Pirate Wolf Trilogy (44 page)

“
I wanted
señor Pitt to come back to me,” she said simply. “I wanted him to
take me with him, but this he most angrily would not
do.”

“A plague o’
that goin’ around,” Spit remarked under his breath.

“He wishes to
marry me and I wish to marry him, but we are not married yet and he
should not be able to tell me what I may and what I may not
do.”

In all the time
the duchess had been aboard, Beau estimated she had probably not
sent more than two or three words in her direction, but she stared
at her now, dumbfounded.

“She’s right,”
Beau said, and looked at Spence. “She is absolutely right, you
know.”

The two pair of
tiger eyes read each other’s thoughts and brought a groan up from
Spit’s throat.

“Ahh, Jaysus.
Tell me ye’re not thinkin’ what I think ye’re thinkin’”.

Spence’s eyes
narrowed. “I’m only thinkin’—sometimes ye have to take heed o’ the
flag we fly up top. That’s England’s flag, an’ she’s in trouble,
an’ that means, by my mind, we should be doing what we can to help,
not slinkin’ away with our tails tucked ’atween our legs. What say
you, daughter?”

“I say it is a
sad day indeed when someone tells Jonas Spence where he may and
where he may not sail his ship.”

Spence drew a
deep breath to swell his chest. “Aye. So it would be. We’d have to
put it to the whole crew. Wouldn’t be right not to; they’ve earned
the right to go home an’ spend their hard-won gold.”

“Then let’s put
it to them, and see what they say.”

PART
THREE

CADIZ

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Simon
Dante had early misgivings about the
Scout.
She was designed to be light and fast, yet there was
evidence of weakness in the masts and the rudder took far too long
to ponder an order before it obeyed.

Most of the
guns had given Pitt cause to suspect they had been cannibalized off
prize ships, for they were of varying calibers and quality, some
bearing the stamp of an Italian foundry, some English, some
Spanish. He had insisted on testing them with live ammunition—a
waste young Carleill had strongly opposed. Pitt was not fond of the
Italian style of building their cannon in sections of banded iron
and bolting them together in the trough of a carriage; two of these
built-up culverins had obviously outlived their usefulness and
cracked apart on the first live shot. He was able to bastard them
into one almost adequate gun, but another of the cast-iron
falconets he simply unbolted and let fall into the sea. Most of the
powder had to be reground to a finer consistency and brought up out
of the damp hold to dry out properly in the sun.

Still, it was a
ship and Dante was in command again and for the two weeks it took
to sail around Cape Saint Vincent, he and Pitt drilled on the guns
and on the rigging, startling most of the crew into becoming, if
not better sailors, at least more alert sailors. At all times of
the day and even in the dead of night, a sudden roll of drums would
signal the men to turn to, cutlasses, muskets, and pikes in hand
for boarding and hand-to-hand-combat drill. It was Lucifer who took
command of these, and in the same two-week period a good many of
the men were terrified into becoming able swordsmen.

In his
eagerness to reach Cadiz, Drake allowed no further delays for
discussions or consultations. The Queen’s galleons were first to
test coastal waters under their keels, and by the second to last
day of April, dawn found the entire fleet lying off San Lucar de
Barrameda, easily within striking distance of the Spanish port.

At noon
he assembled his captains on board the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
for a final council of war and
told them, in the simplest terms possible, what he wanted, what he
expected from them.

“The wind is
with us. The sun is behind us. And by the grace of God, we shall
capture the best part of Cadiz before this night falls.”

He
ordered their colors struck so as to avoid early identification
from any swift flyboats that might be patroling the area. He
invited Dante to go over, one more time in as much detail as he
could recall, the configuration of the harbor and its defenses. An
hour, no more, and the fleet was under way, the gun decks cleared
for action, the ship’s surgeons ready with their saws and pincers,
their mortars and lint. Drummers stood ready on deck wiping beads
of moisture from their upper lips, shifting nervously from foot to
foot, occasionally dragging a hand down their breeches to dry the
palms. Gunners readied their shot and cartridges, lit the slow
fuses in their linstocks, and stood by the cannon, enjoying the
silence and crystal-clear air, murmuring prayers, wondering if it
would be the last glimpse of blue sky and foaming whitecaps they
would see.

On board
the
Scout
Dante had
the dubious pleasure of watching the quartet comprised of the
Queen’s faster-sailing galleons stretch their lead in front of him.
The
Scout
was not
alone in her tardiness; many of the private vessels traveled in the
same pack, including Victor Bloodstone. Whether by accident or
design the
Talon
kept pace
with the
Scout
, always a
little to the rear and off the starboard quarter. Behind them the
five remaining pinnaces struggled through the turbulence of the
fleet’s wake, tacking back and forth like fleas trying to avoid
being capsized by the heavy waves.

Dante was on
the afterdeck watching some of their antics when Pitt joined
him.

“We’re about as
ready as we’ll ever be.”

Dante nodded
grimly at the assessment, then his gaze went back to the
horizon.

“Is it still
there?”

The sun was too
bright, dancing off the tops of the waves, making each pinpoint of
light resemble a suit of sails. But for three days now, early in
the morning and last thing at night, something had been out there,
riding low on the horizon, a mere speck of white at dawn, a nagging
itch at the nape of the neck throughout the night.

Dante’s
first thought had leaned toward a Spanish zabra or a Portuguese
urca bound in the same direction as their fleet. His second,
supported by Carleill and considered by Pitt, was a supply boat or
even a treasure ship heading for Cadiz to be refitted. In reality,
it could have been any of a thousand ships that regularly passed
back and forth between the gates of the Mediterranean, yet neither
Pitt nor Dante believed it for longer than it took to read the
suspicion in each other’s eyes.

“You don’t
suppose—”

“If it is,”
Dante had replied with quiet menace, “I will kill her myself.”

Both men
had looked back at the distant speck on the horizon, not wanting to
believe it was possible, yet, when it was still there three days
later, with no visible sign of the ship either speeding up to
overtake them or falling off to veer into another port, both were
more than half convinced it was the
Egret
.

“I truly will
throttle her,” Dante murmured, barely moving his lips. “I will
close my hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes squirt
out of her head and her tongue turns black.”

“Maybe it isn’t
them. Maybe it is, as Carleill suggests, a cautious mariner
reluctant to advance on such a large fleet.”

Dante stared at
the green of the distant sea, then into the green of Pitt’s
eyes.

Neither one of
them believed it for a minute.

At
roughly four in the afternoon the great limestone seawall on which
the town of Cadiz sat rose up from the sea, the harbor behind it
bristling with a forest of masts and rigging. Heedless of William
Borough’s expectations of courtesy, Drake led his galleons into the
bay, giving no warning of their intent until they were past the
outermost spit of land. Two large galleys put out officiously from
the Port of Saint Mary on the opposite side of the harbor, wanting
to inquire after his business. They were shallow-draught vessels,
driven by oars, and at the first thunderous volley from the
Bonaventure’s
guns, their curiosity was
satisfied and they made an abrupt turnaround, stroking furiously
for the shoals where they knew no galleon could follow.

Drake hoisted
the Cross of St. George on his mainmast. When he ran his own
pennants and standards up the lines to announce to the town of
Cadiz that the Dragon of the Apocalypse had arrived, the
pandemonium onshore and in the crowded harbor was visible. The
streets clogged instantly with citizens running, screaming, for the
safety of the Citadel. Soldiers were dispatched from the fortress
in a scramble of disorganization and lined the top of the cliffs
like small black spikes of hair, their presence there as useless
and ineffectual as the muskets they fired or waved in the air.

Drake
ordered the
Bonaventure
straight into the massed crowd of shipping anchored
alongside the quays. He took a moment to admire how closely the
tightly packed formations resembled the paintings Dante had removed
from the
San
Pedro
, and with the
admiration still shining in his eyes, he gave the order to open
fire. He loosed three full broadsides into their midst before
sheering off. The privateers behind him did likewise before
breaking off into smaller packs and attacking selected portions of
the harbor. Many of the supply ships and galleons that were in
Cadiz being refitted for war were indeed without sails and were
hapless targets for the guns of the Queen’s privateers. Some of the
smaller vessels that could move cut their anchor cables and tried
to bolt, but they were no match for the sea hawks, and in short
order the bay was filled with smoke and noise, there were ships
burning and ships sinking, few, if any, with the means or ability
to answer with their guns.

A second
small fleet of galleys attempted to rally and do what they could to
deter the English and keep the mouth of the channel that led to the
inner harbor open for escaping ships. They threw themselves at
the
Elizabeth
Bonaventure
, but with
the other three Royal Navy warships riding off her flanks, the
galleys were dispatched, five of them in flames, the other two with
shattered oars and battered courage.

Dante had
managed to stay in the shadow of the
Bonaventure
, offering his support against the galleys.
Wanting to give his crew confidence, he selected one of the slower
ships and stalked it precariously close to the shoals, blasting
away as quickly as the men could reload and fire. Through a break
in the smoke he caught sight of one of the galleons making
laboriously toward the mouth of the channel and he understood at
once why the galleys had thrown themselves into the suicidal
attack. On her foremast she flew the standard incorporating the
arms of Portugal, Leon, Castile, and Naples; at the main, the
crossed keys of the papacy; on the mizzen, the red-and-white ensign
of Spain; and on the stern, the enormous banner with Philip’s royal
arms.

It was
the forty-four-gun
Santa Ana
, the
flagship of Philip’s favored admiral, the Marquis of Santa
Cruz.

Dante
looked for Drake, but either the
Bonaventure
had not noticed the
rata
behind her shield of smaller vessels, or he was too
preoccupied with the galleys to break free.

Once more
Dante had cause to rue the inadequate firepower of the
Scout;
her guns would be no match for
the enormous Spaniard. But what he could do, and what he did do,
was order the helm about to put her on a direct course to
intercept, hoping to delay the
rata’s
retreat into the inner harbor or at least block the deep
water in the center of the channel.

“Full sail,
Mister Carleill; bring us in across her bow.”

They
would have to look sharp if they were going to cut the
Santa Ana
off, and when there was no
immediate response from the helm, he whirled around and stared at
the white-faced Edward Carleill.

“Helmsman! Did
you hear my order?”

“Sir … she’ll
ram us!”

“Not if you
bring her in fast enough!”

“There is no
room behind her. You’ll drive us into the shoals!”

“Either relay
my order, helmsman, or I’ll bring her in myself!”

The
Santa Ana
had
manned her guns. A full broadside erupted from her beam, sending
shot screaming through the
Scout’s
tops, tearing sail and rigging and adding a curtain of
thick smoke to further cloak her movements. She was gathering
speed. Men were in her yards piling on sail, others were on deck
running out more guns, bringing her lower tier to readiness. A
blast from a second broadside found a man on the
Scout’s
mizzen, sweeping him off the
yard and showering the afterdeck in red droplets. Carleill looked
aghast at the spatters on his mustard-colored doublet and reeled
back in horror.

“
Mister
Carleill!”

It was no
use and Dante furiously took command of the helm himself, shouting
orders to the tops, spurring the men—who were themselves not
accustomed to working the lines with iron shots zinging by their
heads—into realigning the sails to grab the windage. His one small
advantage was the momentum he had carried forward from the initial
run into the harbor, and at his orders the
Scout
took a noticeable leap forward, shaking off her
lethargy as if coming to realize she would have no choice with a
madman at her helm.