Birds of Prey (28 page)

Her commander, Captain Ryker, was also a tough, rugged deep-water mariner, wide in the shoulder and big in the gut. He made no attempt to hide his displeasure at finding himself under the
direction of a man who, until recently, had been his enemy, an irregular whom he considered little short of a greedy pirate. His bearing towards Cumbrae was cold and hostile, his scorn barely
concealed.

They had held a council of war aboard
De Sonnevogel
which had not gone smoothly, Cumbrae refusing to divulge their destination and Ryker making objection to every suggestion and arguing
every proposal that he put to him. Only the arbitration of Colonel Schreuder had kept the expedition from breaking down irretrievably before they had even left the shelter of Table Bay.

It was with a profound feeling of relief that the Buzzard at last watched the frigate weigh anchor and, with almost two hundred musketeers lining her rail waving fond farewells to the throng of
gaudily dressed or half-naked Hottentot women on the beach, follow the little
Gull
out towards the entrance to the bay.

The
Gull
’s own deck was crowded with infantrymen, who waved and jabbered and pointed out the landmarks on the mountain and on the beach to each other, and hampered the seamen as
they worked the
Gull
off the lee shore.

As the ship rounded the point below Lion’s Head and felt the first majestic thrust of the south Atlantic, a strange quiet fell over the noisy passengers, and as they tacked and went onto a
broad easterly reach, the first of the musketeers rushed to the ship’s side, and shot a long yellow spurt of vomit directly into the eye of the wind. A hoot of laughter went up from the crew
as the wind sent it all back into the wretch’s pallid face and splattered his green doublet with the bilious evidence of his last meal.

Within the hour most of the other soldiers had followed his example, and the decks were so slippery and treacherous with their offerings to Neptune that the Buzzard ordered the pumps to be
manned and both decks and passengers to be sluiced down.

‘It’s going to be an interesting few days,’ he told Colonel Schreuder. ‘I hope these beauties will have the strength to carry themselves ashore when we reach our
destination.’

Before they had half completed their journey, it became apparent that what he had said in jest was in fact dire reality. Most of the troops seemed moribund, laid out like corpses on the deck
with nothing left in their bellies to bring up. A signal from Captain Ryker indicated that those aboard the
Sonnevogel
were in no better case.

‘If we put these men straight from the deck into a fight, Franky’s lads will eat them up without spitting out the bones. We’ll have to change our plans,’ the Buzzard told
Schreuder, who sent a signal across to the
Sonnevogel
. While he hove to, Captain Ryker came across in his skiff with obvious bad grace to discuss the new plan of assault.

Cumbrae had drawn up a sketch map of the lagoon and the shoreline that lay on each side of the heads. The three officers pored over this in the tiny cabin of the
Gull
. Ryker’s mood
had been alleviated by the disclosure of their final destination, by the prospect of action and prize money, and by a dram of whisky that Cumbrae poured for him. For once he was disposed to agree
with the plan with which Cumbrae presented him.

‘There is a another headland here, about eight or nine leagues west of the entrance to the lagoon.’ The Buzzard laid his hand on the map. ‘With this wind there will be enough
calm water in the lee to send the boats ashore and land Colonel Schreuder and his musketeers on the beach. Then he will begin his approach march.’ He stabbed at the map with a forefinger
bristling with ginger hair. ‘The interlude on dry land and the exercise will give his men an opportunity to recover from their malaise. By the time they reach Courtney’s lair they
should have some fire in them again.’

‘Have the pirates set up any defences at the entrance to the lagoon?’ Ryker wanted to know.

‘They have batteries here and here, covering the channel.’ Cumbrae drew a series of crosses down each side of the entrance. ‘They are so well protected as to be invulnerable to
return fire delivered by a ship entering or leaving the anchorage.’ He paused as he remembered the rousing send-off those culverins had given the
Gull
as she fled from the lagoon after
his abortive attack on the encampment.

Ryker looked sober at the prospect of subjecting his ship to close-range salvoes from entrenched shore batteries.

‘I will be able to deal with the batteries on the western approaches,’ Schreuder promised them. ‘I will send a small detachment to climb down the cliffs. They will not be
expecting an attack from their rear. However, I will not be able to cross the channel and reach the guns on the eastern headland.’

‘I will send in another raiding party to put those guns out of the game,’ Ryker cut in. ‘As long as we can devise a system of signals to co-ordinate our attacks.’ They
spent another hour working out a code with flag and smoke between the ships and the shore. By this time the blood of both Ryker and Schreuder was a-boil, and they were vying for the opportunity to
win battle honours.

Why should I risk my own sailors when these heroes are eager to do the work for me? the Buzzard thought happily. Aloud he said, ‘I commend you, gentlemen. That is excellent planning. I
take it you will delay the attacks on the batteries at the entrance until Colonel Schreuder has brought up his main force of infantry through the forest and is in a position to launch the main
assault on the rear of the pirate encampment.’

‘Yes, quite so,’ Schreuder agreed eagerly. ‘But as soon as the batteries on the heads have been put out of action, your ships will provide the diversion by sailing in through
them and bombarding the pirates’ encampment. That will be the signal for me to launch my land attack into their rear.’

‘We will give you our full support.’ Cumbrae nodded, thinking comfortably to himself, How hungry he is for glory, and restrained an avuncular urge to pat him on the shoulder. The
idiot is welcome to my share of the cannonballs, just as long as I can get my hands on the prize.

Then he looked speculatively at Captain Ryker. It only remained to arrange that the
Sonnevogel
lead the squadron through the heads into the lagoon, and in the process draw the main
attentions of Franky’s culverins along the edge of the forest. It might be to his advantage if she were to sustain heavy damage before Franky was overwhelmed. If the Buzzard were in command
of the only seaworthy ship at the end of the battle, he would be able to dictate his own terms when it came to disposing of the spoils of war.

‘Captain Ryker,’ he said with an arrogant flourish, ‘I claim the honour of leading the squadron into the lagoon in my gallant little
Gull
. My ruffians would not forgive
me if I let you go ahead of us.’

Ryker’s lips set stubbornly. ‘Sir!’ he said stiffly. ‘The
Sonnevogel
is more heavily armed, and better able to resist the balls of the enemy. I must insist that
you allow me to lead the entry into the lagoon.’

And that takes care of that, thought the Buzzard, as he bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence.

Three days later they put Colonel Schreuder and his three companies of seasick musketeers ashore on a deserted beach and watched them march away into the African wilderness in a long untidy
column.

The beam of the storm lantern disappeared ahead of him, and now he stepped out to catch up. When they had left the encampment, his father had ignored his question, but when at last they emerged
from the forest at the foot of the hills, he knew where they were going. The stones that still marked the Lodge within which he had taken his vows formed a ghostly circle in the glow of the waning
moon. At the entry to it Sir Francis went down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer. Hal knelt beside him.

‘Lord God, make me worthy,’ Hal prayed. ‘Give me the strength to keep the vows I made here in your name.’

His father lifted his head at last. He stood up, took Hal’s hand and raised him to his feet. Then, side by side, they stepped into the circle and approached the altar stone. ‘
In
Arcadia habito!
’ Sir Francis said, in his deep, lilting voice, and Hal gave the response.

‘
Flumen sacrum bene cognosco!
’

Sir Francis set the lantern upon the tall stone and, in its yellow light, they knelt again. For a long while they prayed in silence, until Sir Francis looked up at the sky. ‘The stars are
the ciphers of the Lord. They light our comings and our goings. They guide us across uncharted oceans. They hold our destiny in their coils. They measure the number of our days.’

Hal’s eyes went immediately to his own particular star, Regulus. Timeless and unchanging it sparkled in the sign of the Lion.

‘Last night I cast your horoscope,’ Sir Francis told him. ‘There is much that I cannot reveal, but this I can tell you. The stars hold a singular destiny in store for you. I
was not able to fathom its nature.’

There was a poignancy in his father’s tone, and Hal looked at him. His features were haggard, the shadows beneath his eyes deep and dark. ‘If the stars are so favourably inclined,
what is it that troubles you, Father?’

‘I have been harsh to you. I have driven you hard.’

Hal shook his head. ‘Father—’

But Sir Francis quieted him with a hand on his arm. ‘You must remember always why I did this to you. If I had loved you less, I would have been kinder to you.’ His grip on
Hal’s arm tightened as he felt Hal draw breath to speak. ‘I have tried to prepare you and give you the knowledge and strength to meet that particular destiny that the stars have in
store for you. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes. I have known this all along. Aboli explained it to me.’

‘Aboli is wise. He will be with you when I have gone.’

‘No, Father. Do not speak of that.’

‘My son, look to the stars,’ Sir Francis replied, and Hal hesitated, uncertain of his meaning. ‘You know which is my own star. I have shown it to you a hundred times before.
Look for it now in the sign of the Virgin.’

Hal raised his face to the heavens, and turned it to the east where Regulus still showed, bright and clear. His eyes ran on past it into the sign of the Virgin, which lay close beside the Lion,
and he gasped, his breath hissing through his lips with superstitious dread.

His father’s sign was slashed from one end to the other by a scimitar of flame. A fiery red feather, red as blood.

‘A shooting star,’ he whispered.

‘A comet,’ his father corrected him. ‘God sends me a warning. My time here draws to its close. Even the Greeks and the Romans knew that the heavenly fire is the portent of
disaster, of war and famine and plague, and the death of kings.’

‘When?’ Hal asked, his voice heavy with dread.

‘Soon,’ replied Sir Francis. ‘It must be soon. Most certainly before the comet has completed its transit of my sign. This may be the last time that you and I will be alone like
this.’

‘Is there nothing that we can do to avert this misfortune? Can we not fly from it?’

‘We do not know whence it comes,’ Sir Francis said gravely. ‘We cannot escape what has been decreed. If we run, then we will certainly run straight into its jaws.’

‘We will stay to meet and fight it, then,’ said Hal, with determination.

‘Yes, we will fight,’ his father agreed, ‘even if the outcome has been ordained. But that was not why I brought you here. I want to hand over to you, this night, your
inheritance, those legacies both corporal and spiritual which belong to you as my only son.’ He took Hal’s face between his hands and turned it to him so that he looked into his
eyes.

‘After my death, the rank and style of baronet, accorded to your great-grandfather, Charles Courtney, by good Queen Bess after the destruction of the Spanish Armada, falls upon you. You
will become Sir Henry Courtney. You understand that?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Your pedigree has been registered at the College of Arms in England.’ He paused as a savage cry echoed down the valley, the sawing of a leopard hunting along the cliffs in the
moonlight. As the dreadful rasping roars died away Sir Francis went on quietly, ‘It is my wish that you progress through the Order until you attain the rank of Nautonnier Knight.’

‘I will strive towards that goal, Father.’

Sir Francis raised his right hand. The band of gold upon his second finger glinted in the lantern light. He twisted it off, and held it to catch the moonlight. ‘This ring is part of the
regalia of the office of Nautonnier.’ He took Hal’s right hand, and tried the ring on his second finger. It was too large, so he placed it on his son’s forefinger. Then he opened
the high collar of his cloak, and exposed the great seal of his office that lay against his breast. The tiny rubies in the eyes of the lion rampant of England, and the diamond stars above it,
sparkled softly in the uncertain light. He lifted the chain of the seal from around his own neck, held it high over Hal’s head and then lowered it onto his shoulders. ‘This seal is the
other part of the regalia. It is your key to the Temple.’

‘I am honoured but humbled by the trust you place in me.’

‘There is one other part to the spiritual legacy I leave for you,’ Sir Francis said, as he reached into the folds of his cloak. ‘It is the memory of your mother.’ He
opened his hand and in his palm lay a locket bearing a miniature of Edwina Courtney.