rituals exist. Not-at sea, either, so the fish can chew her flesh and bones. Not so she drifts where the tide drives. She wasn't one of our strange breed of sailor. We'll bury her on land, on San Miguel, where she can always be known and recorded, and where her children and her grandchildren can visit her grave. In God's good earth, on God's good ground.'
How can a man with so much cruelty in him be so kind, thought Gresham?
'Take the body to the Captain's cabin. Lay her out there,' said
Drake. Laying out bodies was not a skill in short supply among Drake's fleet. 'Follow her,' he said gently to the girl, 'so that you may see that all things are seemly.'
The sailors brought a rough dignity to their job, the body of the woman wrapped in the sheets in which she had lain. The girl followed, still in her private world of grief. The men remained in the cabin.
'I understood you were a spy for England. It seems you are a spy for Spain,' said Drake.
'Will you believe me if I say I've never seen that letter before, nor the rosary and prayer book?' said Gresham. 'I think not. Yet it's the truth.'
'It was found in his belongings, I swear, my Lord!' said Leng.
Drake snorted, moved away. Gresham spoke.
'If Sir Francis Drake of the Elizabeth Bonaventure will not hear me, yet will the Captain of the Judith listen to his past?'
Drake stopped in his tracks. Gresham bore on. He knew it was his last chance.
'As a young man you captained the Judith. A tiny vessel, but yours. You sailed into a Spanish harbour needing rest and succour, with the other ships with whom you had sailed. There was no war between Spain and England, you were simply sailors, cast upon the same waters, facing the same dangers, fearing the same death. You asked for help, were given help, given safe conduct.'
Drake had not moved.
'Then the Spanish decided to take the English vessels, capture them and imprison or burn their crew. You were the bottom of the pile, the smallest vessel, the most insignificant prize. So you slipped out from under their treachery, fought your way home against all odds. You were betrayed.'
Now came the real gamble.
'And you were called a coward, for leaving your fellow sailors.' Suddenly the air in the cabin froze. All eyes turned to Drake. 'So am I the smallest vessel, the least valuable, the disposable commodity, and so have I been betrayed, by whom I know not. So have I been called a coward, despite my reaction under fire, as you were called a coward, in the face of your courage. Will you believe me, as captain of the Judith and the man who brought her home? Or will you believe that there are men trying to deceive you, seeking to use you, to make you my executioner?'
The analytical part of Gresham's mind kept working, thinking, detached from that part of a young man's brain telling him that he was shortly to die. He had to inflame Drake's paranoia, the belief this man had of a world set permanently to betray him. But what a situation for Drake. He had just given his word to allow Gresham to act as guardian to the girl, and it would be far easier for a real gentleman to break his word; far harder for someone desperate to be a gentleman to break it. The nouveaux were always the most willing to believe the old lies. Yet here, clearly was treachery, the likelihood that Gresham had lied to him. It was not the letter that would make Drake want to kill Gresham, he thought. It was the fact that Drake had been taken in by a lie, fooled by a young upstart.
'Ask yourself this, Sir Francis,' continued Gresham. 'Any fool can plant any item they want in the baggage aboard this vessel. Our belongings are strewn about the deck, open to the elements. Do I seem to you fool enough to carry a letter that condemns me, a letter so easily found? What man leaves his death warrant openly on board the deck of a ship?'
They could hear the lapping of the water against the hull as Gresham paused.
'You've not landed me on enemy shore,' he said. It was his final play, he knew. 'Yet you were instructed to do so. Has whoever countermanded Walsingham's orders also demanded my death? Doesn't a man deserve to know who it is that kills him? And how certain are you that this same person will not turn and do to you what you have been commanded to do to me?' *No one commands me, Henry Gresham,' said Drake. 'They may suggest, if they choose. And no one has commanded me to kill you. I hold the power of life and death aboard my ships. I delegate it and give it up to no man.'
Yet to be found with such a letter is as good as killing me, thought Gresham. Did you know that I was to be killed? Or were your orders simply to keep me on board? And who gave you the instructions not to land me ashore?
Drake reached his decision with surprising speed. It was clear that he did not like Gresham. Gresham's only hope was that he disliked those who were seeking to pull the strings on board his flagship just as much.
'How good is your knowledge of history?' Drake asked. Gresham was learning, eventually, to cope with the wild swings and tangents of a dialogue with Drake. But was he going to let him live, or die?
'As bad as any College Fellow's,' answered Gresham, struggling to stay outwardly calm.
'You will know that in Anglo-Saxon times justice was rough and ready. Yet effective, for all its crudeness. You are aware of trial by ordeal?'
Good God! Gresham was aware. It was the system whereby a man had to grasp a red hot bar and walk with it a number of paces. If the wound healed clean, he was deemed innocent. If it festered, guilty. Was Drake going to brand him?
'The theory is that man decides the action,' Drake continued, 'God decides the outcome. So I will place you in God's hands. One of my pinnaces has sprung some of her seams. She has been patched up on the island, but one of the many decisions of command facing me was to decide whether to destroy her, or risk trying to take her home. I had decided to destroy her.' Drake looked to his second in command. 'Captain Fenner. You will ready the Daisy for the voyage back to England. Starting tomorrow. Provision her as best you can. And choose me a crew for her. Start with that mutinous dog from Dreadnought the one we had decided to hang. I think her present Captain will do very well.' He stood up. 'You will go to the Daisy, now. I will send men to pick up whatever belongings you have on board the Bonaventure. If you make it home, God will have declared you innocent. As He will have declared you guilty if you do not.'
'The girl?' Gresham asked.
'I said I would honour the mother's wishes. They were that her daughter be protected. She will be. And that you were her guardian. I am happy for that to be the case. It is merely that for a few weeks you will be aboard the Daisy, while I act in your place here on the San Felipe. You will be reunited in England, God willing.'
If I return, thought Gresham. He felt a wild stirring in his heart. A leaking ship, a mutinous crew — Drake was clearly taking the opportunity to scour his decks of all human filth — and a perilous journey home. Well, it was a chance. A real chance. Better than choking to death, swinging from a yard arm.
Yet Drake had not finished. He turned to Robert Leng.
'Have you finished your account?' asked Drake.
'I have just this moment finished my account of your glorious capture of the San Felipe,' said Leng. 'The full copy is with your Secretary.' He looked sideways at Gresham, nervous, half expecting Gresham to leap at him.
Then your job is done, is it not.?' said Drake. 'You may leave your manuscript with me. You will be keen to get back home. I have decided to provide you with a fast passage. On board the Daisy. You can act as guard to this young man.'
'Sir! This is unjust! I have merely carried out my duty…'
The knife moved so fast through the air that it seemed just a shimmering flicker of silver metal. It bit deep into the bulkhead, quivering, half an inch from Leng's ear.
'I smell treachery!' said Drake bitterly. 'My own vanity. It was my own vanity, the need to have this voyage recorded that overlaid my sense of smell. But now I smell it in my nostrils. So shall it be between you and my young friend here. Guilty? Innocent? Let God decide. And the Daisy.’
With that Drake let out a roar of laughter, continuing it as he left the cabin and mounted the quarterdeck. Leng had time to grab the letter before half running to catch Drake up.
They could have spent all day comforting a stricken George, to no avail. He pleaded to be allowed to come with them. After one look at the Daisy, Gresham flatly refused. Their last sight of the Elizabeth Bonaventure was the mournful half-moon of George's face, watching them as they bobbed away and out of sight. Would Gresham
