Golden Lion (12 page)

‘Go and rest, my love,’ Hal told her while Big Daniel and Aboli oversaw the binding of Tromp and his surviving men, and another boatswain, William Stanley, had the
Bough
’s crew gather up the dead from both sides.

‘I’d prayed that I would never have to kill again,’ Judith said, placing a bloody hand on the swell of her belly as though she feared that their unborn child was now somehow tainted by her own actions.

‘You saved the ship, my heart,’ Hal said softly.

‘I feared that I had lost it,’ she replied. Then she looked at the Dutch prisoners, who were now being led away towards the
Bough
’s lowest decks and laid a gentle hand on Hal before she said, ‘Do not harm them.’

‘There will be no more killing today,’ he assured her, looking to the east where the sun was a blazing orb rising above a bank of grey cloud to flood the ocean with molten gold and blood. ‘Not if this Captain Tromp gives me his ship.’

‘Which he will do, ma’am, don’t you worry, unless he wants us to feed slices of his raw bumfiddle to the sharks,’ Big Daniel said, shoving Tromp towards the steps that ran down to the bowels of the ship.

Aboli watched the defeated captain’s head disappear and then, speaking in his native tongue so that the others would not hear him question their leader, asked Hal, ‘What if the crew of his ship put up a fight, Gundwane? We have lost enough men today. Is she worth the loss of any more? And this wind is weaker than a warthog’s fart. If she knows we are coming after her and runs it will take us a day or more to overhaul her.’

‘Hmm …’ Hal grunted, noting what Aboli had to say. But he was a predator, born, bred and raised to hunt the seas for maritime prey and he could no more turn down the prize of a ship and its cargo than a hungry lion could resist the chance of fresh meat.

‘Mister Moone, strike the colours if you please!’ Hal called. Then he turned to Aboli. ‘I have an idea,’ he said with a wolf’s grin, speaking in plain English so that his crew could hear their captain and take strength from his confidence. ‘Tell Daniel to bring Tromp back here. I think we’ll need him topsides after all.’

Aboli, who was as pleased as anyone else on the ship to know that he had his captain back and ripe and ready for the next scrap, nodded and went to fetch the Dutchman.

he
Delft
,
still lying at anchor, emerged from the dawn half-light. Ned Tyler turned the
Golden Bough
’s bows into the east so as to come up on the Dutch caravel’s larboard side, thus trapping her between them and the sandbars that stood a short way offshore at the mouth of a river delta. As they drew nearer, with the
Golden Bough
making little more than two knots in a breeze so faint that he could barely feel it on the back of his neck, Hal could see a scattering of men at her gunwales and atop the mizzen. A few more were up the rigging, ready to scramble out along the yards to release the sails. Clearly Tromp had left only a skeleton crew behind when he set off on his expedition to capture the
Bough
.

They were crouching under the forecastle bulwarks, Hal with his flintlock primed and his sword, only recently cleansed of the blood it had gathered earlier in the morning, in his right hand.

‘Aye, well our naked ensign staff should help ease their minds,’ Big Daniel replied, just as quietly. ‘They’ll reckon their skipper won the ship an’ struck our colours.’

There were just a few of the
Bough
’s men still on deck, and most of those were doing their best to avoid detection. As for the rest, Hal had ordered them to stay below, as if confined there as Tromp’s prisoners, until he gave the word. Tromp himself stood eight paces aft of Hal with his left hand gripping the rail at the foremost end of the deck just above the bowsprit, while his right hand clutched Hal’s own speaking trumpet. The morning air was still cool, yet sweat ran in rivulets down the Dutchman’s face and splashed in fat drops on the deck, for Aboli was crouched behind him with a ballock knife in hand. The African held the dagger’s wickedly sharp blade between Tromp’s legs, poised to geld the Dutchman should he deviate by so much as a flicker from the charade that Hal had contrived.

‘I reckon Tromp is as keen for this ruse to work as we are,’ Hal observed, to which Big Daniel nodded agreement, but tried to suppress a smile.

The remainder of Hal’s men, armed with steel and muskets, were poised below decks, eager to pour from the hatches and board the caravel. All the gun ports were closed, but the gun crews were hidden behind them, with their culverins readied to spit fire and iron fury at the
Delft
. Hal was hoping it would take only one salvo to destroy her crew’s resolve for that way he could keep the caravel for the most part intact, which would make her a far more valuable prize.

Hal took a deep breath, his nose filling with the scent of the tarred planks by his face, then looked up at Tromp and hissed, ‘Now, sir, speak your piece … unless you have your mind set on becoming a eunuch.’

The Dutchman hesitated for no longer than a moment, scratching the tuft of beard at his chin, glanced down at the blade poking between his legs then raised the speaking trumpet to his mouth, took a deep breath and yelled,

‘Men of the
Delft
! We have won a glorious victory!’ Hal knew enough Dutch to be satisfied so far, as Tromp called across the calm water, ‘I bring you the English ship the
Golden Bough
, all the treasures in her belly, and all her stores that will soon be in your bellies, too!’

The Dutch sailors’ cheers carried across to them and Hal watched Tromp raise his fist to the sky in a gesture of triumph, for he need say no more and his job was done. Aboli looked over his shoulder and gave Hal a great grin. The deception had worked!

Hal waited until they were barely a canvas off the
Delft
’s stern, looming over the much smaller vessel and on the point of colliding with her before he stood, as did the other men beside him.

‘To me, men of the
Bough
!’ Hal yelled and the hatches opened, spewing armed men onto the deck. Englishmen, Welsh, Scots and Irish all armed with cutlasses and muskets shouted, ‘Hal and the
Bough
!’ Beside them ran the Amadoda, gripping their lances and boarding axes and whooping with the joy of being unleashed once more. On the gundeck below, the ports were knocked out and the culverins run out loaded and primed.

As his men crowded the main deck, Hal took the speaking trumpet from Tromp who surrendered it with a sad sigh. The threat of Aboli’s knife was still close enough to his generative organs to keep his attention focussed.

‘Men of the
Delft
,’ Hal roared in his basic, working Dutch, ‘your captain won no victory. He and his men fought bravely, but there were far fewer of them than us and they are now my prisoners. Give up your ship and I will treat you well and give you food to eat. Refuse and I will send you to the sea bed without a crumb in your bellies.’

The
Bough
’s crew lining the gunwales yelled threats and made crude gestures, but they were all unnecessary. The prospect of a square meal alone was enough for the men of the
Delft.
They threw up their hands and surrendered without so much as a shot fired or blow struck.

The man who came into the cockpit holding a ship’s lantern before him grimaced at the stench of fresh faeces. Seeing the corpse, he stopped and cast his light over it, prodded it with the toe end of his boot, then turned back to a tall African whose lean, muscled body glistened by the candle’s glow.

‘This one’s for the crabs,’ he said, and by the lamplight Pett saw that although the man was still young he bore the unmistakable air of a leader of men. His face derived much of its character from an eagle-beaked nose that spoke of high birth and he carried himself with the assurance that came both from giving commands upon which other men’s lives depended and also knowing that they would always be obeyed.

Pett had positioned himself as far from the door to the cockpit as his chain would allow and had still not been spotted by the two men, whose arrival had told him all he needed to work out the general sequence of events that must have occurred since the expeditionary party had left the
Delft
. Evidently, the Dutch had not succeeded and the price of their failure was the capture of their ship. Here, then, was the victorious captain. He greatly interested Pett, though he was not yet clear in his mind whether he should look on this young commander as a potential client, or a man whom other clients might want dead.

‘Even the crabs must eat, Gundwane,’ the African said, giving the body a disdainful poke with his cutlass. This man looked every inch the warrior and he was very clearly his captain’s most trusted associate. Aboard ship, that would make him the first mate. Pett categorized the African as a potential impediment, to be considered and accounted for should the captain ever need killing. That aside, he had no interest in him, though it did strike him that he had never seen a black first mate before.

‘It is a tragedy, sir, that the man died on the very cusp of our salvation,’ Pett now spoke up.

He could have died quicker. Much quicker
, the Saint sniped in a voice that echoed so loudly around Pett’s skull that he could scarce believe others could never detect it. His own voice, however, had been heard, for the white man spun round, lifting the lantern even as instinct made him grip the hilt of the fine sword scabbarded at his hip. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded, peering into the gloom.

‘My name is Pett, sir. I have been chained down here like a slave for these last weeks, so many I have lost count. Yet my prayers have been answered at last. I hardly dared believe my ears when I heard English voices above.’ He rattled his leg chain to emphasize his predicament. ‘Are you of the ship that cheese-head Captain Tromp meant to capture?’

‘I am Sir Henry Courtney, captain of the
Golden Bough
,’ the young man said, ‘and you’ll be glad to know your captivity is over, Mr Pett.’

Courtney gestured at the stinking corpse. ‘Of what did this man die?’ he asked.

He died of boredom while you took an age to choke the life out of him
, the Saint told Pett.

‘Hunger?’ Pett said with a shrug. ‘I am not a man of medicine, Captain. Nor did I know the poor man well, though I can attest to what you have yourself no doubt discovered: this is a ship crewed by starving men. They showed no human kindness towards me, seeing me as just another mouth to feed, and throwing me in this floating dungeon. But this one soul who shared my confinement became a true companion. For which reason I would humbly entreat your permission to be allowed to prepare the body for burial myself, rather than have it done by someone who has never laid eyes on the deceased man before now.’ He raised a hand. ‘If it please you, Captain.’

‘I have no objections,’ Henry Courtney said, then turned to the black man. ‘Ask Captain Tromp where we will find the key to Mr Pett’s irons, or failing that have the carpenter bring his tools.’

‘Yes, Gundwane,’ the African said, disappearing back up the stairwell.

‘Very kind of you, Captain, much obliged.’ Pett affected a sombre expression to hide the relief he felt at the prospect of wrapping the corpse in its burial shroud. He had no desire to let anyone else see the bruises on the dead man’s neck, nor the swollen tongue and eyes that would betray the true cause of his death.

‘How did you come to be Captain Tromp’s prisoner?’ Captain Courtney asked, by now as oblivious to the stink as any man used to life at sea.

Pett sighed, not too theatrically, he hoped. ‘’Tis a sad and somewhat lengthy tale, Captain, the telling of which will be easier once I have fed my empty belly and sluiced my parched throat.’

‘Of course, how thoughtless of me,’ Courtney nodded. ‘You must join me for dinner, Mr Pett. For now, though, if you will excuse me, I have the rest of the ship’s inventory to inspect. Have no fear, one of my men will return to free you at the soonest opportunity.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Pett said, still barely believing his luck. Truly the Lord works in mysterious ways, he thought, as the young captain disappeared. Now he was left alone in the darkness, and yet he was not alone at all, for the Saint and all the angels were with him and William Pett felt truly blessed by their presence.

When Tromp had ruefully admitted that there was neither gold, nor spice in his holds, Hal had presumed that there was nothing of any value aboard the
Delft
. And at first glance that presumption appeared to be entirely correct. Most of the hold was entirely bereft of cargo and was now being used as quarters for the
Delft
’s petty officers and as a place to treat men whose emaciation had made them too ill or feeble to work. But at its far bow end there were twelve barrels neatly stacked and lashed down with ropes to keep them from moving in the event of rough seas. Using his cutlass Aboli prised off one of the lids to find the barrel stuffed with sweet-smelling wood shavings and dried grass. When Hal caught up with him, he thrust his hand deep into the barrel. After a good rummage his fingers detected several small boxes. Hal pulled out one of them and, upon opening it, found a glass vial inside, no bigger than his thumb.