London. November 1598
Tobias and the Rokesby escort made safe landfall at Deptford docks. Their sponsors had word of their coming, and Toby disembarked to find John Challoner waiting. The goldsmith had been first to hear of the loss of La Sorcière and her valuable cargo.
“Our friend was aboard her,” said Challoner. “Did you not know?”
White-faced, Toby shook his head.
“Come, I know where we can find news.”
Lloyd’s was abuzz. La Sorcière was not the only vessel to have fallen foul of the pirates infesting the coasts of Spain. The good news was that they seemed to have fallen out among themselves, and rumour had it that Spanish troopships bound for Ireland and the rebellion had been intercepted and ransacked. The surviving troops, taken by surprise, had been abandoned to fend for themselves, at which point three English galliasses flying black and gold pennants had sailed in on the wind, engaged with the marauders, and had landed at Portsmouth with prisoners for ransom, Spanish gold and two empty troopships. A man-of-war had been sunk and another dismasted, for the survivors to take if they could. John Turnbull, Piers of Plymouth and the captain of the third vessel had taken their share and departed. The Queen was quoted as saying she “deplored such a masterstroke against our friends in Spain.”
“So Gallio kept his word,” thought Tobias. “You choose your friends well, Nick.”
Challoner buttonholed a fellow-trader and asked for news of La Sorcière.
“They say she burned. Two merchants held to ransom. Genoese. The cargo is gone. Valuable, I hear. Was any of it yours? I hope you were covered, my friend.”
“What of the others?”
“There were others?” He tutted and shook his head. “A sad business. Bad for trade.” He bustled off leaving Tobias gazing after him in horror. Challoner was beside himself.
“Little weasel,” he said, grinding his teeth. “Covered indeed! Bad for trade! The likes of him take no chances, I can tell you.”
“What did he mean?”
“They lay wagers whether or no a ship will come safe to harbour. Five for one. No matter if a crew be lost, they are safeguarded on the turn of a coin. Pah!” He spat. “These poor Genoese – I will try for news of them.”
“Are you sure Nick was aboard her?”
“So I heard. But so much is uncertain, Tobias – all may be well. Leave it to me. I will seek what news I can and come to you.”
Toby found Inigo Jones sitting patiently on the dockside with the horses and dunnage. Lucius O’Dowd had come to take charge of the escort, still waiting to be paid and dismissed. He rolled up red-faced and beaming.
“A dilly of a trip! Where’s Nick? We made a mint on that—What’s the matter?”
“It looks as if he was on that galley that was taken. You may have to find a ransom out of your mint…I hope so.”
Days later there was still no news. O’Dowd haunted the shipping offices and Tobias delivered Nick’s reports, wondering if he’d mentioned the Spanish gold. Back at Crosstrees, he sorted through the pile of letters waiting on the table. Most looked official, one bearing the Queen’s seal, and at the bottom, one from Kate. Toby recognised the writing and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand. Should he open it? He had sent Inigo on ahead with Nick’s letter and his commission; he could not accept the idea that his friend might be lost. This letter was torn and travel-stained, much overwritten with addresses. The earliest mark he could make out was six months ago. Best be prepared, he thought. If I have to go and tell her…
The letter was short and to the point.
Nicholas, Hugh is sick and like to die. He would speak with you. Come.
Nick would have a word for all these troubles, Toby thought.
He just missed Tim Trelawney sailing in with the Swan on the next tide.