under way, or it may be biding its time to emerge with the greatest impact. We must not be blinded by the illusion of this small victory. The darkest hours lie ahead.'
Will and the others snatched a few hours' sleep, and at first light they were awoken by the blare of trumpets and the boom of Howard's signal gun. Anchors broke water next to all of the hundred and fifty ships in the English feet, sails unfurled into the morning wind, and within the hour they were away in pursuit of the enemy. Word went from ship to ship that as a mark of Drake's brilliance in the campaign he would be allowed to lead the attack on the Spanish.
Medina Sidonia pursued his scattered vessels along the coast in a desperate attempt to bring his Armada back together. With a southwesterly propelling them at speed, the Revenge spearheaded the English squadrons in pursuit, through the Straits of Dover and into the North Sea.
Will never took his gaze from the horizon in his lookout for the greysailed ship, but the first ones he saw were Spanish, seven miles off Gravelines, a small port in Flanders under Spanish control. At the rear was Medina Sidonia's San Martin. Will knew the Spanish commander would realise he had no options. Trying to flee would doom his fleet on the sandbanks and shoals that lined the coast, the sea-marks removed by his Dutch enemies. All he could do was turn and fight.
Courtenay clapped his hands in eager anticipation. 'What a day for blood!' he bellowed.
With the Spanish in such disarray, the English were not afraid to confront them at close quarters. The battle began at nine a.m. as the Revenge closed on the San Martin, and within seconds the air was thick with shot from both fleets. Even the constant sound of the sea was lost beneath the rolling thunder of guns never silenced.
Drake held his fire until he was within fifty yards of his opponent and then released the bow guns followed by the broadsides. Medina Sidonia responded in kind, the shot tearing holes in both ships.
'Sea warfare is madness,' Carpenter hissed to Will. 'Give me a knife in a dark room every time. Two swords at most, but definitely on land.'
'Drake is not mad.' Will watched the furious battle. 'He has his flaws, but he is a brave man. He has thrown himself into the forefront to take the Spanish guns.'
The San Martin came off worse. The Spanish seamen were not trained to reload the cannon rapidly, unlike their English counterparts, and as increasing amounts of damage were inflicted on the Spanish flagship, their ability to respond diminished rapidly. Chain-shot ripped through rigging and sail. The four-inch-thick planking just above the waterline shattered under Drake's heavier guns.
After his initial attack had weakened the vessel, Drake pulled away to lead his squadron in pursuit of the other Spanish warships, leaving Frobisher and the Triumph to continue the slow destruction of the San Martin.
Courtenay bellowed his orders as he strode about the deck, and the Tempest set off behind the Revenge.
Seeing their flagship in a desperate state, other Armada warships sailed to protect it, and with some luck managed to re-form their defensive crescent formation. The English fleet swept in to pound the wings relentlessly. The Revenge fired continuously into the dense mass of Spanish ships, almost without aiming. The barrage was so intense the smoke from the guns blocked out the sun, and the air was filled with a constant rain of exploding wood. The gunfire was so loud that every conversation had to be carried out at a bellow, but still the screams of the dying and wounded Spanish sailors rose above it. Will could see its chilling effect on all the seamen aboard the Tempest; though it was the enemy, the suffering left no one untouched.
The Tempest sailed into the thick of the battle where there was little room for maneuver, the way ahead obscured by dense smoke, the ships so closely packed in the ferocity of their combat that it was possible to see the death throes of the enemy.
In the galleasses, hundreds of slaves chained to the oars fell where they had sat for days, under fire from arquebusiers or shot from the English galleons. On one warship, the Spanish commander's head exploded in a mist of blood and bone from a piece of random shot. Another commander's hand disintegrated, a third lost his leg at the knee. Some resembled pincushions from the shards of wood rammed into their bodies after the cannon blasted apart the hardwood of their ships. They staggered back and forth across the deck, all sense lost. Blood sluiced across the boards as deeply as seawater at the height of a storm.
Carpenter was increasingly sickened by the intensity of the sea battle. 'Every fight I have seen on the waves since I joined the fleet has been worse than the previous one,' he said in a low tone of horror. 'This is slaughter not fit for animals.'
'And they would do the same to us if they had the opportunity,' Will replied. 'We do what we have to, to survive. There will be shouts of glory for whoever wins this day, but we here on both sides know there is none in it.'
For nearly nine hours the battle raged, as the Tempest roamed the perimeter of the dense mass of Spanish ships searching for the true Enemy. The smoke was so thick even the topmen could not see far ahead. Launceston had been entranced by the parade of atrocities and the sickening gush of blood, but in a shift of smoke caused by the explosion of a powder store, a movement caught his eye, and he pointed beyond the immediate carnage. 'There!'
Hoving into view through the drifting smoke, beyond the fire of the explosions, were grey sails.
'Captain Courtenay!' Will yelled. 'The chase is on!'
Bloody John ordered the helmsman to change direction as the crew scrambled on deck. The Tempest shifted course in pursuit of the grey-sailed ship, already lost to the dense smoke.
The Spanish ships were too concerned with basic survival to give the Tempest any attention. Through the collapsing enemy formation it swept, past tightly contained dramas of death and destruction where ships fought onesided duels.
Speeding to the forecastle, Will, Carpenter, and Launceston searched the drifting acrid clouds for another sign of their prey. Finally, they broke through to a clear stretch of sea. The grey-sailed ship raced ahead with nearsupernatural speed and maneuverability. It far exceeded the capabilities of any other vessel present, yet it was still falling short of the peak performance Will had witnessed on the journey from Spain.
He could just make out that repairs were still under way on the black ened side that he had damaged with the fire. New timbers had been fitted, but there was a faint list to the vessel, like a wounded beast limping to its lair to recover. Whatever trouble he had caused, it had prevented the greysailed ship from following its ritual protective route among the fleet, and, perhaps, stopped it releasing whatever weapon it carried on board. He wondered how different things would have been if it had been in any state to take part in the fight off the Isle of Wight, and then near Calais.
'Your requirements, Master Swyfte?' Courtenay asked.
'First, try to contain it against the other ships, and then we shall see how it withstands a broadside or two.'
'And then prepare to board?'
Will hesitated, not wanting to inflict the toxic contact with the Unseelie Court on the Tempest's crew. 'There is nothing worth plundering aboard that foul vessel, Captain.'
'We should send it straight to the bottom,' Carpenter said. 'Silver Skull and all.'
Will couldn't argue with him, but the thought of Grace still aboard chilled him. 'We will decide on our future options as the situation unfolds, Captain,' he said, not knowing what he would do if he was forced to choose.
Nodding his agreement, Courtenay called for the master gunner to prepare his men on the gun deck. The Tempest ploughed through the swell, but the grey-sailed ship easily remained ahead en route to the English fleet attacking the southeastern wing of the Armada formation.
'Why now?' Will mused. 'They have held their cover in the most desperate circumstances and not used their weapon.' The answer struck him the moment he had finished speaking. 'Unless their repairs have now ensured enough speed to escape whatever carnage their weapon wreaks.'
As he spoke, he glimpsed a glimmer of movement as something small and writhing passed over the grey- sailed ship's rail and fell into the sea. In the water, a shadow grew rapidly as though whatever had been dumped there was increasing in size at a phenomenal rate. Within moments a black tube of water barrelled towards them, a furrow of white surf breaking the surface.
'In the name of God, what is that?' Carpenter breathed.
An anxious cry to the helmsman echoed behind them. They turned to see Courtenay hanging over the rail to peer into the sea, his face white and strained. Leaning hard on the wheel, the helmsman began a barely percep
