one to be reckoned with, she knew well that she was accused of vascillation; of indecision, of parsimony, even of cowardice. Why could not the fools see what she was doing? For years she had kept the country from any major war; any war that would squander the slowly-built reserves of her exchequer. For years she had played Spain off on France, and helped her European allies only when absolutely necessary, and then as economically as possible. She had never married, and in staying single, had kept England from any too-close game; had gained time to lift her country from bankruptcy, chaos and despair to the greatest heights. Her men were rich, fierce, brilliant, honored or hated (and they are much the same), where only a little time ago the Englishman had been the bastard child of Europe, unknown and unwanted.
Could not they see? No, they could not, except perhaps for the French de Medici, a woman like herself. And it was just as well. The queen's smile spread. They forgot that though her mind was that of a man, her heart was female. Though she could match cold-blooded intelligence with any king, she could scheme, dissimulate, tack and swerve as only a woman can.
She turned to go inside. Let them fume. She knew the show with Spain was shortly coming. She also knew that because she had gained long, prosperous years England had little to fear from mighty Spain or mighty God himself.
Robert roared with laughter and pressed more brandy on his guest. They were seated in his library, digesting a sumptuous dinner while the guest regaled his host with stories. John Fothering, though five or so years younger, had fought with Robert in the low countries those many years ago. He had sailed with Drake and prospered and it had been years since the two men met.
He had sailed again with Drake on his last rape of the Spanish Main, not as sailor, but as a chief investor. Now he was home, rich in booty and adventure.
“God's blood, John, but I do feel old. I, too, have made a penny from the raids, but there's little chance I'll take more active part than putting my hand in my pocket or signing my name.”
Fothering sipped his brandy. He was gaunt and tall, his face bronzed from wind and sun to the shade of weathered parchment. Irony glittered in his sharp, grey eyes as he looked at his friend.
“Old? Damn, Robert, you're ancient.” He drained his glass. “I know little of your employer except that he's reckoned a fool. However, knowing you'd never hire out to a fool, I would say there's more than can be seen. Perhaps you're on to more excitement than you say.” He raised his hand as Robert voiced a protesting denial. “All right, all right. I'm asking no questions. Still, if you can't regale me with your doings, I'll have to tell you of myself.”
Robert laughed. “When did you ever talk of anything else? Belinda should be here soon-my niece-and then you'll have a ready audience. A wild, rogue sailor would be just her idea of a man.”
“Wild sailor, be screwed! An English gentleman, blast you, and a fact not to be forgotten.”
Robert poured more brandy and the two men leaned back in their chairs, Robert listening eagerly as his friend talked on.
“Ah, Robin, old goat, will an ever simple, honest, straight-forward man track the devious twistings of a good woman's mind? God hang me, I know I won't. Let me tell you about Maria Ibafiez-the beautiful and virtuous Donna Maria De Palacio Ibafiez. First, let me give you a little background. “As you know, our expedition consisted of two caravelles as well as Sir Francis' own command. We were running south from the coast of Florida this day when we ran into a storm little short of hurricane force. My own ship, being the lightest and with very little ballast, was driven west and south, and when the sky cleared my fellow ships were nowhere in sight. Fortunately, we had received little damage, considering the force of the gale, but our water butts had broken their lines and smashed against a bulkhead.
“There was a group of islands, we knew, just south of the Florida mainland, and we decided to head for them. Actually, the mainland was closer, but it's got more bog than Ireland and more pests and vermin in the summer than can be imagined. Finding fresh water there is never an easy task.
“As usual, after a storm, the sky was soft and clear, and the ocean smooth as a mill pond. I was standing on the upper deck with the glass, hoping, perhaps to catch some sight of my sister ships. It was nearly noon, and hot as the breath of hell-”
The sun thundered down on his back and head as he stood scanning the flat sea. It was not the pallid benevolence that passes for sunshine in England, but a searing, scorching tyrant that lashed him without mercy. He took the glass down from his eye, knowing that there was little chance of spotting Sir Francis. He would be far east of them by now. Better to head due south, and catch him in the West Indies.
He ran his tongue over the inside of his parched mouth, but, one being as dry as the other, he found little relief that way for his raging thirst. There was a little fresh water left, for sure, but it would have shown a damned bad example to the men, were he not able to bear a dry throat as well as they.
The lookout called “Land Ho,” a welcome enough cry, then followed it almost immediately with the information that there was a ship coming speedily toward them.
John hastily picked up the discarded glass, and in a moment the sails of a large ship came into view. No. Two ships. They were still too far away for perfect identification, but it seemed doubtful that it was Sir Francis and the other caravelle. They appeared, at this distance, to be the same size, which would not have been the case had it been Drake and Captain Waring.
The ships were in direct line between The Gay Dart and the group of islands toward which they were headed, and as they came on, John realized that they were two Spanish merchantmen. From the way they rode, low in the water and cumbersome, it was obvious that they traveled with full holds.
Captain Pothering grinned.
“Full sail! Full speed ahead!”
The men hastened to their stations. The officers called out the gunnery crew and they hastened to make all ready for the fight ahead. They were getting desperate for water and worn from battling the storm just past, but this was too good to let go. It would be their first plunder this voyage, and although they were outnumbered, although each galleon was more than twice the size of the Dart, the English sailors had little respect for the Spaniard's ability to handle their huge tubs.
John stood on the upper deck, the glass pressed to his eye, bawling orders. To his surprise, the Spaniards came on instead of turning for the open sea. They were close enough now that they must know he was English, and knowing this, know also that he meant to take them. Apparently, they meant to make a fight of it, rather than take the safer course and run. Courageous, granted, but damned stupid.
As John watched, one of the galleons tacked to leeward, and he saw that they had added sail. They meant to straddle him, that was clear, but what was not clear was what kind of a damned fool was in charge of the procedure. Wasn't the idiot mariner enough to know that once well in his lee, they would loose all sail?
There was no need even to manoeuver. If he kept to his present course, they would simply ride into position and his gunners could do the rest.
Within minutes the fight was fairly on. The ship to leeward did indeed, founder, but they carried more fire power than John had expected from a merchantman.
Getting out of the range of the lee guns, he bore down on the ship off starboard. Her guns were, in the Spanish fashion, fore and aft, and she had little defence against a broadside attack.
“Fire!”
John felt the deck heave under him as their first broadside boomed toward the Spaniard. Without pause, he called the order to fire again, and listened with pride to the immediate response of his second battery.
“Fire!”
They were close now, and as the smoke cleared a little John saw that his gunners had done their work well. The Spaniard's masts were gone and half her breastworks shot away, but still she rode well enough to be sea worthy.
As they pulled in under her the cry to board was given, and within minutes grappling hooks held the galleon fast.
Being taller, at first it was more a case of the Spanish boarding the Dart, rather than the other way around. A man can leap down much faster than he can climb up. Driven on by greed and a pure lust for battle, the English soon turned the tide.
Screaming like a mad thing, John leaped into the fray, using his sword to cut, to stab, to club down when
