Stormbird

of home, shivering as the wind picked up past the harbour, making the great sail creak.

Out of the shelter of the coast, the open sea hissed under the prow and the cog rolled. William recalled his trip across the Channel with Margaret, when she had been little more than a girl. Her delight had been infectious and the memory of it made him smile.

He was lost in a reverie of better times and at first he did not understand the sudden flurry of barefooted sailors racing from one end of the deck to the other. The first mate was roaring new orders and the ship heeled over on to a different tack, ropes and yards shifted by men who knew their trade. In confusion, William looked first at the crew, then turned to see where they were all staring.

He gripped the rail hard at the sight of another ship surging out from a bay further along the coast. It was a warship, built high on the bow and stern with a low middle deck for boarding — no merchant vessel. A wave of nausea swept over William as all his plans, all the peace he had gathered like sand, were suddenly washed away. Heavily laden cogs like the Bernice made fine prizes for pirates. The channel between France and England was busy with traders at all times of year and pirates raided ships and coastal villages, slipping over from France, or even up from Cornwall to raid their own folk. If they were caught, the penalties were brutal and it was rare to see the cages empty in the big seaports.

William’s sense of sick dismay only intensified as the other ship came on with its one great sail bellied taut. Despite its unwieldy fore and aft castles, it was narrower in the beam than the Bernice and clearly faster. It lunged at them like a hawk stooping on prey, trying to snatch them up.

France was close enough to run for the coast. William could see it, though the wind was still rising and the continent was blurring in the distance. Of all of those on board, William knew there were few safe havens left in France. He grabbed a running sailor by the arm, almost sending the man tumbling.

‘Make for Calais,’ William ordered. ‘Tell the captain. It’s the only port with English ships.’

The man gaped at him, then touched his forehead in acknowledgement before pulling away, racing back to his duties.

The sky began to darken overhead, the weather lowering. Through the mist and wet, William could still catch glimpses of France ahead and England behind, the white cliffs of Dover just a dim line. The Bernice heeled right over under the weight of sail and the wind, but he could see it was not going to be enough. Cogs were built wide to carry cargo, great lumbering vessels that were the life’s blood of trade. The chasing ship was practically a greyhound compared to the Bernice, edging closer and closer as the waves grew rough and spray battered the decks of both vessels. William could taste salt on his lips as the Bernice hissed along and the captain roared orders to head for Calais.

A dozen crewmen heaved at thick ropes to turn the yards, while others put their weight against the long beam of the whipstaff, porting it over to force the ship on to the new course. The sail fluttered wildly as ropes were eased and the following ship seemed to leap closer. If they could have run on, it would have been a much longer chase, but one that ended with the Bernice crashing into the French coast. They had to try for Calais, though the turn stole almost all their speed.

William felt his heart thumping as the Bernice slowed and creaked. He could see every detail of the ship pursuing them by then, just half a mile away over the grey waves and closing. He squinted at it, reading a name marked out in enormous gold letters. The Tower was an exceptionally well-appointed vessel for a pirate to command.

The sail came taut once more in the wind and the merchant sailors gave a ragged cheer as they tied off ropes and rested, panting. The senior men would all own shares in the ship and its cargo. Their livelihood as well as their lives depended on the Bernice escaping. The waves seethed again under the prow as they cut through the dark waters. France was just a few miles away and William dared to hope. The other ship was still astern of them and there would surely be English ships closer to France, ready to fly out when they saw a valuable cog being chased down.

An hour crept by, then another, with the wind growing in strength the whole time and clouds sinking towards the rough sea below. White caps appeared on the waves and cold salt water was flung through the air as mist. William knew the Channel could be capricious, sending squalls from nowhere. Yet the Bernice was solid and he thought she could keep her great sail out longer than the Tower. He began to mutter a prayer for a storm, watching the captain closely as the man stood at the bottom of his mainmast and looked up, waiting for the first sign of a rip. The wind became a gale and darker clouds scudded overhead, matching the ships struggling on the sea below. The sunlight faded quickly and William felt the first drops of rain even as he heard them drumming on the deck. He shivered, seeing the chasing ship plunge deep and come up with white and green seawater streaming from its prow.

Their pursuers were no more than a few hundred yards off the stern by then. William could see men in chain mail and tabards standing on the open deck. There were perhaps two dozen of them, no more, though they carried swords and axes enough to board against a merchant crew. He swallowed as he saw archers come to the high wooden castle built up behind the prow. With both ships rising and falling and the wind blowing in gusts, he wished them luck, then watched in dismay as three longbows bent and sent arrows soaring to strike the deck of the Bernice with a noise like hammers.

William’s good hand gripped the rail like a clamp, his frown deepening. Pirates found their crews in coastal towns, but there had never been a French bowman capable of that sort of accuracy. He knew he was watching English archers, traitors and scoundrels who preferred a life of thieving and murder to more honest work. The captain came past him at a run, heading to the stern to see this development. William tried to go with him, but with only one good hand, he staggered and almost fell as soon as he left the rail. From instinct, the captain grabbed at him before he went into the sea. It was bad luck that he fastened on the mangled hand, making William cry out in sudden pain.

The captain was shouting an apology over the wind when an arrow took him, sinking cleanly into his back and through, so that William could see the bodkin head standing clear, with white rib splinters around the dark iron. The two men gaped at each other and the captain tried to speak before his eyes dulled and rolled up in his head. William flailed at him, but the weight was too much and the captain vanished over the rail into the froth, slipping under in an instant.

More arrows thumped around them and William heard a sailor shout in pain and surprise as another found its mark. The great sail above William’s head began to flap. He could see the men at the whipstaff were lying flat, abandoning their duty in the face of arrow fire. The Bernice moved sloppily without their hands to guide her, wandering off course. Keeping as low as he could, William bellowed for them to take hold once again, but the damage was done. The pursuing warship crashed suddenly along the side, a rasping roar of splintering wood while the rain hammered down on them all.

William was thrown from his feet and was still struggling up as armed men leaped over, yelling their own fear as they crossed the strip of heaving leaden waves. William saw one man miss his catch and slip to be crushed or drowned, but there was another there in an instant, scrambling over to him with a sword held straight and sure.

‘Pax!’ William said, gasping as he tried to rise. ‘I’m Lord Suffolk! I can be ransomed.’

The man looming over him put his foot down hard on William’s broken hand, making the world go white for a second. He groaned and gave up any thought of standing as he lay there on the deck, drenched and frozen as the rain drummed the wood around him.

The boarders relied on shock and violence to secure the Bernice. Her hapless crew were either tossed overboard or cut down in the first wild flurry, most of them unarmed. William glared up at his captor, half-surprised he had not already been killed. He knew they’d strip the cargo and probably sink the Bernice, taking all witnesses down with her. He’d seen bodies washed ashore enough times to know how they worked and even the prospect of a ransom might not be worth the added risk. He waited for the blow, sickened by the waves of agony coming from his crushed hand.

The wind continued to howl around the ropes and the strange beast of two ships wallowing together in a crashing sea.

Jack Cade glowered at the men who’d come to him daring to dispute his plans. It didn’t help that they were all those he’d raised to command others. They were the originals from his meeting at the tavern, where he’d set