Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (10 page)

Valentine smiled slightly, for Sir Charles was a harmless gentleman. "I had not yet left England when Geoffrey Christian sailed, but I had already signed on with Drake. Otherwise, I would have been aboard the
Arion
the day she sank."

"Didn't know Christian that well, of course, but seems strange to me he'd attack the Spanish like he did, what with his own wife and child being aboard," Sir Charles commented in disapproval, for public opinion had turned against Geoffrey Christian's reckless act.

"He would not have," Valentine said.

"You sound certain of that."

"I am, Sir Charles. I knew Geoffrey Christian, and he would never have attacked a fleet of galleons, not with Magdalena and his daughter aboard, and certainly not if he knew he could not win. Nor would he have jeopardized Basil's life, especially if-" he began, then shrugged and turned his gaze away from Sir Francis Walsingham and Lord Burghley. He had no proof that Basil had been working for them, but he did have his suspicions-
-
even if they were just that.

"Wasn't it from a report by the Spanish ambassador that you and Lady Elspeth were informed of the sinking of the
Arion
? The witnesses did say that the Spanish ships had to fire on the
Arion
in self-defense. You have to admit, Valentine, that Geoffrey Christian did not make his reputation as a privateer by turning tail. I imagine he made himself a few enemies, and the Spanish claim he'd been doing a bit of raiding along the Main before he was sunk. The man was fond of trouble, Valentine. He looked for it. Why get himself a Spanish wife, otherwise? No, I'm afraid he was a belligerent fellow, and this time he got in a fight he couldn't win."

Valentine Whitelaw's lips were tight as he said, "You have only the word of the Spanish ambassador, and your witnesses are the Spanish captains who would have rejoiced in sending Geoffrey Christian to the bottom. Even against the odds, Geoffrey Christian was unbeatable-if he'd even had half a chance, he would have survived," Valentine Whitelaw speculated.

Sir Charles looked pityingly at the younger man. "You were not there, Valentine. I'm afraid that no one knows exactly what happened that day. The truth is buried with those unfortunates aboard the
Arion
, and she's on the bottom of the sea."

"One day, I will find the truth. I owe Basil and Geoffrey Christian that much at least," he said softly.

Sir Charles coughed uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry I missed out on Drake's latest venture. I hear, too late now of course since he's already sailed, that he needed investors. Sailing to Alexandria, is he? Would like to get in on some of that trade."

Valentine Whitelaw smiled slightly. That was exactly what Drake, and his investors, among them Elizabeth, wanted people, especially the Spanish to believe
-
-that Drake was bound for the Mediterranean, where he would trade English goods for spices. In truth, Francis Drake was up to his old tricks. He had devised a bold plan of attack against the Spanish, intending to sail round South America and into the mostly unexplored waters of the Pacific, where he planned to attack the port city of Panama and loot it of its gold and silver before the treasure could be sent by pack mule to Nombre di Dios on the
Caribbean
side of the isthmus. He also intended to try to establish a profitable trade with the islands of the Far East. Less than a month ago he had set sail in the
Pelican
, accompanied by four other ships and a company of over one hundred fifty men.

"If you ever need any private monies, Valentine, for your ventures, you just say the word and I'm committed for a handsome sum. Seems unnatural to me, seeing the other side of the world like Drake has," he said, a touch of envy in his voice. "Lord help us, but he'll be wantin' to sail to the stars next."

"Or at least around the world? 'Sdeath, but I can't even find my way safely around London, much less the world," George commented. "Still don't believe 'tis round," he added with a wink.

"Where was it you found that manservant of yours anyway?" Sir Charles suddenly demanded. "Don't mind telling you that he makes me more than a little nervous, Valentine. Made a wager with Roeburton that he's one of these eunuchs."

"God's light, I had no idea!" George said in amazement as he raised an inquiring eyebrow at the robust Henry Roeburton, who was standing not more than ten feet away.

"Not Henry, damn it!" Sir Charles said in exasperation, glaring at George's innocent expression. "The manservant! Valentine's valet de chambre, or-
-
or-
-
steward, or
-
-or whatever he is!" Sir Charles said huffily.

"Oh, the
Turk
," George said, finally seeming to understand. "He's Turkish, and I for one am not about to ask him so personal a question," George advised them, thinking of the Turk's size and unsmiling countenance, and the curved blade of the scimitar that swung at his waist.

"Man doesn't say much, either. Did he have his tongue cut out? Hear 'tis the way these sultans keep their servants from giving away court secrets. He's not one of those dervishes, is he?" he asked with such a look of concern on his face, that George Hargraves nearly glanced over his shoulder
expecting
to see a bare-chested Turk come leaping and whirling into the center of Elizabeth's court with a bloodcurdling howl that would have the ladies fainting. "Can't see why you took him on as your servant," Sir Charles said, keeping an uneasy eye on George's grinning face and not daring to ask what he was thinking.

"I did not have much say in the matter," Valentine remarked, remembering how he had seen the lone, turbaned man fighting for his life against half a dozen armed men in a bazaar in Alexandria
.
.
.

Not liking to see anyone outnumbered in a fight, whatever the circumstances, he had come to the man's aid, and just in time, for the Turk had been wounded and was losing ground as fast as blood. Standing back to back, they had each faced with sword and dagger drawn a trio of angry Arabians, fanatically bent on beheading the Turk, and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing between them and their quarry. Valentine Whitelaw had found himself in a fight for his own life; with a fierce determination equal to the Arabs', but borne of wishing to see England again, he had vanquished two of the Turk's attackers. And with the timely intervention of several of his crew, who had seen their captain's predicament and charged in unmindful of the danger, they had quickly routed the others.

The fight over, the Turk had turned to face his unexpected ally. The dark, impenetrable eyes had met briefly the Englishman's clear-eyed gaze, then the seriously wounded Turk had fallen unconscious to the ground. Belatedly, Valentine Whitelaw had realized that he couldn't walk off and leave the man he had just saved lying helpless in the bazaar and at the mercy of his attackers, who were sure to return in greater numbers. Since no one stepped forward to claim the wounded man, Valentine had taken him back to his ship, where he'd seen that the stranger was nursed back to health.

Although the Turk had never spoken of his previous life, Valentine, assisted by a local merchant
he had traded with, learned tha
t
the Turk had been a Janizary and had served the great Ali Pasha in the battle at Lepanto. The Turkish fleet had been destroyed by the Venetians and her Christian allies in their crusade against the Ottoman empire and the followers of Islam. Surviving the slaughter, the Turk had then joined Uluch Ali, an Algerian corsair, who had also been one of the fortunate few to survive the battle and who had returned to Constantinople a powerful man.

The
merchant, a dealer in the finest Turkish carpets, had heard on one of his travels that the man Valentine knew only as the Turk was called Mustafa and had killed an influential pasha in the Sultan's court. The Turk had fallen in love with a slave girl who had been sold to a North African sheik by this same court official, despite the Turk's request for the girl and willingness to pay an exorbitant amount of gold for her. A northern European with the pale hair and eyes that would bring a high price on the market when she was sold as a concubine to a wealthy Muslim in Alexandria or Madagascar, she had been too valuable not to auction off to the highest bidder.

After taking his revenge against the pasha, the Turk had followed the girl to Egypt, and that was all the merchant could tell him about the man whose life Valentine had just saved. Although, the merchant had added after a quick glance around to make certain he was not overheard, since the Englishman had always dealt
fairly
with him, he could tell him this: Several sailors aboard a galley recently arrived from Constantinople had told a tale about a pale-haired girl jumping into the sea to drown rather than become a concubine to the sheik who had bought her. With a secretive look, the merchant had whispered the name of the feared sheik whose galley that had been and whose men had been the ones who had attacked the Turk in the bazaar. When the galley had docked, a madman had stormed aboard searching for the girl. During the ensuing scuffle, the sheik's favorite son and several guards who had been aboard at the time to protect the sheik's newly arrived concubines were killed. The attack on the Turk in the bazaar had been an act of retribution; that was why the Englishman should not have interfered. If he valued his life, the merchant had warned, he should leave Alexandria immediately.

A dagger thrown from an unknown assassin's hand the very next day had convinced Valentine of the expediency of following the merchant's advice, and he had wasted little time in leaving Alexandria. However, the Turk had sailed with them. Through the merchant's nervous translation. Valentine had understood the Turk to say that Valentine now owned his life, that he would serve him loyally and to the death. His life was his to command.

Valentine had no choice; the man had no place to go. He could not return to his home in Constantinople, nor could he stay in Alexandria or anywhere in North Africa. When Valentine had agreed to allow the Turk to stay on board ship, he had thought he might be able to find the man something useful to do, and then, when they reached a safe port, the man could go about his business or stay on board as a member of the crew. Never had Valentine imagined that the Turk would so seriously devote his life to serving him, or that the Turk would so quickly become indispensable to him.

To have called the Turk merely a manservant would have been incorrect as well as demeaning. He was a man of many trades. Although trained as a soldier, he easily learned the skills of a seaman. With a pride that none dared question, he now served his new master as steward, valet, and
-
-many had learned to their regret
-
-as Valentine Whitelaw's protector. Even Valentine had difficulty remembering the countless times during the past years when the Turk's sword had deflected a surely fatal blow meant for him.

"Eli
-
- 'Sdeath, but she's coming this way," Thomas Sandrick said suddenly, an expression of awed appreciation spreading across his handsome face.

"Elizabeth?" George exclaimed, dropping onto his bended knee in anticipation of being presented to Her Majesty.

"No, Eliza Valchamps," Thomas Sandrick said reverently as his eyes feasted on the vision of loveliness approaching.

George Hargraves turned as bright as the fair one's gown. Pretending to straighten his hose, he quickly stood, not daring to catch anyone's eye. But he needn't have worried, for all eyes, including Valentine
Whitelaw’s
, were held by the unparalleled beauty of the woman accompanying young Eliza Valchamps.

Cordelia Howard's black eyes flashed with amusement as she came to a halt before them and declared, "I do fear Elizabeth's wrath should she catch a gentleman down on bended knee before anyone but herself. Please remember that in future, George. I value my position at court too much to lose it over a smitten beau who forgets himself while in public.
Sir
Charles, Thomas," she greeted them courteously enough, but when she turned to Valentine Whitelaw her eyes were burning with an unnatural brightness.

"Cordelia," he murmured.

"I did not know you had returned from your latest voyage," she commented, a pout forming on her lovely mouth. "I never can remember where 'tis you go or why. By my faith, but it seems as if you've been away more during the last couple of years than you've been here. One of these days, Valentine, you will return to England to discover that few people of your acquaintance even remember you."

Valentine smiled. "I trust not everyone. One always hopes that the affections of friends
.
.
.
and acquaintances
.
.
.
will remain unchanged no matter how much time passes. Reunions can be so rewarding," he said. "Haven't you found that to be true?"

Cordelia remained silent for a moment, as if indeed remembering. "You know little Eliza Valchamps? She's a very distant cousin of mine, and Raymond Valchamps's youngest sister. Five more ahead of her, and it nearly bankrupted the family marrying them all off. Lord, what a feat," she said with a laugh that caused a painful-looking blush to spread across Eliza's paling cheeks. "That is why dear Eliza is in London. We must find her a husband, although, I fear 'twill be a bit difficult, since she has hardly more than pittance as dowry, and
.
.
.
well," Cordelia left the rest unspoken, for although Eliza had fine eyes and a delicate profile, next to Cordelia's raven-haired, dark-eyed beauty, she paled into a mousy insignificance.