Golden Lion (19 page)

Pett flexed the muscles of his stomach and took a deep, silent breath, flooding his blood with energy and releasing the tension that always built before a kill.

Courtney’s breathing was deep and even as Pett slid the marlinspike out of his shirtsleeve, held it in his right hand and drew his hand back to strike. As a weapon the spike was perfectly suited to stabbing, but lacked the sharp-edged blade required for cutting. He would therefore have to work with great precision, leaning over the bed and in one movement clasping his left hand over Courtney’s mouth while using the right to push rather than stab the blade so that it went into the side of the neck, beside the jawbone and just below the ear, and cutting the right carotid artery in as smooth a motion as possible. There would be a lot of blood, on the body, on the sheets, on Pett himself, and unless he moved with exceptional speed the woman would wake to a nightmare scene. At that point it was simply a matter of stabbing her with as much speed and violence as possible, striking her repeatedly so as to silence her before she could scream for help.

Just then the cabin was washed with a thin silvery light and Pett looked out of the stern windows. A skein of cloud had torn apart to reveal stars and a sliver of moon and their glow illuminated the captain’s quarters, and Pett’s blood turned cold in his veins. For there on a table at the head of Courtney’s bed, caught in the heart of the shaft of light spilling through the glass, was a bible, the gold inlaid cross shining against the black leather cover.

In that moment Pett’s mind floundered as he himself had when he’d first jumped from the flaming
Earl of Cumberland
into the sea. Was this a sign from the Saint? Was this the Lord’s way of telling him to spare Henry Courtney? Surely not. And yet the Saint had fallen strangely quiet. Normally, it was at this moment above all that his voice was clearest, yet on this occasion he was nowhere to be heard.

Pett felt abandoned, deserted. He stood there, feet stuck to those boards like the crustaceans fastened to the underside of the ship’s hull, and felt the perspiration burst from his forehead, rolling in beads down his face.

Give me another sign
,
Pett’s mind demanded.
Anything
.
Damn you but this is our time! Look at him, helpless as a babe
.

The cloud re-formed and the cabin was cast into darkness again, and yet he could not unsee what he had seen: the cross of Christ illuminated at the very moment he was to kill a man, a sign as loud as a thunderclap in the heavens. But a sign to kill the man, or spare him?

Oh but he was so close! It could be done in a moment. Two quick thrusts and a ripping of flesh and the job would be done. And yet something felt wrong. He had killed many times but this was the first time he had felt doubt, or even felt anything at all other than the inevitable thrill that comes with taking a man’s life without being caught in the act. If there were even a chance that the Lord did not want him to kill Henry Courtney then Pett knew he must hold off. But if he did not kill him, how much more insistent would the clamour in his mind become, how much more shrilly would other voices scream for blood, even as the Saint remained silent?

Slowly, his breathing still even, he slid the spike back up his sleeve and backed away from the bed and the young lovers sleeping in it. He was almost at the door, just about to reach for the latch to open it again and let himself out when his right foot landed on a loose floorboard. It creaked. Not loudly, certainly no louder than any of the many other noises of wind in the sails, water against the hull and the constant groans of wood and rope that provided a constant chorus on a ship at sea. But it was a different noise and that was what woke Hal Courtney, who sat up in bed, his eyes wide open, took barely a second to register the scene before him and then, in puzzlement rather than fear, said, ‘Pett? What the hell are you doing in my cabin?’

Now Judith was waking and murmuring sleepily, ‘What troubles you, Henry?’

The reminder of her presence made Courtney more angry and he snapped, ‘How dare you, sir? Bad enough that you enter the captain’s quarters in the middle of the night, but to do so when there is a lady present … Explain yourself!’

Pett was dumbfounded. For once in his life his gift for dissimulation failed him and he stood in helpless silence for what seemed like an eternity until … Oh, glory! The Saint returned and said, ‘
Tromp. Consider Tromp.
’

Suddenly, Pett’s wits returned to him. ‘Forgive me, Captain, for this appalling intrusion. It was just that … well, I could not sleep, d’you see? There was a matter on my mind and I simply had to speak to you in private, away from the other members of the ship’s company …’

‘In the middle of the night? Are you mad?’ Courtney looked at him, frowning. ‘You’ve not been at the rum, have you?’

‘No, sir, I assure you that alcohol has played no part in my deliberations, or my actions, it was just that …’ Pett twisted his face into an expression of profound anguish, ‘my soul was so tormented. I have … well … I have been the victim of a vile slander, sir! And this on top of the most cruel and unjust mistreatment.’

‘What slander was that?’

‘’Twas the Dutchman, Tromp. Oh, I know he pretended to have misunderstood my meaning when he clearly and unambiguously questioned my courage for everyone to hear. But I know the man, both his command of English and his capacity for deceit. How, sir, can one trust the word of a man who boasts of ordering the manufacture of counterfeit religious relics, every one of them a blasphemy spat in the face of the Almighty?’

Both Courtney and the woman were silenced by that, and Pett felt confidence flooding through him as he went on: ‘To call a man a coward in front of his peers is offence enough in itself. But this man locked me up like a common criminal in the most vile surroundings. You saw my plight for yourself, Captain. You saw me chained to the ship’s timbers, lying in filth and ordure, with only a dead man for company. How can a gentleman of good reputation possibly accept such indignity?’

Courtney rubbed the sleep from his eyes. ‘You make very good and fair points, Mr Pett. You have good reason to feel hard done by. But I confess, I do not see why this should require you to enter these quarters in the middle of the night.’

‘The reason for that, sir, was that I have a request that can only be made to you in complete privacy, away from all your crew and your prisoners. I request … no, I insist, that you consent to my challenging Captain Tromp to a duel, on this ship, at the very earliest opportunity.’

‘A duel?’ Courtney exclaimed.

‘Mr Pett, are you sure?’ Judith asked.

‘Yes, madam, absolutely. I will not be swayed from this desire. My honour will not allow it.’

‘But Mr Pett,’ Courtney insisted, ‘with the greatest of respect, sir, you are not a military man …’ He paused for a second to consider that statement and then, as a genuine question, added, ‘Are you?’

‘No, sir, I am a man of business.’

‘Very well, then, you are at home in the marketplace and the counting house, or wherever it is that you transact your business. But however disgraceful his behaviour may have been, Captain Tromp is a naval officer who is very evidently at home in the midst of a battle. Whatever his moral failings – and I agree with you that his behaviour leaves a great deal to be desired – I have seen him fight and he is an opponent I would respect. My point, Mr Pett, is that I fear that if I agree to your request, I may also be agreeing to your demise.’

‘That is a very worthy and considerate fear, Captain, but I assure you that you need not trouble yourself on my account. I have absolute faith that my cause is just and, that being the case, that God is on my side.’

‘I have defeated whole armies of men who thought that God would ensure their victory, Mr Pett,’ Judith said. ‘He moves in mysterious ways. We cannot know what He plans for us. I do not mean to doubt your conviction. I merely want to save you from harm.’

‘Thank you, madam, but let me ask you this. When you went into battle, knowing that you were fighting for the Tabernacle itself, did you not feel the armies of heaven marching beside you?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Judith admitted.

‘And did that thought strengthen you in your conviction of victory?’

‘It did.’

‘Then since you had your faith, please allow me mine. If it is God’s will that I should perish, so be it. But I would rather die with my honour intact than live with the slur of cowardice against my name. I may be a man of business, but I am still a man and I will fight like one when the time comes.’

‘Well spoken, Mr Pett,’ said Hal. ‘It is my prayer that this matter can be settled without harm coming to you or Captain Tromp. Many a duel is settled to both parties’ satisfaction without blood being shed, or not fatally so, at any rate. I very much hope that this will be the case here. I pray that, even now, a way can be found to settle this matter peacefully. But if it cannot, Mr Pett, then, yes, you may have your duel.’

‘Are you sure, my love? Must we have more injury, more death?’ Judith pleaded.

‘I hope not, my love. But this is a matter of honour, and honour must be satisfied.’

Pett worried for a moment that the woman might press her case. But having made her point once, she did not argue further.
She, who has commanded men in their thousands, defers to this one man
,
Pett thought, simultaneously admiring Courtney and adding to the pleasure he would derive, when the time was right, from taking such a highly prized life. For now, though, he had found a way, with the aid of the Saint, to escape from an extremely grave predicament. There was nothing to be gained from tarrying any longer and so he uttered a simple, ‘Thank you, Captain,’ and exited the cabin.

scant twelve hours had passed since Hal had given his assent to Pett’s request for a duel. He did not want to have the matter hanging unresolved over the ship and so the challenge had been made soon after dawn and accepted a short while later. Now the two men stood facing each other, twenty paces apart on the
Bough
’s deck. Pett had his back to the stern, Captain Tromp had his to the bow, and the crew lined the gunwales, thronged the rigging and even straddled the yards on all three masts to get a good view. The eight Dutch prisoners had been brought up from the hold to watch and even the skeleton crew which Hal had put aboard the
Delft
, anchored off the
Bough
’s larboard, hung in her shrouds waiting patiently for the entertainment to begin.

The Amadoda, most of whom were in the rigging for they were now as sure-footed as any of the men out of Portsmouth or Plymouth, were whooping with joy and chattering noisily.

‘You can still stop this, Henry,’ Judith said. She stood beside Hal on the poop deck, looking down at the men who were checking their pistols, adjusting the length of the match to ensure the smouldering tip would hit the priming pan when the order was given to give fire.

Hal shook his head. ‘It’s too late now.’ In truth he had been more moved by Judith’s objections than he had initially revealed and had sought further counsel from Aboli before he gave the final order for the duel to be held.

‘Let them fight it out, Gundwane,’ Aboli had said. ‘Having them both aboard, and Mr Pett hungering to satisfy his honour, is no good thing for us. Better to cut the ball out and clean the wound than let it fester and poison the flesh around it. This dispute has caused trouble among the crew. Daniel already had to stop two of our men beating one of the Dutch sailors half to death. Let us see an end to the matter.’

‘But what if Tromp kills Pett? The men won’t like it. Won’t that make matters even worse?’

Aboli shrugged. ‘Do they care that much? Pett is an Englishman, but he is not one of us who sail on the
Golden Bough
. No one will weep for him. Let them fight. Give the crew a spectacle. Something to gamble on.’ He grinned. ‘Though of course their captain will not know that they are betting on the outcome.’

Hal considered the matter and concluded that Aboli’s point was well made. An unresolved argument might poison the men’s spirits, but the chance to witness two men fight, right out in the open, would lift them. And so Mr Pett now faced Mr Tromp.

The Dutchman had tried to settle the matter without recourse to violence. ‘It is not right for me to duel against an opponent who cannot win,’ he had said, on more than one occasion. But there were only so many times that he could seek to evade the issue without being accused of cowardice himself and so, in the end, he had accepted the challenge, albeit with a heavy heart.

To Tromp’s surprise, Pett had given him the choice of weapons. ‘In that case, I choose pistols,’ he had said.

‘I’m surprised by your decision,’ Hal had remarked later, when the two men found themselves standing close enough together on the deck to be able to converse without being overheard. ‘I have seen you fight with a sword and you handle it well. If you would prefer a pistol, you must be a truly exceptional shot.’

‘On the contrary, I would be far more sure of my chances with a sword. And there lies the problem. It would be very difficult indeed for me not to kill that thickhead Pett if we were going sword to sword. But if we fight with pistols, well, they are notoriously unreliable weapons and frequently do not fire at all. Even when they do, they rarely hit their target at anything more than point-blank range. And that is on land. At sea, on a moving deck, well, if Pett does manage to kill me, then God really is on his side and He isn’t at all happy about those damn relics.’