drink your fill.'
Santos's hospitality was as much a mark of his pride in his country and his defiance of Spanish rule, but Will was just as thankful. He ate hungrily, and when he was done, was ready with the questions that weighed upon him.
'What has happened to Lisbon?' he asked. 'As I rode through, it was worse than the worst parts of London, filthy, seemingly poor. Where are the riches? Where is the food?'
'Another thing for which we must thank the Spanish,' Santos said bitterly. 'The Armada has brought more than thirty thousand men to Lisbon, all of them whoring, fighting, and thieving while the ships sit uselessly off our harbour for week upon week. They consume our food faster than we can replenish our supplies. Everything is scarce, and what is available is beyond the wages of the common man. We starve by the day. The Spanish run riot through our city, and the Portuguese have locked themselves behind their shutters, but even then there is no escape. In their filth and degradation, the Spanish sailors and soldiers grow diseased and ill. They desert by the score, and good Portuguese men are pressed to fill their spaces. Lisbon can take no more. The sooner we are rid of this damned Armada, the better.'
'Do not wish it upon England,' Will said, 'but I understand why you are keen to help.'
'And help you I shall, to all my power. A spy within the fleet itself may do little alone to turn the tide of battle, but still you may cause some damage in the thick of it. And if the worst happens, when the force lands on England's shores, you will have valuable information that may aid any resistance.'
'If the Spanish set foot upon England, the hour will be dire indeed,' Will replied. 'But how will I disguise myself effectively among Spanish sailors for such a long sea voyage?'
Sitting back in his chair, Santos folded his hands together and smiled. 'You will not be among Spanish sailors.'
'Who, then?'
'Among your own kind. Englishmen.'
Will eyed Santos incredulously.
'Not all your countrymen have the same pure motives as yourself. There are some two hundred Englishmen among the Spanish crews. Mercenaries, those driven by the passion of our Lord who believe this a crusade to return the one true religion to your land, priests who plan to become rich converting heretics, and exiles keen to reclaim their fortunes and their estates once rightful order has returned.'
'A ship of traitors, then.' Though unsurprised, Will was still angry that some were so eager to betray the land of their birth.
'Ships,' Santos corrected, 'for they are scattered among the fleet. I know for certainty eight are aboard the Nuestra Senora del Rosario. And there is rumoured to be one of great status aboard Medina Sidonia's flagship San Martin.'
'The flagship? There is an Englishman in the command?'
'They call him lion William.'
'Sir William Stanley,' Will noted coldly. 'The treacherous dog. I had heard he was in Dunkirk marshalling another part of Parma's invasion force. Stanley cares for nothing but himself. He betrayed the entire city of Deventer in the Netherlands to the duke of Parma. If he is here, he feels success in his blood. How did you come by this information? And how will I gain the necessary papers to find a berth without being press-ganged and ending up a slave at the oars of one of Medina Sidonia's galleys?'
Raising a candle to guide his way, Santos motioned for Will to follow him. As they climbed the flights of creaking stairs, he said, 'It may be that your woman will be aboard the Santiago. La Arca de las Mujeres is the name by which it is commonly known.'
'The Ship of Women?' Will translated.
'It carries the wives of many of the married officers, the only women permitted to sail with the fleet. No whores to distract the men. Though I have heard tell that one officer smuggled his wife on board disguised as a man, to provide him with comfort on the long nights at sea. Medina Sidonia does not want his men's fighting edge blunted by nights of carnal pleasure. But the Santiago is one of the most heavily guarded ships in the Armada. You will not get aboard it.'
Will stored the information away as Santos led him up a final, short set of stairs to an attic room. The smell of blood and urine washed out the moment the door was opened. As Santos's candle drove back the dark, Will saw a man chained to the far wall on a bed of straw, his head hanging down so it was impossible to tell if he were alive or dead. As they walked in, he stirred and grunted, but he was barely conscious. Santos had clearly beaten him to get the information he required.
'Who is he?' Will asked.
'An English mercenary who goes by the name of William Prowd. I found him drunk in a bar and lured him back here on the pretence of more wine. He told me all I need to know, and I have his papers, signed by Medina Sidonia's recruitment officer, so you will be able to slip on board.' Santos collected the wine-stained papers from a stool and handed them to Will.
'Unless he has friends aboard.'
'He tells me he travelled alone, as his regular acquaintances feared England's firepower, even against a fleet of this size.'
Lifting the man's battered and bruised head, Will studied him for a moment while he thought. 'There will be risks aplenty, but this will at least give me an opportunity. I thank you. Now I must disguise my appearance as much as possible, for I have unfortunately been the subject of several pamphlets published in London detailing my adventures, each of which came with an engraving, which, although it failed to capture my true heroic nature, could make me recognisable.'
Santos guided Will out of the room, but did not close the door. 'I will find you a razor, scissors, and dye. Now: have you everything I can give you to bring misery to the hated Spanish?'
'Your gifts and my own wits are all I need.'
Santos's polite bow only just hid years of mounting hatred. 'Then I must tidy up here. I will meet you downstairs shortly.' He drew his knife and prepared to step into the attic room again before turning back briefly, his face haunted in the candlelight. 'These times make monsters of all of us,' he said. 'I wonder sometimes where is the simple man who took joy from the art he created in the hills around Lisbon. I fear he is lost forever.'
With that, he stepped into the attic room and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 45
ake one more step and I will cut off your ears and your nose!' the Spanish officer barked in faltering English. One hand lay on the hilt of his knife, and he looked as if he wished to mutilate Will whether he complied or not.
Will came to a halt at the top of the rope ladder, on the brink of stepping onto the deck of the Nuestra Senora del Rosario, one of the most heavily armed ships in the Spanish fleet.
'Papers!' the officer demanded. Snatching them from Will's fingers, he cast an eye over the stolen documents while keeping Will's face in view. The cursory glance came to a sharp halt, and he read one section in detail, his brow knitting, before staring deeply into Will's eyes. When he drew his knife suddenly, Will was sure he had been discovered, and went for his own hidden knife. But then the officer jabbed the blade past him to indicate a clutch of three men further along the deck, and thrust the papers back into Will's hand with a contemptuous expression.
Playing his part, Will gave a sullen nod and climbed on board. Freshly clean-shaven, with trimmed hair dyed to turn it from black to dark brown, he was now William Prowd, a mercenary fighting man fresh from the campaign in the Netherlands. As such, he was not expected to be a seasoned sailor and could easily disguise his ignorance of the detail of the backbreaking work on deck. And with a supply of dye to keep his hair brown, he hoped he could
