stood at the rail studying the ship, his attention was caught by familiar, unsettling movement-grey shapes flitting across the deck, insubstantial in the dark.
He watched the Enemy for long moments, trying to make sense of what they were doing on board, wondering how much the Spanish knew of the threat in their midst; for he knew the Unseelie Court would easily turn on their current allies once England was destroyed. Suddenly he became aware that one of the indistinct figures had come to a halt and was standing at the rail.
Looking at him?
Will ducked down and moved quickly away from his vantage point. Had he been seen? Worse, had he been recognized?
Returning to the seething mass of sleepers below deck, he tried to lose himself among the crew. The night was hot and uncomfortable in the crowded, confined quarters. Will slept with his knife in his hand, but the only disturbances came from sailors stumbling over him in the dark, and the resultant curses and kicks.
The next day passed with a sense of mounting anticipation as the fleet readied itself for war, and on May 11, Medina Sidonia took advantage of a light easterly wind and the Armada set sail downstream. But the long string of ships had barely passed the mouth of the Tagus when the wind turned and blew directly at them, and they were forced to drop anchor and wait. Storms raged up and down the coastline, and as Will watched the churning black clouds, he couldn't help but wonder if Dee had something to do with it. Rumours of his conjuring abilities had circulated the court for decades. Will had no idea how many of them were true, or if he was just a very clever and skillful man who was, like all in Walsingham's employ, good at portraying whatever face best served his purpose. Still, as lightning flickered and the crew grew irritated at the delay so early in their campaign, he wondered.
The wait dragged from hours into days and then weeks, the tension slowly escalating. Will took the opportunity to watch the constant stream of boats back and forth from Medina Sidonia's San Martin. He knew what they carried: intelligence reports from Philip's network of spies detailing the readiness-or lack of it-of the English forces. And the wind continued to blow, lashing the fleet with occasional bouts of stinging rain, and rolling the sea up into choppy waves of white-topped grey.
On May 27, Will finally caught sight of Don Alanzo aboard the San Martin, cloak wrapped tightly around him against the elements, deep in conversation with Medina Sidonia himself. Will kept his head down, working hard. But when he took the opportunity to glance back at the ship, he realized Hawksworth was watching him. He tried to pass off his attention as idle curiosity, pointing out the fluttering pennants and new gilding to a clearly disinterested Stanbury. When he glanced back, Hawksworth was gone, but he knew he would have to take more care.
That night, in the face of a fierce gale, Will and several others were sent up on deck to supplement the seasoned crew. As the deck bucked and heaved under his feet, he fought to stay upright, dragged to his knees time and again by sluicing water from the crashing waves. After an hour, the skin of his face burned from the lash of the rain and the spray and the bite of the wind. The officer barked orders in Spanish. Will had to feign ignorance, forcing him to attempt to give directions by pointing. After a while, he found it easier to leave Will alone and struggling to do what he could under the personal guidance of Hakebourne.
The other ships loomed like black castles in the dark on all sides, lamps glowing in their windows, as they fought their own battles with the gale. As Will gripped the rail in the face of one severe swell, he caught sight of a ship he had not seen before. It moved with a speed that belied the conditions, strange grey sails billowing; and as it sailed closer, Will was surprised to see there was no activity on deck to take the pressure from the straining rigging. It had an unsettling spectral quality, at times fading into the spray, at others seeming insubstantial even when the wind dropped. Flashes of greenish light came and went in the windows and on the forecastle, like the glows that burned over the marshes luring travellers to their doom. Will searched for some identifying banner or name, but there was none.
'What is that vessel?' he called to Hakebourne above the howl of the gale.
Hakebourne kept his eyes down as he tied a knot, easily bracing against the roll of the deck. 'I see nothing,' he shouted back.
'There!' Will indicated. 'Astern!'
Hakebourne still did not look up. 'Nothing,' he replied, half turning his back on Will.
An atmosphere of dread followed the ship, and after a moment's study Will accepted that it could only be a galleon belonging to the Unseelie Court. Skimming the waves eerily, it appeared to be unaffected by the gale as it worked its way among the struggling Spanish vessels.
And then, as he watched, there was activity on deck, as though a veil had been drawn back to reveal the mystery behind it. These figures walked upright effortlessly, or stood easily in the rigging and on the mast, but it was the one who stood on the forecastle, arms raised to the heavens, that drew Will's attention.
Flashes of lightning burst among the clouds overhead, not lightning, but colours-red and green and purple. The rest of his crew continued to ignore them, but Will noticed their heads were all bowed, and where he could see faces they were strained. Their expressions only relaxed as the ship moved away into the deep dark, and not long after that the gale quickly dropped.
'It appears we are blessed, as the Spanish tell us,' Will said to Hakebourne.
He only grunted in reply in a manner which suggested he thought they were more likely cursed.
And on May 28 the inclement weather finally cleared enough for the Armada to begin to make its way out of the Tagus and into open waters in its entirety. Each ship that passed Castle St. Julian was marked by the celebratory thunder of cannon fire, but it took until well past dawn of the next day for the whole fleet to leave the mouth of the river behind.
Standing on the rigging, Will could see the string of ships stretched for miles, a formidable sight for any enemy, but it was forced to move at the pace of the slowest hulk and that made progress excruciatingly slow for the Spanish officers.
After two days of sailing, the Armada was still south of the Rock of Lisbon, and it took thirteen more days to travel just one hundred and sixty nautical miles to Finisterre.
An outcry below deck drew Will's attention late in the afternoon. He found a knot of angry seamen gathered around the store of provisions, with a raging Barrett in the forefront.
'What is wrong?' Will asked.
Barrett flipped the lid off a barrel to reveal mouldy ship's biscuits heaving with maggots and worms. 'The rice is the same,' Barrett thundered. 'And here.' He opened another barrel from which Will recoiled at the foul stink. 'Beef. Gone bad. All of it. And the fish too,' Barrett added. He threw the barrel lid down so hard it shattered into pieces.
'All the provisions?' Will asked.
'Half of them. These damn Spaniards are like children. I should never have trusted them to mount an efficient campaign. They will poison us all with the food long before we engage in battle.'
Will examined the biscuits. 'These have been here a while?'
'Since the autumn,' Barrett snapped. 'All the delays to the Armada, and they sat upon their provisions. What were they thinking? There are already twenty men below, vomiting and fouling their quarters after eating this filth. The wine too has gone sour, and the water is undrinkable. I will have none of it.'
Will saw an opportunity and fomented more anger among the gathered crew members before suggesting they take their complaints to Valdes. As the men stormed to the forecastle in search of the commander, Will held back, happy with the disruption he had caused. But as he waited, a hand caught his forearm. It was Hawksworth.
'Do I know you?' he asked. 'Your face plays upon my mind. It would be ill mannered of me if we have fought beside each other in some campaign or other, or been in our cups in a tavern, and I did not recognise you.'
'No, sir, I do not believe we have ever met,' Will replied, with a contrite duck of his head. He made to go, but Hawksworth would not let him.
'That accent. Do I hear a hint of Warwickshire?'
'Sir, I have family in the Midlands, but I have not been home in many a year.'
Hawksworth studied Will for a moment, and then asked, 'And what campaigns have you been on?'
Will was grateful for the interruption of a Spanish officer ordering him to get back to work. He nodded to Hawksworth and trudged off, but could feel the traitor's eyes upon his back.
The fierce complaints spread from ship to ship as more and more provisions were found to be rotten, and Will did all he could to spread discontent. Medina Sidonia sent out requests for more supplies, from Philip, from
