On deck, he saw the ship had started to sail away. Without stopping, he leapt over the rail and grabbed the now-taut grapnel rope, swinging his feet up to shimmy along it. The rope strained beneath his fingers as the two great ships pulled apart. Below, the waves surged hungrily towards him.
Fearing a break at any moment, he dropped his legs and used his arms alone to power him on. He didn't slow until he grabbed hold of the Rosario's rigging and released the grapnel rope into the churning water.
The grey-sailed ship had come to a halt, the smoke swirling in the wind. With satisfaction that he had struck a decisive blow, Will settled against the rail to watch the mounting conflagration. A second later he heard movement at his back. Barrett was there, and Stanbury, and several others drawing closer.
'Spy!' Barrett snarled.
Will had a second to guess Barrett had seen him dispose of Hawksworth's body, and then a fist laid him flat.
He came round to the silver of a new day, wrists bound behind him, head still ringing, a light breeze caressing his bruised face. As his vision cleared, he saw he was on a forecastle, looking down at a crew gathered in a crescent. They stared back at him with hateful eyes. At the front stood Medina Sidonia and several of the other Spanish commanders; it appeared he had been transported from the Rosario to the San Martin. Nearby, the grey- sailed ship listed, although no fire damage was visible from his vantage point. He guessed he had been under observation since he had killed Hawksworth, and his boarding of the grey-sailed ship had been the final condemning evidence against him.
Don Alanzo stepped before him. Though he attempted to remain aloof, a deep hatred burned in his eyes. 'You are like a disease, infecting the very heart of our glorious empire,' he said quietly. 'But we have a cure.'
'Your empire is already black and corrupted. Your sister knows the truth, Don Alanzo.'
In a blaze of anger, Don Alanzo made to strike Will, but caught himself. 'Your part in this business is now done.' He paused. 'By business, I mean life.'
'So, an execution at sea. Do I not have the right to be heard?'
'A spy has no rights.'
'I hope you feel the same if you are ever captured on English soil.' He nodded towards the grey-sailed ship. 'Should you ever reach England. Without your dogs, you are a toothless opponent.'
Don Alanzo's cheeks flushed. 'Our allies are already at work repairing their vessel. You have caused a delay, not an end.'
'With England's ships so close, a delay may be more than enough.'
Don Alanzo held Will's gaze. 'I know the inner workings that drive you.' A shadow crossed his face, and for a moment Will understood him too. 'You have no regard for your life, and there is little I can do that will cause you pain,' he continued. 'But you must know punishment for your crimes before you die ... for your crimes against Spain, and against my family. Against me.'
'There is nothing you can do-' Will was cut short by the flash of a familiar face in the crowd as Barrett and Stanbury dragged Grace to the front. Her frightened eyes looked up at him in desperation.
'Leave her alone!' he snapped.
'I had no wish to harm her. You did this. You brought her to misery. Let that stain your conscience as you die.'
'There is much of the Unseelie Court in your cruelty,' Will said.
Don Alanzo winced, but there was still some joy in his eyes at the pain he was causing Will.
'Do not kill her,' Will pleaded.
'I will not. She is vital to our allies' plans, and therefore to our plans. But I can protect her no longer. I allowed her to sail on La Arca de las Mujeres to keep her safe from harm. You have forfeited that right. She will be taken from here to that ship ...' He indicated the grey-sailed vessel. '... and she will travel with our allies.'
'No!' Will cried. He tried to throw himself at Don Alanzo, but a guard caught his arms and flung him to the deck. 'No man or woman can abide being among them for any period. Their very presence is corrupting. She could be driven mad, or worse. You know this!'
'On your head,' Don Alanzo said quietly.
Grace cried out as Barrett and Stanbury roughly dragged her towards the rail to transport her by rope to the grey-sailed ship. In fury, Will renewed his efforts to reach Don Alanzo and felt the pommel of the guard's sword crash against the back of his head, plunging him into unconsciousness once more.
When he came round again, Grace was nowhere to be seen. He was leaning against the rail, a rope wrapped around him and stretching across the deck, the other end trailing over the side into the water. Two teams of men waited on either rail so he could be pulled tight against the barnacled keel.
'We have no time to waste here, or I would relish inflicting suffering on you,' Don Alanzo said. 'Your death will be quick, but your suffering no less for haste.'
'Do it, then.' Will's head was hazy from the punishment of two blows. 'I have damaged your plans. My life is a fair price if it brings you to your knees.'
Don Alanzo ignored Will's taunting. He appeared calmer now that he could see Will's end was close. 'You are not a seafaring man. Nor am I. Punishment at sea has its own particular flavour, I am told. What you are about to undergo has proven effective in the Dutch navy, according to the mercenaries aboard.'
Will's gaze followed the trailing rope. 'Keelhauling,' he said.
Don Alanzo nodded. 'Pulled tight and fast, the rope will drag you down, under the water, and along the keel. Barnacles affixed to the keel will slice through clothes, and tear off skin, and the bloody prisoner that emerges on the other side of the ship is thereby made repentant. Pulled slack and slow, the prisoner hangs beneath the keel, and drowns. Either way, you will not survive this ordeal.'
Unbidden, the terrible, shattering sensation of drowning Will had experienced in the Fairy House flashed across his mind. With all his will, he fought back the wave of terror. 'Come, then. I would not delay your encounter with my countrymen. Your own reckoning awaits.' He cast one eye towards the grey-sailed ship, and tried not to think of Grace.
At Don Alanzo's nod, Barrett and Stanbury lifted Will onto the rail, and then steadied the rope trailing from his back. On the other side of the deck, four sailors prepared to drag him under.
'And so the debt to my father is paid,' Don Alanzo began. 'This day-'
'Do not torture me with prattle.' Will flashed lion Alanzo a defiant grin, and leapt from the rail. He took pleasure in Barrett's angry cry as the rope burned through his hands, and then he hit the water. The cold shocked the last of the wool from his head. His lungful of air would not last long. The two teams of sailors both now had the rope taut, dragging him directly beneath the ship where he was held tight against the barnacle-encrusted hull.
The air burned in his lungs, and however much he tried, he could not escape the haunting sense-memories of his torture in Edinburgh.
With a tremendous effort, he ignored the panic pricking his thoughts, the flashes of what would happen the moment he exhausted his breath, the water rushing into his lungs, the feeling of being trapped. By will alone, he calmed himself.
Pressing his right arm against the keel, he released the trigger on the hidden blade in the leather forearm guard under his shirtsleeve. He prayed he would have the opportunity to thank Dee for his ingenuity.
Twisting, he rubbed his restraining rope against the blade, which quickly frayed and broke under the sharp edge. He drifted down from the keel, towards the dark depths.
His lungs burned. He could not last much longer without another breath. On deck, they would realise the rope had broken and would be watching out for him. Kicking out for the stern, he surfaced just beyond the rudder before his lungs burst, and trod water. They would not be able to see him from above, but one of the other ships might spy him if he waited too long. From above came the calls of his enemies as they hung over the rails searching the water.
With difficulty, he rubbed the bonds at his wrists along the edge of the rudder, and after several attempts, the wet ropes loosened until he was able to wriggle his hands free.
Gulping air, he continued underwater beneath the next ship. The rest of the fleet was visible all around, but they would be too distracted preparing for the battle to see him in the water. After a brief rest, he carried on, surfacing for air at every ship, until he reached open water.
He was free, but adrift in the middle of the English Channel. How long could he survive before exhaustion dragged him down to his death?
