‘It all began with such high hopes,’ Simoun Wex said, picking up his tale. ‘We set out together, Philpot, Job Allcorn, poor old Arthur Noble and me, and so many other men and boys whose faces I still can picture, for all that it’s half a lifetime since I saw most of them. I first sailed with John Hawkins when I was ten years old, and it was two years later when we set off on what was to be my final voyage. Mine and that of so many more.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Philpot was five or six years older than me, Job Allcorn a couple of years older still, and he – Job – was a man already, in body, mind and experience, and he took care of Philpot and me while we found our feet. We were all Plymouth men, see.
‘So, there we were in our great convoy. Two royal ships led us, the Jesus of Lübeck – and she was huge, and the old king, God preserve him, purchased her from the Hanseatic League and converted her to a fighting ship – and the Minion, and four other ships besides, and one of those was the Judith, and she was Francis Drake’s ship. It was Hawkins’s third triangular voyage – you know what that means?’
‘Yes,’ I said. Jonathan frowned.
He nodded. ‘Aye, of course you do. You told me you were a navy man. He was a man brimming with confidence, was John Hawkins. He took such pains to find out what he needed to know; he had eyes and ears everywhere from the Thames to the Spanish Main, and he used the intelligence they provided to the utmost. He knew how to get what he wanted out of people, and as a leader of men he was in a class of his own. Well, that’s what we all reckoned, anyway, and although I was young and green, I’d seen enough of other captains to recognize a good one when I saw him.
‘We sailed from Plymouth and as soon as we were rounding the long nose of Brittany the bad luck began. The nimbler, newer ships fared well enough but the Jesus, God bless her memory, was an old lady by then, riding so high on the water and far too big for the job she was now being asked to do. She was meant for brief, fine weather jaunts in her own waters, and now here she was rolling and pitching in heavy seas, every timber strained to its limit and caulking spewing out everywhere you looked. We all thought we were doomed, Hawkins ordered us to pray, and how the old Jesus survived I’ll never know, unless it was the fervent and desperate prayers of a hundred and fifty men …’ He smiled reminiscently.
‘We sailed on, past Spain and Portugal until we were off West Africa, and there we collected our black gold and sailed for the Caribbean. But our masters didn’t have it all their own way once we began trading, for the Spanish devils were wary of us by now and in most of the islands and the mainland ports the governors were under strict orders to have nothing to do with us. But Hawkins and Drake had golden tongues, both of them, and they knew well enough how to exploit a man’s weak spots, which were usually closely associated with his greed. In the end, Hawkins made it all turn out the way he wanted, and our ships were groaning with gold and other precious cargo and we were ready to go home.
‘But it had all taken too long; far too long. The hurricane season was on us, and there we were on the Jesus of Lübeck, a battered old ship totally unsuited for what we were putting her through, and every one of us haunted by the memory of how nearly we’d come to grief back off Brittany all those months ago. Great God above, I’d never been so frightened in all my young life – the stern planks were breached, and the wild waves flooding in and out filled the hold and we found fish swimming above the ballast as if they were out in the open water.’ He shook his head, his old face deeply troubled.
‘By the time that storm abated and we had time to collect ourselves,’ he went on after a moment, ‘we knew we were lost. We were all but out of supplies and we tried eating hides, and even cats and rats, only we sicked most of it up again. We had to put in somewhere for food and clean water and to set about urgent repairs if we stood any chance of sailing back to England. So when a Spanish ship directed us towards a port that was close enough for us to limp to, that was what we did, and we sent up prayers of gratitude because we reckoned we’d been saved. But salvation came with a warning: the place we were heading for was where the Spanish amassed their purloined gold and silver before shipping it back to Spain. They’d be on their guard, it stood to reason, for the reputation of the English went before us and no Spanish governor or ship’s captain was going to welcome us with open arms when they had a flotilla of treasure ships amassing in their harbour.
‘But Hawkins, he had a plan. He always had a plan.’ Simoun smiled briefly. ‘We sailed the proud old Jesus into San Juan d’Ulúa under the royal standard, because he – Hawkins – knew full well that from a distance it resembled the Spaniards’ own flag, and the only fire that greeted us as we sailed into port was a welcoming salute from the shore batteries. They thought we were the vanguard of the treasure fleet.’ He grinned savagely.
‘When they realized it was the dreaded Juan Aquínez, as they called Hawkins, their fear overcame their common sense and they threw down their weapons, abandoned the big guns and fled. Hawkins told the commander we were friendly English ships only there to re-supply and that we’d sail first thing in the morning, as soon as we had what we’d come for. But our luck changed, for morning brought the treasure fleet, and, for all that Hawkins held the port and the shore batteries, keeping Spanish ships from entering their own harbour would be an act of war. So he decided to negotiate.’
Simoun paused, took a drink, then collected his thoughts and resumed. ‘We won’t stop your ships coming into port, Hawkins tells the commander, as long as you permit us to finish our repairs before we leave. It looked like the commander was agreeing, but behind our backs he sent to Veracruz for more men, and heavily-armed men at that.
‘We reckoned we would be all right. The ships of the Spanish treasure fleet were packing into that narrow harbour, sure enough, but we were lined up on the other side, the Minion, us on the Jesus, the Grace of God, then Drake’s Judith, the Angel and the Swallow, and between us and the Spanish there was an old hulk of a vessel, deserted but for the rats.’ He paused. ‘Only it wasn’t, because that crafty bastard of a Spaniard was secretly sending his newly-arrived reinforcements aboard. Oh, John Hawkins challenged him, only to be fobbed off, but then one of our Spanish hostages was discovered with a hidden knife, and that was that. Hawkins fetched his crossbow and shouted his challenge, the Spanish on the hulk came out from their hiding places and Hawkins loosed a bolt at the Spanish vice admiral. Then it all started in earnest. The Spaniards overran the Minion, which was the closest ship to the hulk, and up on the Jesus – which towered over all the other ships – we got the perfect view as the fighting swarmed up onto our own decks.
‘Hawkins was prepared, just as he always was, and straight away he issued the command, at which we cut our cables and began to warp out of that hellhole of a harbour.’ He paused, glancing at Jonathan. ‘Are you still with me?’
Jonathan shook his head.
‘Doctor?’ Simoun said. ‘Want to explain while I take a breather?’
‘Warping is a way of clearing harbour,’ I said. ‘You send out a boat on which you’ve loaded the anchor, secure the anchor some distance away and then the crew back on the ship haul on the anchor cable and in this way move the ship up to the anchor. Then you pull up the anchor, take it further away and repeat the process, and go on doing so until you’re in the open, and the tide and the wind take over.’
Jonathan looked at Simoun. ‘And you managed that, under those conditions, with your six ships?’
‘We did,’ Simoun replied, and the pride was still vivid in his voice. ‘Once we were in our proper element we could bring our guns into play, and that was where us on the Jesus showed our worth because we had the mightiest fire power, we all knew what we were doing and we pounded those Spanish vessels until we hit the vice admiral’s ship right in her magazine and tore her apart.
‘But it did for the old Jesus, and soon we all began to realize it. Hawkins was right there with us in the thick of it, yelling himself hoarse and watering his throat with draughts of ale from his special silver mug, telling us not to be afraid because God was with us – hadn’t the almighty saved him from the shot that had just blown away his silver mug? – and that deliverance would be ours.
‘And we had to witness the poor old Jesus as she died.’ Simoun’s voice broke on the words. ‘Hawkins knew she was done for and he used her to shield the Minion and Drake’s Judith, onto which we’d loaded all our gold and treasure. But we didn’t give up, and our gunners kept to their posts, and we went on firing even while the rest of the cargo was carried from our holds to the Judith and the Minion. But then the Spanish sent in the fireships, and that was our cue to leave, and we leapt from the Jesus’s high decks down onto those smaller ships, and John Hawkins was the last to go.’
Briefly he fell silent, perhaps out of respect for his brave captain.
‘We might have had the Judith and the Minion, but we’d lost every other ship, and it was a terrible, terrible day,’ Simoun went on heavily. ‘We’d made off with the Spaniards’ treasure, for sure, but we’d suffered many casualties, lost the beloved Jesus and far worse was to come.’ He paused, looking round at his audience one by one, as if assuring himself he had our full attention. ‘Because next day we discovered that under cover of the night, Drake had set off in the Judith and sailed for England. Oh, he was right to do so, and we all knew it, for his ship was badly damaged, in no condition to take on the Spanish again, and although the Judith was loaded – overloaded – with treasure, there hadn’t been time to stock her with food and drink. For all that every man and boy of us crammed so tight on board the Minion cursed Drake that morning for abandoning us, we all knew he’d done the right thing – the only thing – and, moreover, that his own chances of making it home were slim at best.
‘John Hawkins covered up his fury, for it did no good to rail and fume when it wasn’t going to change anything. He knew the Minion had no hope of getting back to England seriously overcrowded as she was with two hundred men and hardly any food, so he said that half of us had to go ashore and try our luck on land. We wouldn’t be deserting, he told us, because there he was giving us permission, and, believe me, it was hard to decide where giving permission stopped and issuing a direct order began.
‘So there we were, a hundred desperate English sailors on a northern Mexican shore, Philpot, Allcorn, Noble and me among them, and we stood and watched as our ship, our only link to home, hearth, kith and kin, safety, security – to England herself – sailed away and left us.
‘Very soon we were attacked by the jungle tribes that lived there, and we made up our minds that we’d be better off handing ourselves in to the Spanish.’ He shook his head again. ‘And what a mistake that turned out to be. Some of our company got shipped off to Spain to work like the slaves we’d just been importing to the Caribbean. We thought at first that we who remained were the lucky ones, for what could be worse than the fate of those who had gone? But then the Inquisition turned up.’
I looked at Jonathan. He had gone pale.
‘I was still only thirteen years old,’ Simoun went on, ‘and Philpot reckoned I’d likely be sent off with the other boys to work in the monasteries with the black-robed priests. But I was big for my age, and when the priests came to select the lads they wanted, I stood up straight and threw my chest out and I was passed over. Dear Lord, I recall so well how I was glad!’ His eyes widened in remembered amazement. ‘I thought it had to be better, to stay with the men I knew, and Philpot, he leaned close and said, don’t worry, lad, you’ll be with Job and me and the others, and we’ll take care of you. But, of course, he – they – couldn’t take care of me any more than they could of themselves.’
He paused briefly, and I had the sense that he was steeling himself for what was to come.
‘Lord, but they knew how to hurt a man, those damned priests of the Inquisition,’ he said softly. ‘And all in the name of the vicious, cruel and narrow-minded God they worshipped, although even in the very worst of it I remember asking myself what Our Lord would make of it all when he’d said so often that we were to love one another. Love!’ Simoun’s suddenly harsh expression suggested he might have spat had it not been for Jonathan’s and my presence. ‘They dispatched those they didn’t want.’ His voice was louder now, full of ancient anger. ‘You got strangled if you were lucky, burned alive if not. The ones they had a use for – the strong ones – were sent to the galleys.’
He looked down at his blue-stained hands, once again gathering himself.
‘For us, they reserved their most refined methods of information extraction. They knew, we reckoned. They knew damned well that we bore a secret; that an object of great importance to the Spanish had been entrusted to us as we left the Judith. Somebody must have pointed the finger, and if it was in order to end the same tortures that were being meted out on us, then I can’t say I blame him, whoever he was, and I’d have given up a name myself if I’d had one to give.’
‘But you held out?’ I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
Simoun’s mouth stretched in a terrible smile. ‘I did, Doctor, because the name I’d have screamed out was my own.’
There was a long silence. Then he said, his voice infinitely weary, ‘In the end they gave up. We were shadows of the men we’d been by then, myself especially – they knew, those fucking Spanish priests, they knew, but I’d made my mind up I wasn’t going to tell them and I never did. And, like I said, they gave up. They sold us to the owner of an indigo plantation in Guatemala, and that’s where we stayed for the next thirty years. Some of us took wives and begat sons – I did, so did old Arthur Noble before he died, and he called his son Bartholomew – and we made as good a job of living a normal life as we could. As any man can, when he is enslaved and has no choice over his own fate.’
His eyes had been roaming round the room, and now they rested on Puma.
‘And there we might have stayed, Job Allcorn, Philpot, my son and I and Bartholomew Noble, and there we might still be, except that one day he came into our lives.’
Simoun gave a deep sigh, and it seemed to me, watching him, that of a sudden he was exhausted. His eyes had closed, his thin face had sunk and he leaned back into his pillows as if all strength had left him. I looked at Henry, who had quietly come to crouch beside me.
‘There is more, I know,’ I said to him softly, ‘but for now your father has talked for long enough. He needs sleep most of all, and also food and clean water, and—’
‘And another measure or two of that brandy,’ Henry said.
Jonathan stirred from whatever deep thoughts held him captive. ‘I will fetch all that is needed,’ he said. ‘And also more firewood.’ He took in Henry’s worried face. ‘Yes, I know you want to stay in hiding, but you are under my protection now, and I will look after you.’
He didn’t say how, or from what or whom, but the very tone of his voice seemed to inspire confidence, and Henry simply nodded.
‘You need water to wash with,’ Jonathan went on, studying the three men in turn, ‘and you urgently require new clothes.’
‘I may be able to help with the clothes,’ I said, thinking of my sister and the chests full to bursting that she had brought with her from the marital home after the death of her husband.
‘Good, thank you,’ Jonathan replied.
I stood up. ‘I must be off, in any case – I need to go home to Rosewyke and make sure Judyth is all right.’
Henry hung his head. ‘Please tell her how sorry I am,’ he muttered.
‘I will. I’ll make haste, I’ll find some clothes for you, then—’ There was something else I had to do, but I was tired now too and my brain was turning sluggish. Glancing out through one of the many cracks in the door, I noticed to my great surprise that it was dark. No wonder I was tired.
Rapidly I revised my plan.
‘It is late, and we all need sleep, not just him.’ I was addressing Henry, and now I inclined my head towards his father, eyes half closed as he lay back in his bed. Henry nodded his understanding. ‘Before I go home I must ride down to see Theo Davey,’ I said, ‘for there is much to tell him.’
Henry’s head shot up. ‘But you can’t—’
I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘I have no choice,’ I said. ‘But you can trust him. That I promise you. I shall return here early in the morning’ – I sent up a silent prayer that no patients would arrive at my door needing immediate aid – ‘and bring more medicine for your father, and what new attire I can lay hands on.’
‘But—’ Henry protested. Then, appearing to slump suddenly, he said, ‘Very well. Thank you, Doctor, and we shall expect you in the morning.’
As I hurried away, I heard Jonathan say quietly, ‘God go with you.’
I found Theo still in his office, although all his officers had left. The appetizing smells of the coroner’s supper that came sneaking down from the family’s quarters made my mouth water and my stomach rumble.
Theo was sitting at his desk and leapt up as I went in. ‘You are unharmed?’ he asked urgently. ‘No sword fights with foreigners in your woods?’
‘I’m unhurt, and I don’t think they were ever there. I’m sorry it’s so late, but—’
He waved away the apology. ‘You have news for me, Gabe,’ he said as we sat down, ‘as have I for you. I’m going first, for I have news of those very foreigners.’
And he launched into an account of a visit from Sir Thomas Drake, concerning a dark-eyed stranger who demanded a private audience with him and asked about a red wood box whose contents he would not divulge, and how this man had hidden a musket in the undergrowth by the imposing gates to Buckland Abbey, which was enough, apparently, to convince both Sir Thomas and Theo that this stranger had been the man who had shot the dead man found by the river. Bartholomew Noble, as I now knew.
‘So I sent Jarman Hodge to seek out Sir Richard Hawkins,’ Theo went on before I could begin on my own tale or even comment on what he’d just told me, ‘and Jarman says he’s returned to his Plymouth house, although his wife and family remain at Slapton, and what do you think?’
‘I’d guess from your expression that he too has received the same enquiry from the same dark-eyed stranger,’ I said, ‘and that in all likelihood he also sent the man on his way.’
‘You’d guess right!’ Theo exclaimed triumphantly. ‘This vexing puzzle begins to reveal its heart, Gabe, and—’
I let him ramble on for a few moments. Then, interrupting him in mid-flow, I said, ‘I know where this red wood box is, Theo.’
He looked dumbstruck. He frowned, as if momentarily cross that I appeared to have overtaken him on the road to the truth, then he whispered, ‘How do you know?’
So I told him.
‘I believe,’ I went on, ‘that whatever the box contains, it is very valuable and very, very secret. Simoun Wex stole it, I think, although he himself maintained it had been entrusted into his care. He knew what it was and where it was, and he kept back the information even under great torment.’ Briefly I told Theo what Simoun had told me, and he looked as horrified as I had been.
‘Those poor men,’ he muttered. Then, frowning, ‘So this foreigner pretending to be a merchant who is asking after the box …?’
‘I would guess,’ I replied, ‘he belongs to the organization from whom the item was stolen. Not when it came into Simoun’s possession, but when the English sea dogs originally took it.’ I hesitated, then said, ‘I believe they are Spanish priests, and that what was stolen was something of very great importance, and that they have sent some of their own to fetch it back.’
Theo shook his head as if to clear it. ‘So Hawkins or Drake took something from the Spanish priests, and it was given to Simoun when he was put ashore and left behind … Why?’ he demanded.
‘If it was in truth given to him,’ I replied, ‘then I can only think it was because whoever handed it over reckoned he had a greater chance of surviving than anyone aboard a vastly overcrowded, damaged ship trying to sail home across the width of the Atlantic.’ I noticed Theo’s expression. ‘No, I don’t really believe that either. I think Simoun Wex used the confusion aboard the Minion at San Juan d’Ulúa to steal the box and its contents. Or maybe he’d already stolen it before that.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know!’
‘Hmm.’ Theo looked at me shrewdly. ‘And what does he propose to do with it?’
‘He’s probably hoping a member of the Drake or the Hawkins clan will buy it. They were both there, you know, that day.’ I had told Theo a little about what happened at San Juan d’Ulúa, and now I told him some more.
‘D’you think they’re here for vengeance?’ he asked softly. ‘An eye for an eye, not with Francis Drake or John Hawkins because they’re dead but with some close relative? Or maybe they’ll demand a vast payment in exchange for not spreading the story?’
‘It had crossed my mind,’ I said, ‘but I think I was wrong. What you’ve just said about the foreigner disguised as a merchant, and the lengths he’s going to, convinces me just how valuable this item in its red wood box must be. I reckon that’s all Simoun Wex and his son need to assure their future. Provided,’ I added, ‘Thomas Drake or Richard Hawkins wanted to buy it, which it appears they don’t.’
Theo sat back in his chair, a distant expression in his eyes. ‘What do you imagine it is, Gabe?’
‘I have no idea.’
But, I thought as I got up to go, I intend to find out in the morning, as soon as Simoun Wex has recovered sufficiently to take up his tale again.
Judyth had left by the time I finally reached home. I had been secretly hoping she might have stayed to see me, but given the late hour, it had become more and more unlikely. ‘She was truly all right?’ I demanded of Celia as she came to greet me.
‘Yes, Gabe, it was only a shallow wound and I helped her to patch it up. She was much more cross about her gown,’ Celia added, ‘which now has a neat little cut in it.’
I will buy you a new gown, I said silently to Judyth. I will buy you a gown of pale silvery silk to match your eyes. The memory of how she had felt when I’d held her in my arms was very vivid.
Celia was clearly waiting for me to speak, a wry expression twisting her mouth. So I just said, ‘I’m sure she’s handy with a needle and will be able to mend the tear,’ which was about the dullest, most lumbering remark I could have come up with, as my sister’s face clearly told me.
‘I said she was welcome to stay and have supper, and to spend the night here,’ Celia said, ‘but she clearly preferred to go home. I offered to send Samuel with her, or to lend her my mare, but she was adamant.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s a very independent woman, isn’t she, Gabe?’
‘Yes,’ I muttered. Then, unable to stop myself, ‘She really was all right?’
Celia tucked her arm through mine. ‘Yes, Gabe. Now, listen,’ she went on, her eyes alight with excitement, ‘because I’ve been going through your papers and your books and journals and I’ve discovered something really interesting, and I think I now know where your Falco men were abandoned and why, and although I don’t know what happened subsequently I feel I can make a very good guess, and—’
I hated to do it. Hated to spoil her moment. And, even as I prepared the words, I was thinking how hard she’d worked, how brilliantly she’d done, and that she’d discovered right there in my own study what it had taken me so long to find out, and I’d only done so because a father and son had just told me their story.
I put my arm around her, hugging her to me. I dropped a kiss on her smooth hair and said gently, ‘Dearest Celia, I already know. Now, I’m going to need some of those spare clothes of yours.’
She recovered so well. When she understood the full extent of the plight of the Falco fugitives, she swallowed her disappointment over not being the one to enlighten me and threw herself into offering a different kind of help.
I was quite surprised that she had indeed brought more than a considerable amount of Jeromy’s clothes with her, and she must have noticed.
‘They are made of very good fabrics, Gabe,’ she said briskly as we knelt side by side up in her little sitting room rooting through the largest chest. ‘And he hadn’t even worn some of these garments.’ There was a defensive tone in her voice. ‘I wasn’t going to waste them!’
We selected fine linen shirts, simple wool tunics, hose, cloaks, a pair of boots. ‘Outfits for three men, you said?’ she asked as a thorough search revealed no more footwear. ‘Then they’ll just have to fight over these.’ She shooed me out of the room. ‘Go and get something to eat – Sallie’s long turned in for the night so don’t wake her – and then for heaven’s sake go to bed, Gabe, you’re worn out.’
‘But—’ I gestured feebly at the pile of garments and the boots.
‘I’ll see to those,’ Celia said firmly. ‘I’ll pack them up and have them by the door when you’re ready to leave in the morning. GO!’ she said with mock anger.
I did as she commanded.