Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (7 page)

"Is it a boy?" Lily asked curiously. "How can you tell, Master Randall?"

"Ah, well, uh
.
.
." Joshua Randall, who'd seen most everything there was to see, and had heard it all, now blushed brightly under Lily's frank gaze. "Reckon the critter's too young for it to really matter one way or t'other," he concluded lamely.

"I think you are probably right, though. He's got whiskers. Only men have whiskers, Master Randall."

"Ye be right, lass," he quickly agreed, for he'd hate to have it come to the captain's attention that he'd been telling Mistress Lily things a young lady shouldn't be knowing about.

"I'm going to call him Capabells. Do you know why?"

Master Randall rubbed his bearded chin in deep reflection. "No, can't say that I do, young mistress."

"Because he reminds me of the court jester. Father says we are going to make him a tiny velvet cap with bells on it so he can perform for Her Majesty when we return to London," Lily confided, then squealed when the little monkey with bright eyes climbed onto her shoulder and pulled her hair before scampering off, his excited
chatter daring her to follow.

Joshua Randall had a moment's vision of what might happen should the monkey jump onto Her Majesty's slim shoulder and grab hold of one of the queen's red curls, for rumor had it she wore a wig. Then he noticed his captain's narrowed gaze lingering on him and quickly put that scene out of his mind and hustled below to complete his duties, which, he grumbled beneath his breath, would take him plenty of time to do. They had just gotten into port, and now they were setting sail again. At the rate they'd been taking on supplies, it seemed as if they really would be back at sea within the week.

It was two days later, in fact, that Doña Magdalena bid farewell to her father. Perhaps Don Rodrigo remembered now how much his daughter resembled his beloved wife, or perhaps he suddenly realized that he would miss his youngest daughter when she left Santo Domingo, maybe never to return.

The imperious facade he had maintained so steadfastly throughout the visit now crumbled, leaving Don Rodrigo looking like the heartsick man he was. Magdalena had made her farewells to her sister first, for Don Rodrigo had stood slightly apart, as stiff-necked and straight-backed as when she had first greeted him after so long and bitter a separation. With a sigh, she turned and faced him. She could delay no longer, for Geoffrey and Lily had already left with Basil and now they waited in the street beyond. Magdalena stood for a moment in indecision, then she rushed forward. Her arms were outstretched to him as they had been on her arrival. This time she found herself not repulsed as she had expected, but instead she was enfolded against his chest in a loving embrace.

"
Padre, mi padre,"
she cried softly, burying her tearstained face against the rich silk of Don Rodrigo's doublet.

"Mi hija,"
he said huskily.
"Mi dulce batata prequeña."

"You forgive me?" she asked.

"All is forgiven
, mi hija,"
he said gruffly. His hand shaking, he caressed the softness of her dark red hair. "You are so like your mother. I shall miss you, as I miss her. Perhaps one day you will return and visit your father. I would like to see my granddaughter again. You can be proud of her. I am pleased she is of my blood. And I am proud of you."

"Thank you,
Padre
. If you knew how long I have ached to hear you say that. Maybe," she added hesitantly, looking beseechingly into his sad eyes, "one day you will come to England and visit me and my family in my home. You will always be welcome,
Padre.
"

"Well, we shall see," Don Rodrigo allowed, but he had not said no, which was more than Magdalena had even hoped for.
"¡Adios!"
he said simply. Then, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead, Don Rodrigo turned away and disappeared into the courtyard.

As the
Arion
set sail from Santo Domingo, Magdalena stood aftmost and watched the coastline fade from sight, her thoughts her own. Sir Basil stood to starboard, watching the waves foaming against the ship's bow as she forged ahead. Lily, Capabells clinging to her shoulder, was watching the men climbing high into the rigging as they followed their captain's orders and made sail, their voices raised in a cheerful song that drifted on the wind. The
Arion
was homeward bound.

The sun's o'ercast with blood
.
.
.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Five

S
etting
every stitch
of canvas she carried, the
Arion
sailed away from the convoy of heavily armed galleons that had been sighted at dawn off her quarter.

The sudden cry, "All hands to quarters!" still rang
harshly in Sir Basil's ears. H
e had been enjoying a leisurely breakfast with the captain and his family when Geoffrey had been summoned on deck, and then it seemed to Sir Basil that all hell had broken loose as men swarmed across the deck and into the rigging, some climbing high into the shrouds. The men-of-war were out of Santiago de Cuba, the garrison that guarded the Windward Passage. Watching their progress as they increased sail and
gave
chase, Geoffrey Christian had smiled, for he knew the Spaniards could never bring their cannons within
range
of the
Arion
. She was too swift and her crew too experienced.

The rugged north coast of Jamaica had fallen astern as the prevailing winds filled the
Arion's
sails and she held steady on her course. The Caymans had been sighted several leagues distant, and had the
Arion
not been under full press of canvas, with the enemy to windward, she might have found a safe channel through the sandbanks surrounding the islands and taken on fresh water there.

As each day passed the
Arion
steadily
made
her way closer to the Gulf of Mexico and the Straits of Florida, where the Gulf Stream would carry them through the dangerous channel of coral reefs, cays, and sandbars. Steering a northeasterly course as she beat into the Atlantic, she would catch the westerlies which would keep her sails billowing and her prow turned toward England.

But off Isla de Pinos, Geoffrey Christian began to suspect that the galleons giving chase had not come upon them by accident and were in fact part of a larger convoy, the vanguard of which could be now maneuvering athwart-hawse of the bows of the
Arion
as she steered toward Cabo San Antonio. Intending to round the cape and enter the narrow channel between Cuba and the outlying islets strung along the southern tip of Florida, the
Arion
might find herself cut off from escape.

Geoffrey Christian did not seem surprised to see the
Estrella D'Alba
assuming the position of flagship. It was all very clear to him now: Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro was about to seek his revenge. The
Arion
had been flanked, with two of the galleons coming in to windward and taking the weather gage. She was outgunned and outmanned; she had nowhere to go. Thinking of Magdalena and Lily, the
Arion's
captain was about to give the order to lower her colors and surrender. It was a cowardly act Geoffrey Christian was loath to do and would not have considered except for the presence on board of his wife and daughter. He'd rather fight to the death than give up his ship, but he would see no harm befall his family just so he could prove his bravery. But before he could give the order to heave-to, several puffs of smoke billowed from the
Estrella D'Alba
as she fired on the lone ship, the volley of screaming cannon balls and grape-shot cutting to pieces everything in its path as it rained down on the quarterdeck of the
Arion
. As Geoffrey Christian gave the order to sheer off, the captain of the
Estrella D'Alba
repeated his command to fire and the
Arion's
deck shuddered beneath a raking broadside that splintered through the railing and planking and sent bloodied bodies of sailors flying across the deck. Another broadside damaged the rigging, cutting a halyard and slicing through canvas, but the
Arion's
gunners managed to get off a volley of shot against one of the galleons that had fallen astern and was now within range of the
Arion's
guns on her larboard side. Quickly they reloaded with powder and ball, ramming it down the cannon's muzzle; then, laying a trail of powder and taking new aim, they ran the gun forward and into position as the powder flared under a slow match, the gun recoiling when she fired with deadly accuracy.

With the
Arion's
longer range cannon, Geoffrey Christian hoped to hold off the galleons while escaping into the channel. There was a strong, northerly current and already one of the galleons that had felt the fury from the
Arion's
gunports was drifting precariously close to the reefs surrounding the pine-studded island lying southeast of the cape. Her rigging and sails hanging splintered and useless, her hull showing gaping wounds, she was certain to run aground. Another galleon that had felt the bite of the
Arion's
guns was listing badly and taking on water.

Sir Basil choked on the acrid smoke and stench of death that permeated the ship as he made his way on deck in time to see the
flash
of fire from one of the galleons bearing down on them, then a roar filled his ears and he threw himself to the deck, expecting to find himself engulfed in flame as the cannon shot exploded around him. but the galleon had been out of range, and her shot fell short of the
Arion's
deck. In that instant, while the galleon's gunners reloaded, the
Arion
cut a path directly across her stern, bringing her guns to bear on the Spaniard's vulnerable backside. A deafening explosion followed in the
Arion's
wake as she sailed past the galleon, now on fire, and made her escape through the hole in the net that Don Pedro thought he had so cunningly spread.

Making his way from the waist of the ship, where a tangle of rigging, spars, and splintered planking blocked his way, Sir Basil finally reached Geoffrey Christian's side. With a look of horror on his haggard face, Basil stared at his friend. A deep, jagged gash cut across the captain's skull, dripping blood down his temple and into his neatly trimmed beard. He was holding his left arm against his chest, and as Basil looked closer, he could see the red stain seeping from the wound.

"Geoffrey?"

"I look worse than I am, Basil. 'Sblood, but I'll have that Spaniard's heart before this battle is done!" he swore, his pale green eyes glowing with a fire that burned deep into Basil's soul. "Magdalena? Lily?" he demanded, but his eyes never left the galleons that were closing ranks behind them and giving chase.

"They were fine, frightened, but unharmed when I came up," Basil reassured him.

"I didn't think we'd taken a hit in that quarter below decks. If Don Pedro lives, he will come to regret this day."

"The
Estrella D'Alba
?" Sir Basil for the first time realized what ship had attacked them and what Spaniard Geoffrey Christian was damning. "I cannot believe it! Surely he knows this is the
Arion
he has fired upon? And that a woman and child are on board?"

"Of course he knows," Geoffrey said, turning his attention to Master Randall and his mates, who were sent up into the rigging to repair the damage to the masts and sails. "I sank Don Pedro's ship. He will never rest easy until he evens that score. he will suffer no pangs of conscience because of the death of Magdalena and Lily, or you and the rest of the crew. He will merely think he was rid the world of a ship full of heretics."

Sir Basil felt ill. "How can Don Pedro explain to Philip, or the priest aboard his ship, his actions in risking his mission just to seek personal vengeance against you?"

"Perhaps he has told them of the incident where Lily spoke of seeing our nervous conspirator. When a man has something to hide, he is abnormally suspicious and quick to believe in threats to his safety, and he will sanction any act, however rash," Geoffrey Christian said, waving away a hovering crew member who was inspecting his captain's
wounds
with a professional eye. "Later. We've got sails to mend and rigging to secure. I haven't time now, James, for your coddling. We want to show Philip's swine what an Englishman can do when the odds are against him."

"Aye, Cap'n, we'll show them our stern all the way home, then we'll turn and spit in their eye."

Sir Basil had hoped they wouldn't come quite that close again, but he had to admit that he felt a similar bloodlust surging through his veins when he thought of Don Pedro's treachery.

"I think you should go below, Basil."

Basil started to protest, but he realized he would just be in the way if he remained on deck. He nodded his agreement. "You expect more trouble, don't you? I thought the battle was over. They won't catch up to us, will they?"

"I am not worried about what lies astern. I'm concerned about what waits for us ahead, in the channel."

"You think there might be
more
fighting?"

"Don Pedro probably alerted the fort in Havana. They control the channel. We must get through there as quickly as possible."

"There is something else worrying you."

Geoffrey Christian smiled. "Where I Don Pedro, I would have taken the precaution of stationing several galleons northwest of here in the Gulf, just beyond the entrance to the channel. When we round the cape, they will be in a position to intercept us, certainly to fire upon us. The
Arion's
sturdy little ship, but she can't hold up under much more unless we can make repairs. Our strength lies in being able to outmaneuver and outsail them, and our long-range cannon fire gives us the advantage. We shall need all of those if we hope to get safely through the channel. And then
.
.
."
He paused, his haze raking the damaged masts and torn sails rising above a deck that still bore proof of battle. "We are not out of this yet, Basil. Pray to God that Don Pedro was too arrogant to consider that the
Arion
might escape his net. That may just give us the time we need."

Later, Basil was to remember those words as the
Arion
made her way into the Straits of Florida. As he waited in the great cabin time seemed to have no meaning. All that existed for him was the past. He remembered things he had thought long forgotten. Moments of pleasure from his childhood at Whiteswood, of the years spent at Cambridge when he was a naïve young man who had spent all of his time studying and learning about the world from his books and tutors, of the excitement of London and life at court, and of the great change that happened to him when he'd met and fallen in love with Elspeth. She had been a vision of uncommon loveliness, and once he had spoken with her, and discovered that she had intellect as well
as
beauty, he could not imagine a life without her by his side. Basil felt the gentle touch of her hand on his, heard the wise word she would whisper in his ear, saw the loving expression in her soft blue eyes, breathed the sweet fragrance of spring flowers when he and Elspeth had walked through the gardens of Whiteswood, their son racing ahead.
.
.
.
Then the image faded as he heard the sound of explosions overhead and felt the sudden lurch of the ship to larboard. But the
Arion
continued on her way, her crew rallying again and again as they fought valiantly to keep her on course.

Sir Basil found himself almost smiling. He could have accepted his death with more grace had it been because of his actions for his queen and country-at least there would have been some reason behind it. But thinking that he would die only because of another man's desire for revenge left him shaking with frustrated anger. How ironic indeed, that Don Pedro would never know that he was a true hero; he would have to content himself with savoring his vengeance against one man, never realizing the service he had inadvertently performed for his king and his faith.

"Mother? They're hurting our
ship. Why is Father allowing them to do this? Why doesn't he sink them? Father can do anything, I know he can. Father won't let us sink, Mother. I know he won't," Lily said firmly, her small, rounded chin stuck out with a determination that mirrored her father's. "Mother?"

At the sound of the childish voice, Sir Basil remembered the other two occupants of the cabin and opened his eyes to see Magdalena sitting across the table from him, Lily held against her breast as she prayed softly beneath her breath, the silver cross she usually kept out of sight now held to her lips

"If anyone can get us out of this, Lily, then it is your father. I cannot think of another man I would more willingly trust my life to," Basil told Geoffrey Christian's daughter, and to his surprise, the green eyes that met his were without fear. He only wished he could say the same about his own, for he knew they must be wild with fright. "Nothing will happen to us. Nothing," he said again, trying to convince himself that was true.

Whether Geoffrey Christian would have been comforted or saddened to have heard those words he might not have known himself, for he knew he was in the most desperate fight of his life.

If any of them were to have the slightest chance of survival, then he would have to risk everything. "Hard to starboard, Master Evans!"

"Starboard, Cap'n?" the young helmsman repeated in confusion, for that course would take them right across the closest galleon's bows and within range of another devastating broadside. There was also a cay less than a league distant and lying directly across their path if they followed that sudden change of course. They'd run aground. The captain must be crazed, the young man thought in horror.