<They said that Palmer had ruined the lass from Cornwall, so she would sell for less.>>> Remembering the talk of what Palmer had done to Francesca, Cordelia shuddered. She lowered her face into her hands, rocking her head from side to side.
Martyn's voice suddenly became soft, "What is it, Cori?"
"Francesca, Martyn. She is alive. She is strong. She is frightened and confused right now, and afraid that her family will be ashamed of her," Cordelia's voice trembled.
"Ashamed of her?" Martyn echoed.
Cordelia raised her head, and struggling to look into Martyn's eyes, whispered, "Martyn, that beast Palmer, he's the man who brought Francesca on board. He took his pleasure with her. That's why he brought her onto the ship. He planned to use her and share her with the other sailors, but they are not comfortable with a woman on board. So he decided to sell her with the other women. He will not bother her again because he wants her to be in good physical condition, with no bruises, no marks on her body when she goes up on the block."
"The bastard. I will kill him," Martyn hissed.
"Do not let your anger color your reason, Martyn. When your emotions rule, you are vulnerable. Do not let anger guide you, or I fear I may lose you," Cordelia pleaded. "And if you die, what will become of Francesca?"
Martyn clinched his teeth, the muscles in his jawline rippling. <<<She's right. I need to use my head, no matter how angry I am. But I will kill this bastard, Palmer. He will not ravage my niece and live.>>>
Cordelia watched him confront his emotions. <<<He needs a moment alone. Then he will be better.>>> She spoke quietly, "You will need gold, and a good deal of it. I have brought some. Let me get it." Then she slipped off the rock.
Martyn waited, his anger subsiding to a molten core deep inside him. He was ready to draw on it for strength when he needed. When Cordelia rose to the surface dragging several leather bags, his anger was undetectable.
Cordelia handed Martyn the first of three bags. He peered into it, awed at the amount of gold. There were doubloons and pieces of eight and several other types of coins he didn't recognize. Cordelia handed him the other two pouches. "Is this enough gold to buy all three women?" she asked. "I can get more if you need it."
"This is more than enough, Cori." Martyn found himself overwhelmed at the amount of gold she had brought him. It occurred to him for the first time that she had no idea of the gold's worth. <<<What is it they value in her world?>>> Martyn asked himself.
"It seems very strange to me, that people would sell each other. It is not the first time I have heard of it, but I have never understood it," Cordelia said softly. "I suppose it costs a great deal to buy a person."
Martyn looked at her with great sadness, "Less than one might think." Martyn eyed the gold again. "There is far too much here. I cannot keep it."
"No, Martyn. It is better to have too much than not enough. Take it, you may need it," Cordelia instructed. Cordelia lifted herself to the rock again, lifting her tail into the air and bringing it back down as a pair of lovely legs. "Martyn, I know you must go soon, but stay with me a while." She touched his face. "I can sense your anger, feel it burning within you. I fear it will rule your logic and I will lose you. Give me this time."
Martyn lifted her into his lap, his hands roving over her body as his mouth met hers in a passionate kiss. "Shall I let these emotions rule?" he whispered before his lips met hers once more. Cordelia fingered his shirt, releasing the buttons to reveal his bare chest. Her fingers played over his skin, ruffling the hair as she lowered her hand to release his britches. She could feel his cock straining against the soft leather as she shifted to straddle him. Martyn leaned back against the rock, Cordelia's hands shielding his head. She spun her body around, then lifted one of Martyn's feet and removed his boot, then took the other leg and struggled briefly with the boot. Next she began to push the leather britches over his legs, revealing his strong thighs and muscular calves.
Cordelia moaned softly as Martyn ran his hands over her ass, then over her hips to her thighs. One hand explored her sex, fingering the silky folds as the other hand found her clit. He rubbed in a circular motion with the flat of his fingers, and Cordelia writhed in pleasure. She turned once more, exposing her breasts to him again as she lowered her body slowly over his cock. Martyn drew a sharp breath as she took him inside and her tight walls closed around him. Martyn lost himself.
In the time they spent together, nothing else mattered. These stolen moments existed out of time, out of place, not part of his world or hers, a world that was only theirs. <<<No wonder there are tales of men bewitched by mermaids. If I could never see her again, never be with her again, I think I would go mad.>>> Then Martyn surrendered himself to pleasure.
Their bodies crashed together like the waves breaking upon the shore. Martyn felt Cordelia's body quivering against him. He knew she felt no cold, that it was pleasure alone that caused her body to tremble like a leaf in the wind. As she arched her back and cried out, he shuddered, releasing inside her. They lay together, resting in the warm sunlight on the smooth surface of the rock. Looking into each other's eyes, they had no need for words.
Finally, Cordelia glanced at the sky, noting the position of the sun. "You must go. Take care, Martyn. Come back to me. Calm seas and safe harbors, my love." She kissed him, then silently slipped into the water and disappeared.
15 July 1564
Women’s Quarters
Rua Senhora da Graça Slave Market
Late afternoon
"You reeky, toad-spotted clotspole!" Elizabeth Hawkes cursed at the old woman and struggled against the men holding her down. The exam was quick and perfunctory and made the second daughter of the Earl Lancaster even madder than she already was. The old woman, used to sobbing and pleading quickly backed away and out of the room. The two guards laughed heartily until Beth jerked one hand free and raked her ruined nails over the face of one of her captors.
Swearing in Spanish, the man pulled back his arm to hit her but a loud roar stopped him. "Consígale lejos de ella cerdo." The man glared at the English pirate, but Palmer glared back. "Tell your pigs to leave her alone, Coleiro." Stepping around the slavemaster, Palmer fisted Beth’s hair, pulling her to her knees. "You're lucky you’ll fetch such a nice price, Lady Beth. You look like you would be fun to tame."
Beth spit up at him, but he just laughed louder. Flinging her toward the door leading to the cells he took careful aim and kicked her into the wall. "Take her ladyship back to her cell. The two guards approached her carefully but Palmer ground out a warning that calmed her immediately. "Go with them quietly Lady Beth or I shall take your punishment out on the girl."
"Oh, Beth." Sarah cried when they shoved her friend into their cell. Lifting the hem of her sheer muslin gown the slavers had forced them to wear, she carefully wiped away the blood from Beth’s cheek.
"Damn them all!" Beth cried and sank to the straw that covered the floor of the tiny cell. "Damn them!" She whispered as Sarah sank beside her. "They hurt me, Sarah."
"I know, dearest." Sarah embraced her friend and looked to the huddled form of Francesca. "Franny. Come here, Francesca."
Weeping, the girl sat up and came to kneel with them. "We must be brave." Sarah continued, wiping the tears from Francesca’s face and brushing Beth’s hair behind her ear. "I know not what comes for us, but we must remember we are Englishwomen. Whatever happens, we hold our heads high. Whatever happens we will each try to escape our captors and run. Flee for the coast. Surely we can find passage back to England."
"You’re right, Sarah. We may die in the struggle but surely that is better than what they have planned for us." Beth calmly agreed as she took Francesca’s other hand.
Francesca sniffled but then sighed. "What matters it then. I am ruined. What man…"
"Hush, child." Sarah soberly commanded. "We all suffer the same fate. Even if nothing happens our very worth has vanished."
"Vie and bah." Beth vigorously denied. "'Tis not our fault and if no man wants me, then I say mores the good."
"Beth!" Sarah gently admonished.
Beth stood up and began to pace. Carefully she studied their cell and looked for anything she could use as a weapon. Sarah left her to it and gently pulled Francesca to her feet. "Did they hurt you, Franny?"
"Nay, your ladyship."
"I think we can dispense with such niceties." She took a shuddering breath. "This time tomorrow, our fates will be the same."
"Nay, you…Sarah. I heard them talking. I can understand Spanish quite well. My poppa and uncle are both well versed in languages and they taught me both Spanish and French. My mother taught me Italian before she returned to that country. I heard the dog, Palmer, tell them not to bother with the exam, that I was not a virgin anyway. He said vile things."
"The filthy bastard." Sarah whispered and embraced her gently. "What did the slave master say to that?"
Francesca shrugged. "He said that for a whore I was still pretty enough and that I would fetch a good price from several of the bordello keepers who are sure to come."
"Never!" Sarah hissed angrily.
Francesca studied the queen’s lady. The muslin shifts they had been given did little to hide their nakedness underneath. While several years older, Sarah and Beth both had finely boned bodies with pert firm breasts. Francesca felt her figure was more boyish. <<<Not boyish enough to make Palmer pass me by.>>> She doubted that she would fetch any kind of real price at all. They had seen other women and men in several of the other cells. Many would be sold as laborers in the nearby houses of the rich. Francesca only hoped that perhaps she would get lucky and have someone bid on her as a scullery maid.
"Nothing! Blast and damn!" Beth muttered and flopped down on the thin hay covering the floor.
Sarah sat next to her. "What dearest? They didn’t leave a sword lying about. Are you so sure that Lord Clay taught you well enough?"
Beth glared at her friend. "He taught me very well indeed – to fence. Of course, if I thought he would even notice me a little, I would try to teach him the Galliard too."
"Beth!" Sarah blushed so red they could see the glow through the thin material. "You didn’t see."
"Of course I did. Lord Summerville wanted to show me the North Star, I think it was." She grinned wickedly. "It isn’t my fault that the vines don’t completely shield the balconies from each other."
"They could have been bone bare for all that happened." Sarah sniffed resolutely. "He didn’t want to kiss me."
"Fool." Beth sighed and leaned against the dry adobe. "Mores the fact that he feared once he started…"
"Beth! Enough!" Sarah was really mad now. Turning her attention to the heavy oak door, she snarled. "I suppose they will not feed us. That way we will be weaker."
Sometime later, when the door swung open and their evening meal was placed on the floor just inside the door, Sarah almost wished they had forgotten them. The bread was mealy and the stew was nearly tasteless, the floating bits suspicious. The thinned wine was bitter. She didn’t complain, but Sarah would have preferred water.
The one window, too high them to see out, finally darkened. The noises of the night – women crying, men moaning and the guards laughing – served to keep all three of them awake long past tiredness. But finally they stretched out and each tried to sleep.
As her mother and aunt had taught her, Francesca said several prayers, though she had pretty much given up on any intervention – divine or otherwise. She fell asleep expecting to relive the horrible attack but a strange calming sleep fell upon her. An unknown face appeared before her. And, even though he appeared furious about something, he had the kindest eyes. His skin was the color of newly tanned leather and the mustache and beard, while neat and trim looked both alien and dashing. Even deep in sleep, she knew that if she ever met such a man he would never blame her for Palmer’s attack and would protect her with his very life.
Beth stood on the deck of a fast ship. The sails were full and the horizon clear. All around her men worked diligently. Looking down at her clothes she was surprised and yet thrilled to see instead of a heavy gown with stays and corset she felt free and unfettered in loose britches and a fine leather vest. "Land Ho, Captain!" She heard and knew the man in the crow’s nest was talking to her.
"Captain?" A husky voice whispered in her ear. "Tonight, we’ll walk along the sand."
She turned her head up and saw the most vivid blue eyes staring down at her. She returned his smoldering gaze. "Aye, Mr. Rabb. Tonight, you will be my captain."
The baby wailed like it was angry at the whole world. The midwife carefully wrapped it in clean white cloth and laid him at her breast. "Aye, your ladyship. The Duke will be most pleased to have a son. Not that he isn’t taken with his daughters mind you. But ya need an heir don’t ya now."
Sarah sighed contentedly. "Well he seems healthy the way he’s taking nourishment."
"As long as my own dear love is well, then that is all that matters." The soft voice drew her attention and she smiled.
"My lord, come meet your son." He came and sat down next to her on the bed where the boy had been conceived.
Leaning over he kissed her eyes and cupped his son’s head in his hand. "He’s beautiful. Just like his mother. Claiming a brief, warm kiss he stood up again. "We will call him after my father as agreed, dearest?"
"We will call him after your father AND the man who saved your life, my lord." She chided him.
"Of course, my love." Taking his son, he stared down into the sleepy face. "Welcome to the world, Neville Martyn Webb."
16 July 1564
Hampton Court
Late Afternoon
Lady Walden listened to the music of the lute as the bard sang. <<<Inane prattle.>>> She smiled to Lady Theresa, who nodded as she passed. Lady Walden felt a stare upon her. She looked up, into the eyes of Queen Elizabeth. Bowing her head quickly in deference, she swallowed nervously. <<<The queen spends much time watching me of late. Pray tell, does she have designs to marry me off to some pop'rin pear? It seems that is what always happens to those she watches. I would prefer to remain at court, especially now that I have rid myself of Lady Sarah.>>> Lady Walden smiled as she raised her head. She cast a glance over the lords who were present. <<<With whom might she consider such an alliance?>>>
It had been some time since Lady Sarah disappeared. <<<I do wonder if she has reached her destination yet? Has she learned of her new life?>>> Lady Walden smiled graciously at William Cecil, Lord Burghley as he carried some message to the queen. <<<How dare that MacKenzie infidel pollute British nobility. The Saracen whore is right where she belongs. I wonder if Wallace had his way with her before he sold her?>>> The thought turned the smile pasted on her face into a frightening leer.
<<<Shame about Lady Beth, but she should have picked her friends more wisely. Had she not snubbed me so, she might have met a better fate.>>> Lady Walden clapped her hands as the musician finished and was replaced by a small acting troupe. <<<What of Wallace? How will I deal with him when he returns? He is a stupid, petty man. He can follow orders, but he has no brain. He would be a hindrance in my struggle for power here at court, a weight around my neck. I must be rid of him as well. Although he was a fine diversion for a while. He must needs be killed before he can reveal my role in the disappearance of Lady Sarah.>>>
<<<There is the potion I used on Lord Walden. He served his purpose well, too. I may not have been born a lady, but my son is a lord, regardless of his father. And Lord Walden never knew the difference. The potion would work with Wallace; I must administer it in a public setting, so I must be careful. Yes, that will work nicely.>>> Lady Walden raised her head smiling as if amused by the play.
From the throne, Queen Elizabeth watched. When Lady Walden raised her head, smiling, the queen was shocked. <<<They have just killed the king in the story. Does she find that so amusing? I must watch her more carefully than ever.>>>