Armada

From the fo’c’sle Robert stared at the distant sails of the Armada. They seemed to be slowly converging but from so far away it was almost impossible to discern their purpose. The change in wind had saved the Spaniards from the Banks of Flanders. Now they were reforming and Robert felt anxiety gnaw on his every sense. Whatever the enemy decided to do next, the English fleet was powerless to stop them. They had no ammunition. At dawn, Robert had lent his voice to the desperate calls from every ship for supplies of powder and round shot.

They still had the weather gauge. It was their only remaining advantage. Robert glanced behind to the quarterdeck. Seeley was there, in firm command of the helm. Robert felt his anxiety descend into panic. For some reason Seeley had remained silent but Robert feared it was only a matter of time before he exposed him. In the eyes of all Englishmen Robert would be an ally of the Spanish. He would be executed as a traitor and the injustice of this sentence washed over him in a wave of anger.

‘Pinnace closing off the starboard beam!’

From the quarterdeck Seeley watched the small boat. She bore no markings. He called out a slight course change to aid her approach and then checked the trim of the Retribution. He saw the captain descend from the fo’c’sle and move towards the main deck. At the beginning of the battle off Gravelines Seeley had scrutinized every order of the captain’s, ready to countermand them. But never once had the captain shirked from the fight and as the day wore on Seeley had found himself following the captain’s orders without hesitation. Every command had cost the Spanish dearly. The captain had fought like a lion and Seeley wondered if more could have been asked of any Englishman.

Robert waited on the main deck as the pinnace came alongside the Retribution. From over the bulwark he heard a call for permission to board. Robert nodded at the crewmen as they quickly lashed on the smaller boat. A man appeared over the gunwale and spoke briefly with a crewman who indicated to Robert. The man stepped forward quickly.

‘Sir Robert, my name is John Cross. I am an agent of the Crown. I wish to speak with one of your officers, Thomas Seeley.’

Robert’s stomach lurched at the request.

‘Why do you need to speak to him?’ Robert asked, concentrating on keeping his voice steady.

‘He has information I seek, about a traitor I am hunting. A man named Robert Young.’

Robert felt the blood drain from his face. With an enormous effort of will he indicated Seeley on the quarterdeck. Cross turned away and Robert looked desperately towards the pinnace as he searched for a way to escape. It was impossible, he was trapped. As Cross started to walk towards the quarterdeck Robert followed him, his hand unwittingly falling to the hilt of his sword.

‘Thomas Seeley?’ Cross reached the quarterdeck.

Seeley nodded and stepped forward.

‘Clear the deck,’ Robert ordered and all but the three men went below to the main. Robert stood slightly apart, his hand still on his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring that the rest of the crew were out of earshot. Cross introduced himself to Seeley.

‘It would seem, Master Seeley, that you and I are searching for the same man. A traitor named Robert Young.’

Seeley’s eyes darted to the captain before returning to Cross. ‘How do you know of this?’

Cross briefly explained about his meeting in the tavern and the ambush on a motte outside Plymouth where Robert Young and his father had escaped him.

‘I followed the fleet from Plymouth,’ he continued, ‘and had you not crossed over to Calais and engaged the Spanish there I would have reached you sooner. But I pray that is of no matter. Tell me, Master Seeley, have you found Robert Young?’

Seeley hesitated. This time he did not look at Robert.

‘I found him,’ he replied.

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s dead.’

Cross’s face froze. ‘Dead—are you sure?’

‘Yes. We found this icon in the surgery.’ Seeley reached into his pocket and pulled out the small inscribed crucifix. ‘This prompted our investigation and although we searched the ship, and I personally questioned all the crew, we were unable to reveal his true identity. It was only when one of the men killed on the first day of battle was being prepared for burial that we discovered this in a concealed seam of his clothes.’

Again Seeley reached into his pocket. This time he withdrew the statuette of the Blessed Virgin Mary, turning it over to reveal the name underneath. Cross took the icon in his hand and examined it before handing it back.

‘Who was he?’

‘A mate,’ Seeley spat with false anger. ‘One of the junior officers – may he burn in hell. We threw his body over the side. Isn’t that right, Captain Varian?’