'I had to be certain. And now it is too late! We spend so long pretending ... we waste our lives on lies ... we are always slain by our own deceit. All of us.'
His final breath rattled from his throat, and his chin slumped onto his chest. Briefly, Will bowed his head too, so that they resembled reflections of each other, one alive, one dead. His guilt quickly turned to anger at the stupidity of the confusion, both of them hiding behind masks, both mistrusting each other.
When Will was sure no one was watching, he lifted Hawksworth to the rail and pushed him over into the sea. In the wind, and the crash of the waves against the hull, the splash was not audible. The body went under and was gone.
The grey-sailed ship still kept apace with the Rosario, but as he watched, it gained speed, pulled ahead, and then sailed across the prow and away into the dark towards the San Martin. Will stifled the bitter sting of failure with the knowledge that he no longer risked discovery, and could return the following night to try again.
But as he walked towards the steps that led below deck, he thought he glimpsed a dark shape waiting there, quickly disappearing down as he neared. Had someone seen him dump Hawksworth's body? Worse, had someone overheard their exchange?
He hurried in pursuit, but when he reached the sleeping quarters, no one stirred. There was only the sound of the waves on the hull, a steady, deathly beat like the slow tick of a clock.
CHAPTER 48
he time of reckoning has come,' Launceston said as dispassionately as if he were preparing for a saunter along the shore. Eerily motionless, he looked out to sea where the ships waited.
Beside him on the quayside at Plymouth, the setting sun warmed Carpenter's face, the brassy light blazing across the jumbled rooftops cascading towards the sea. 'Call it what you will,' Carpenter replied. 'We are likely sailing to our deaths, and death at sea is not like death on dry land, the brief, honourable pain of a sword thrust or the creak of old age. It is lungs bursting with water, and madness as breath is sucked away, or roasted alive in hellish fires, or limbs left splintered by cannon, your blood leaking into your shit and piss.'
'Death is death,' Launceston said simply.
Everywhere was unnaturally quiet at the end of the working day as the doors of the warehouses clattered shut and the merchants bid each other a quiet farewell, hurrying away with the workers from the sail-lofts and the other businesses that served the great ships. The delivery carts rolled off lazily amid the fruity aroma of horse dung. The taverns and stews around the harbour were deserted, most of their regular drinkers now aboard the ships, others hiding away in their homes in case they were pressed into service.
'If these are our last days, Robert, we should live them to the full,' Carpenter mused. 'Be the men we want to be, or dream we are, or give voice to the whispers in our hearts. What say you?'
Launceston considered this for a moment, and then nodded. 'You speak sense, but for some of us that is not such an easy task.'
Clouds of midges danced in the lazy heat, and as the shadows lengthened, the sounds of boots clattering at a steady pace over the cobbles drew towards them from the direction of the dark, mazy streets descending the steep hill to the dock. A confident, upright man emerged, striding purposefully, his hands clasped behind his back, his chest puffed out, and his head held high as if he was being watched by everyone he passed. His brown moustache and beard were carefully trimmed for the occasion and his hair swept back from his forehead. His features would have been familiar to almost all Englishmen and Englishwomen from the surfeit of pamphlets in circulation to mark the great successes of England's bravest adventurer, navigator, and sea captain.
'Sir Francis Drake,' Launceston said, adding, 'Does `vice admiral' fit him better than `privateer' these days?'
'No one can doubt what he has done for England, whatever his title.'
Drake had dressed in his finest clothes, a new doublet in deep brown with gold stitching at the shoulders, a high white collar, and a black collarbone protector held in place by a gold chain. He walked up to them with a pronounced swagger and enquired, 'Walsingham's men?'
'Yes, sir,' Carpenter replied. 'We are to accompany you aboard the Revenge in case the knowledge we have gained of the Enemy ...' He corrected himself. '... the Spaniards, may be of some use in the coming battle.'
'Very good,' Drake replied. 'Good men are always welcome aboard my ship.'
'It is true, then,' Carpenter enquired. 'The Armada has been sighted.'
'Fifty Spanish ships, off the Scilly Islands this very dawn, seen from the lookout of the Golden Hind, assigned to patrol the western approaches to England. The captain, Thomas Fleming, raced to tell me himself. This day, July twenty-ninth, will never be forgotten, for it is the day that the sleeping beast of England was woken.'
'As we had heard,' Launceston said. 'The Spanish race up the Channel to engage us at their leisure.'
With pride, Drake looked to his ship, the Revenge, resting elegantly on the gleaming waves amid the other great ships. 'I have spent the afternoon at Plymouth Hoe, studying the weather for any change in the direction of the wind. I have said my goodbyes to my Elizabeth, and now I am ready.'
'Should there not be more haste?' Carpenter ventured.
'More haste?' Drake repeated superciliously. 'Nothing could be done until the tide had turned. Besides, these are Spaniards and we are Englishmen. I could put out tomorrow morning and still whip them like dogs.'
News of Drake's arrival at Sutton Harbour spread quickly in whispers along the narrow streets. Soon groups of old women and men gathered to see the great hero, shooing the clutches of excited children racing and playing along the harbour's edge.
Drake briefly moved among them, bragging about the natural prowess of Englishmen, and by the time he left they were all cheering and pumping his hand.
'He plays his part well,' Launceston observed, 'like Will.'
'I am not so sure it is a role with Drake,' Carpenter replied. 'He believes his own legend.'
A rowboat took them out from the quay to the Revenge in the lee of St. Nicholas' Island. Drake's eyes never left his ship as they neared. 'How can the Spaniards even hope to win this war?' he said. 'They circulated full details of the strength of their Armada, hoping it would strike fear into us and encourage the powers of Europe to support them. All it did was give us a tactical advantage.' He waved his hand towards his ship. 'Thirteen years old, forty- three guns, firing shot of nine pounds to sixty pounds in weight. What fine firepower for an Englishman! Thanks to the Spanish, we now know that their most heavily armed vessel, the San Lorenzo, has forty guns, and sixteen are but sakers or minions firing only four or six pound a shot.' He laughed, his eyes gleaming.
Carpenter watched him closely. He'd heard the stories but had never encountered Drake before, and he wondered if his bravado rang true. Whether it did or not, Drake's confidence was infectious. The black mood that had gripped him since he had disembarked the Tempest lifted slightly.
A hundred feet long at the keel, but appearing even larger, the Revenge grew more imposing as they neared. It was weather worn and its green and white chevrons had faded slightly, but that only gave it the appearance of a seasoned warhorse. Carpenter could smell the sticky bitterness of the fresh tar that turned the keel a shining black.
On deck, the crew waited in small groups to greet Drake. Drake never met their eyes, but Carpenter could see they were comforted by his presence. The great cannon gleamed, the gun crews standing at the ready. As if in silent prayer, he glanced up the mainmast to where the sails were furled at the yards, gave an approving nod, and then began his final inspection.
As the last glimmer of the setting sun lit the waters ablaze, the wind from the sea turned, and with the tide on the ebb, the signal gun fired. Slowly but steadily, the Revenge and the other great English galleons began their journey down Plymouth Sound. Night fell.
Once they were in open water, the crew scaled the rigging like monkeys to unfurl the sails. Carpenter knew this was a crucial time. The Spanish could have been waiting to bear down on them, but the topmen reported no
