The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Six

The Cormorant made good speed. With a strong wind filling its sails, she glided down the busy Thames estuary and out into the sea beyond, creaking all over as she dipped and rose over the waves. Since it was a dry day, with the sun occasionally peeping out from behind the clouds, most of the company stayed on deck to watch the coastline of England recede slowly behind them. Nicholas Bracewell stood at the bulwark with Anne Hendrik, hoping that the rest of the voyage would be as smooth as its beginning but knowing that many hazards could well lie ahead. George Dart joined them on the crowded deck.

‘Are you reminded of your days as a sailor, Nicholas?’ he said.

‘Yes, George,’ replied the other.

‘This ship must be much smaller than the Golden Hind.’

‘Oh, no. The Cormorant is bigger in every way.’

Dart was disappointed. ‘But the Golden Hind is famous.’

‘Not for its size,’ said Anne. ‘I’ve seen her.’

‘I lived in her for almost three years,’ recalled Nicholas, ‘so I know her dimensions by heart. She was seventy feet in length whereas the Cormorant must be at least twenty feet longer. The Golden Hind’s beam was nineteen feet, narrower than the one we have here. While we carried eighteen cannon, they have almost double that number on board today. Our reputation made the ship seem much larger than she really was, George.’

‘If you were to sail around the world again,’ asked Dart, ‘which of the two vessels would you choose?’

‘Neither of them,’ said Nicholas with a smile, ‘because I never wish to undergo such trials and tribulations again. When we left London, we had five ships. Only one returned to Plymouth — that tells its own story. I lost a lot of good friends on the voyage,’ he went on wistfully. ‘The sea can be a cruel tyrant.’

‘I hope you lose none of us on this ship.’

‘So do I, George.’

‘Nothing could be worse than drowning.’

Dart looked anxiously down at the sea, smacking the bows of the ship as it plunged into another wave. Spray was thrown up into his face and there was a salty taste on his lips. He was soon diverted. When he saw Owen Elias come up on deck, he moved across to the Welshman to stare at his injuries with ghoulish interest. Anne noticed the battered face for the first time.

‘Whatever happened to Owen?’ she asked.

‘He was set on by two ruffians last night.’

‘Why?’

‘Drink had probably been taken,’ said Nicholas, not wishing to divulge what he had been told. ‘It’s all that some men need in order to pick a fight.’

‘There must have been more to it than that, Nick.’

‘I think not. Owen is a strong man — he beat them away. His injuries will heal in time. They will have to, because he could not act on a stage like that. The sea air will be good for him.’

She eyed him shrewdly. ‘You are hiding something.’

‘Why should I do that?’

‘You must tell me.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, Anne.’

‘I know you too well,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘When you conceal things, it’s usually because you want to protect me. What is it that you are keeping from me this time?’

Nicholas shrugged. ‘It is only a silly idea of Owen’s.’

‘Tell me about it.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ll not be baulked, Nick. I have a feeling that this might concern me.’

‘It does,’ he conceded, electing to tell her the truth. ‘Owen believes that he was attacked because of the way he helped to catch that man at the Dutch Churchyard.’

She blenched. ‘Then I am involved here.’

‘No, Anne.’

‘Had I not told you about that incident there, you and Owen would not have mounted a vigil at the churchyard. In other words,’ she said guiltily, ‘I must take some of the blame for his injuries.’

‘That’s foolish talk.’

‘Preben told you not to bother on his account.’

‘I thought only of you, Anne,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The stone that hit Preben could just as easily have been hurled at you. Imagine that. You might have been disfigured or even blinded.’

She tensed slightly. ‘That did occur to me at the time.’

‘I wanted to catch the man responsible and put an end to the foul messages he was leaving at the churchyard. Owen agreed to help me. But what happened to him last night,’ he added rapidly, ‘has no connection to the arrest we made. If someone really sought revenge, I would have been the person they attacked, not Owen. He did not even touch the fellow. It was I who fought with him.’

‘Then you are in danger as well.’

‘There is no danger, Anne. Put the whole thing out of your mind. Owen was set on by some thieves, that is all.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes. That’s the end of the story.’

Anne was not so certain but she did not press the matter. She glanced across at Elias again, making light of his injuries in front of the others but evidently in pain. When she turned back to Nicholas, he was gazing contemplatively out across the sea. Rolling waves seemed to stretch to infinity.

‘I wonder if they have an English Churchyard there,’ he said.

‘Where?’

‘In Elsinore.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘When we get to Denmark,’ he pointed out, ‘we will know how it feels to be the outsiders — we will be the strangers.’

Lord Westfield occupied a small cabin below deck in the stern of the ship. It was tidy, compact and equipped with solid oak furniture. Ensconced in a chair, he sipped a cup of wine and discussed plans with Lawrence Firethorn and Rolfe Harling.

‘Life is full of surprises,’ he observed genially. ‘A month ago, I would never have dreamt that I would one day be sailing to Denmark to meet my young bride.’

‘We, too, have been swept away by the tide of events, my lord,’ said the actor. ‘But for that fire, we would still be entertaining our audiences at the Queen’s Head.’

‘Instead of which, you will play before royalty.’

‘We intend to conquer the whole of Denmark.’

‘Your journey may not end there, Master Firethorn,’ said Harling, knowledgeably. ‘When an English company visited the court ten years or more ago, they were sent on to Dresden to earn even more plaudits. King Frederick II also recommended them to the Elector of Saxony and word of their excellence spread.’

‘That’s encouraging to hear, Master Harling.’

‘Expecting to stay weeks, they remained abroad for months.’

‘Oh, I do not think that my wife would approve of that,’ said Firethorn with a chuckle. ‘If I stay away too long, Margery is likely to swim the North Sea in order to drag me back home.’

‘I will stay in Denmark for as long as Sigbrit wishes,’ said Lord Westfield, taking the miniature from his pocket to pass to him. ‘Here, Lawrence. This is the reason we are all sailing on the Cormorant. Is she not divine?’

‘Words could not describe her, my lord,’ said the actor, almost drooling over the portrait. ‘She is the perfection of womanhood.’

‘You are looking at the next Lady Westfield.’

‘How ever did you find her, Master Harling?’

‘It took time,’ said Harling, ‘for there are so many things to be weighed in the balance. Beauty is only one attribute required. In Sigbrit Olsen, I found someone who answered every demand.’

Firethorn studied him. Try as he might, he could not warm to the man. Harling was too cold and reserved. There was no doubting his intellectual brilliance but such a quality rated little with Firethorn. He preferred wit and conviviality in his friends. After another glance at the miniature, he gave it back to its owner.

‘You did well, Master Harling,’ he said appreciatively. ‘Was this lady your sole reason for going to Europe?’

‘By no means. Government business took me there in the first instance but it allowed me a deal of leisure. I was therefore able to make enquiry on behalf of Lord Westfield and my search eventually led me to Denmark.’

‘The most important thing is that she wants me,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘Age does not matter to her. Quality is all. She accepted me as soon as she realised who I was.’

‘It involved a lot of negotiation, my lord.’

‘I leave all that to you, Rolfe.’

‘Fortunately, her uncle was very amenable.’

‘What about her parents?’ asked Firethorn.

‘Both dead, alas,’ said Harling. ‘She lives with her Uncle Bror. His full name is Bror Langberg and you will see a lot of him. He’s a man of great influence.’

‘Does he know that an entire theatre company is on its way?’

‘You were mentioned in all my letters.’

‘How are we likely to be received?’

‘With open arms,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘According to Rolfe — and he has been to Denmark — they will not stint us. The king is very wealthy, is he not?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Harling, ‘and he has Kronborg Slot to thank for that. It’s the name of the castle in Elsinore,’ he explained to Firethorn. ‘That’s the source of his fortune for it controls the way in and out of the Baltic Sea. Every ship has to sail through a sound less than a mile wide. For centuries now, Denmark has imposed Sound Dues on the vessels. They are not only paid in money. Sometimes, part of a cargo is taken as well.’

‘What if a ship refuses to pay the dues?’ said Firethorn.

‘Nobody would dare to do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they would be blown out of the water by the cannon mounted on the ramparts. It all began well over a hundred and fifty years ago when Erik of Pomerania was on the throne. Not that that was his real name,’ he said pedantically, ‘but that’s beside the point.’

‘Rolfe is steeped in Danish history,’ noted Lord Westfield.

‘King Erik declared that every ship wishing to sail past Elsinore should dip its flag, strike its topsails and cast anchor so that its captain might go ashore to pay a toll to the customs officers in the town. Well over a thousand vessels a year were involved,’ continued Harling, ‘so the amount of money collected was enormous.’

‘What did the ships get in return?’ wondered Firethorn.

‘Free passage to or from the Baltic Sea and protection from the pirates who used to haunt it.’

‘Pirates?’

‘They are still there but in far smaller numbers. The Danish navy has hunted them for generations. In the days of King Erik, any pirates captured were first broken on the wheel and then executed. Their heads were stuck up on poles as a warning.’

‘The same fate should meet those who pirate our plays,’ said Firethorn vengefully. ‘We’ve had more than one stolen from us. There was a comedy printed last year that bore a close resemblance to one that Edmund Hoode had written for us long ago.’

‘What was the name of the author?’

‘None was given. He skulked behind anonymity. But I’ll swear that he filched Edmund’s work and sold it as his own. That man’s head should be stuck on a pole outside the Queen’s Head.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I’d suggest that the landlord’s head stood beside it but that would only frighten our audiences away.’

‘Nothing will frighten them away in Denmark,’ said Harling.

‘As long as we can keep the company together.’

‘You will have no difficulty doing that,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘We might, my lord. Were we not told that each vessel that sails into Elsinore Harbour had to yield up a portion of its cargo?’

‘True,’ confirmed Harling. ‘Customs officers have the right to come aboard to see what a ship is carrying. At first, the toll was levied on the vessel itself then, about thirty years ago, a man called Peder Oxe, treasurer to King Frederick II, pointed out that they could increase their revenue substantially if the weight of the cargo was the deciding factor. Within twelve months, they had trebled their income from Sound Dues. Most ships carry large and valuable cargoes. The Danes are entitled to a fixed proportion of it.’

‘That’s what disturbs me,’ joked Firethorn. ‘We are part of the cargo. I do not want any of my actors confiscated by way of a toll.’

‘They are quite safe, sir — unlike your patron.’

Lord Westfield blinked in astonishment. ‘Me?’

‘Yes,’ said Harling, his thin smile warning them that he was about to make a rare jest. ‘When Erik of Pomerania first imposed harbour dues, the toll was paid in gold. It was one English noble.’ He gave a brittle laugh. ‘The only English noble aboard is Lord Westfield.’

Their good fortune soon deserted them. After a couple of hours of relative calm, the Cormorant ran into choppier water. The wind gusted, the skies darkened and the ship began to heave much more. Most of the actors began to feel queasy and only a gallant few had the courage to stay on deck. The others went below and huddled together, their gaze fixed immovably on a wooden bucket in case they have need of it. Informed that a woman was travelling with the company, Lord Westfield kindly invited Anne Hendrik to share his cabin for a while and, with a storm brewing, Nicholas Bracewell insisted that she take advantage of the offer. The book holder was interested to hear her opinion of Rolfe Harling.

Nicholas remained steadfastly on deck and so, improbably, did Owen Elias. Clutching the bulwark to steady himself, the Welshman was talking to James Ingram. Nicholas adjusted his feet to the roll of the ship and went over to them.

‘I would have thought you’d be sleeping below by now, Owen,’ he said. ‘You need rest.’

‘I cannot settle if I lie down,’ complained Elias. ‘Strange as it may seem, I find it easier to stand up.’

‘You’ll not find it easier for much longer.’

‘Why not?’

‘There’s a squall coming. Stay on deck and you’ll be soaked.’

‘Yes,’ said Ingram, looking up at the sky. ‘Those clouds are ominous. When the rain comes, I’ll join the others.’

‘How do you feel now?’ asked Nicholas, taking an inventory of Elias’s injuries. ‘Are you still in pain?’

‘Every part about me throbs or aches, Nick,’ replied the other, ‘but it’s my pride that hurts the most. I was so careless.’

‘Careless?’ repeated Ingram.

‘I should have heard those two villains coming up behind me.’

‘Your mind was elsewhere.’

‘It was, James, and that’s another thing that rankles. I’d made assignations. Three lovely women were expecting me to call. When I think of what I missed last night,’ he went on, ‘I shudder at my loss. If only I had not gone to the Dutch Churchyard with you, Nick.’

‘That was a separate venture,’ said Nicholas.

‘No,’ said Elias. ‘I was punished for my part in the capture.’

‘Then why was I left unharmed? For it was I who laid rough hands on the man we caught. If his friends wanted recompense, they would have come after me.’

‘I side with Nick,’ said Ingram. ‘His argument is sound.’

‘Then who gave me these injuries?’ demanded Elias, indicating his face. ‘Tell me that, James. Who attacked me?’

‘Enemies.’

‘I have no enemies.’

‘I can think of some.’

‘Who?’

‘A certain husband, for a start,’ said Ingram. ‘When you left us at the Black Horse last night, you told us that you first intended to visit a married woman whose husband was away from London.’

‘He was — he had business in Norwich.’

‘Perhaps he had qualms about leaving his wife behind.’

Elias cackled heartily. ‘With good cause!’

‘What better way to ensure his wife’s fidelity than to have her lover cudgelled by ruffians? You were found out, Owen.’

‘Never — I’ve had too much practise at the game.’

‘Well, someone took offence at you.’

‘It was those rogues who penned verses against strangers.’

‘They would not even know your name,’ contended Nicholas, ‘still less where to find you. There is another explanation here and, seeing the pair of you together, I began to spy it. Cast your minds back to the night of the fire at the Queen’s Head.’

‘I try not to think about that,’ said Ingram.

‘This is important, James. You and Owen were left alone with Will Dunmow, were you not?’

‘Yes. He took a room at the inn. We put him to bed. After we left him there, I went straight back to my lodging.’

‘I did not,’ said Elias with a grin. ‘Beth’s husband was away from the city that night as well.’

‘The fact is,’ said Nicholas, ‘that you were the last people to see him alive. Owen confessed as much to Anthony Rooker.’

‘Why should I deny it? We did nothing wrong.’

‘You did in the landlord’s eyes.’

‘Ignore that scurvy knave.’

‘He believes that you left the candle burning there.’

‘Owen snuffed it out,’ said Ingram. ‘I saw him.’

‘I’m sure that you did but the landlord does not believe you. It’s possible that Will Dunmow’s father might not believe you either.’

‘What does he have to do with this?’

‘Everything,’ said Nicholas. ‘His only son is sent to London on his behalf and he dies in a fire. Any father would want to know how.’

‘He would have listened to Master Rooker’s report.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘The father did not even come anywhere near us. Anthony Rooker travelled to York and delivered Will’s body. He must have been buried some time ago.’

‘Grief plays strange tricks on a man’s mind.’

‘What do you mean, Nick?’

‘Only this — the father might have been moved to rage. Think how he must have felt when he looked inside the coffin.’

‘I warned him against doing that through Master Rooker.’

‘What father would heed such advice?’ asked Nicholas. ‘I know that I would not. It was a terrible sight to behold. It must have filled him with blind anger. Will told you that his father could be violent.’

‘He had no reason to use violence against Owen,’ said Ingram. ‘We helped his son. We looked after him.’

‘You both know that, James — he does not. All that the father has been told is that his son got drunk in the company of actors, and that you were the two people who caroused with him to the very end. My suspicion is that the father will be deeply hurt, bereaved and desperate for someone to blame.’

‘Will was the true culprit,’ said Elias sadly. ‘There’s no other explanation. He must have started the fire with that pipe of his.’

‘His father may not accept that. He will blame you.’

‘Even though we took such care of his son?’

‘What he knows is that a group of people got his son so completely drunk that Will had to be put to bed. The only details he will have came from Master Rooker — and where did he get them from?’

‘Me,’ said Elias.

‘So yours is the name he will recognise,’ said Nicholas. ‘From everything I’ve heard about the father, he does not sound as if he would let such a serious matter pass lightly. According to Will, he was strict, unloving and possessed of a temper.’ As the sky darkened even more above him, he reached his conclusion. ‘I begin to wonder if you were not the victim of that temper, Owen.’

‘Denmark!’ exclaimed Isaac Dunmow.

‘That’s what I’ve been told. They sailed this very morning.’

‘And did Owen Elias go with them?’

‘I should think so.’

‘Death and damnation!’

When he called at the inn, Dunmow found the landlord in the yard, staring in consternation at the huge gap where part of his premises had once stood. Alexander Marwood was still exercised by the thought that he was on the brink of ruin. With the loss of his stables, he could no longer keep horses at livery for travellers who came to the city. Since eight rooms had been destroyed, the number of guests who could stay at the Queen’s Head had been almost halved. With no plays being performed in the yard, a major part of his custom had vanished. As a result, the steady flow of income had turned into a mere trickle. It made him quiver with apprehension and a nervous twitch attacked three distinct areas of his face so that his eyelid, his cheek and his lip trembled uncontrollably in unison.

‘Which part of Denmark?’ asked Dunmow.

‘How should I know?’ replied Marwood brusquely.

‘They played here, man. They ate and they certainly drank at your inn. Since you are so close to Westfield’s Men, you must know where and why they went across the sea.’

‘I was just glad to be rid of them, sir.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because they burnt down my inn.’

‘Yes,’ said Dunmow, eyes glinting beneath the beetle brows. ‘My son was inside it at the time. It’s important that I should find out everything I can about the actors who got him drunk that night. Now, tell me why they sailed away this morning.’

‘Their patron is to be married in Denmark,’ said Marwood, discomfited by the man’s intense glare. ‘Westfield’s Men are to perform plays to celebrate the event. Nicholas Bracewell, their book holder, did tell me the name of the place where the wedding would be held but it has gone quite out of my mind.’

‘Was it Copenhagen?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Roskilde, the old capital?’

‘It was not that either.’

‘Elsinore, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ said Marwood, scratching his mottled pate, ‘that sounds more like it. You impress me, Master Dunmow. I could not even tell you where Denmark is yet you actually know the names of its towns.’

‘I’m a merchant,’ said the other, ‘and I’ve traded with a number of Baltic towns in the past. As it happens, Elsinore is one of them. In my younger days, I went there. It’s an agreeable place.’

‘Then I hope Westfield’s Men stay there for ever.’

‘Do you detest them so much?’

‘They’ve made my life a misery, sir,’ said the landlord. ‘They bring the riff-raff of London into my yard, the very sweepings of the city. The actors show me no respect and they hound every wench I employ here. They are lewd and ungovernable.’

‘Tell me about the night of the fire.’

‘It pains me to recall it.’

‘Please,’ said Dunmow. ‘I must know the truth.’

‘Then you shall have it. Your son watched The Italian Tragedy here and was so moved by the performance that he came into my taproom and opened his purse to the company. They drank deep, as actors always will. There was merriment into the night. When your son began to fade, only two of them remained.’

‘Owen Elias was one of them.’

‘The worst offender, Master Dunmow. It was he who kept urging your son to drink and drink. And it was he, I believe, who left a lighted candle in the room. It was knocked over in the night and set the bed sheets on fire.’

‘And poor Will was unable to escape.’

‘I doubt if he even woke up.’

‘Why did you not bring charges against Elias?’

‘Because nothing could ever be proved.’

Isaac Dunmow had heard enough. The rage that had been simmering inside him flared up again. In his febrile mind, one of the actors was chiefly responsible for the death of his son and would be held to account for it, but the whole company was at fault as well. The merchant wanted to punish Westfield’s Men in some way.

‘What will happen to them when they return?’ he asked.

‘They’ll not play here again, I know that.’

‘Where will they go?’

‘Nowhere, sir,’ said Marwood, ‘for the theatres already have their companies and no other inn would take Westfield’s Men. They will be homeless.’

‘So they will try to get into your good graces again.’

‘Most assuredly. They will set Nicholas Bracewell onto me, the only honourable man among them.’

‘And what will he do?’

‘He has a most persuasive tongue and has charmed me into letting them stay here before. I’ll not make that error again,’ said the landlord rancorously. ‘I’d sooner starve than have them here again.’

Dunmow raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘There’s no danger of starvation, surely?’

‘There is. Our custom has shrunk almost to nothing. While we flounder, our rivals take over our trade.’

‘When your inn is rebuilt, that will soon change.’

‘How can I rebuild it when I lack the funds to do so?’

‘Borrow the money.’

‘But I’ll then have to pay it back,’ said Marwood, his voice filled with pathos. ‘That’s the dilemma I face, sir. With all their faults — and they are far too many to name — Westfield’s Men do bring in most of our custom. If I borrow heavily, the only way I can repay the loan is by letting the company return and I’ll not do that.’

‘Supposing that the money came from elsewhere?’ said Dunmow thoughtfully. ‘Suppose, for instance, a benefactor helped you to rebuild the Queen’s Head.’

‘Such people do not exist.’

‘You might be talking to one such.’

The landlord was startled. ‘You, Master Dunmow?’

‘Possibly. I’m a rich man.’

‘But what interest would you have in helping us out?’

‘I’d make that clear in the terms of the contract.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘It’s quite simple,’ said Dunmow levelly. ‘I will consider helping you on strict conditions. First, that the bedchamber in which my son died is to be rebuilt and named the Will Dunmow Room.’

‘I accede to that request at once.’

‘Secondly — and I’ll have this in writing so that there can be no equivocation — that Westfield’s Men will never again be allowed to perform in your yard. It was their play that lured my son here and their actors who contrived to get him drunk afterwards. Those crimes must be answered for,’ he went on, pounding a fist into his other palm. ‘I want the whole devilish company forced out of London forever.’

The squall was not especially severe but it seemed so to those who were not sailors. Crowded together below deck, the actors sat in disconsolate groups, clutching their stomachs and wondering whose turn it would be to use the wooden bucket next. As the Cormorant bucked and tilted, they began to have second thoughts about the wisdom of the whole enterprise. Barnaby Gill acted as a self-appointed spokesman for the suffering passengers.

‘This is nought but a floating coffin,’ he protested. ‘Each and every one of us is doomed.’

‘It’s not a violent storm,’ said Nicholas Bracewell soothingly. ‘I think we’ll come through it without any mishap.’

‘But we are all sick to our stomachs.’

‘That’s because you have no sea legs as yet.’

‘I do not want any sea legs,’ said Gill, shifting his position to gain a modicum of relief. ‘What I want is dry land on which I can walk in perfect safety. I don’t wish to be tossed around like this.’ There was a collective moan of agreement. ‘We should never have accepted the invitation to go to Denmark in the first place.’

‘You were all in favour of it at first, Barnaby.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Owen Elias, slumped opposite him. ‘You heard about those pretty Danish boys in Elsinore. And you never miss a chance to disport yourself in front of royalty.’

Gill was livid. ‘I do not disport myself, Owen,’ he said with withering contempt. ‘I leave that to underlings like you. I dance, I sing and I act without compare.’

‘Then give us one of your jigs to cheer us up.’

‘I could not stand, let alone dance. The floor would keep moving under my feet.’ Gill pointed at Nicholas. ‘I hold you responsible for this,’ he said accusingly. ‘You arranged our passages. Why on earth did you put us aboard this disgusting cargo vessel?’

‘Because it was the first ship sailing for Denmark,’ replied Nicholas, ‘and that’s what Lord Westfield requested. Unlike you, he is willing to endure a little discomfort in order to reach our destination.’

‘But he’s doing so in the privacy of a cabin. That’s a form of luxury compared to this. Lawrence is in there with him and so is Master Harling.’ He sat up indignantly. ‘I should be in there as well.’

‘There was no room, Barnaby.’

‘Only because your friend took my place.’

‘Anne was invited to share the cabin by Lord Westfield.’

‘Quite rightly,’ affirmed Elias. ‘Ladies have precedence in situations like this. It will be uncomfortable enough in the cabin. I’d hate for Anne to have to put up with our misery.’

The ship suddenly pitched and rolled, hurling them about and making them groan even more. Cargo occupied most of the space below deck. They inhabited the small, dank, draughty, fetid area that was left, sitting on wet floorboards and listening to the waves that pounded the side of the ship so mercilessly. Rain lashed the deck above their heads and the wind howled with ever-increasing stridency. Blown to and fro, the ship’s bell clanged ceaselessly. The loud yells of the crew added to the cacophony. Diving forward, George Dart made use of the bucket for the third time.

Gill looked away in disgust. ‘I deserve better than this!’

‘Then swim back to England,’ advised Elias.

‘I demand a cabin of my own.’

‘Then you’ll have to find another ship,’ said Nicholas, ‘for the Cormorant cannot satisfy you. Hold fast, Barnaby — and the rest of you. The squall will soon blow over.’

‘It sounds as if it’s getting worse, Nick,’ said Elias.

‘Oh, no. Trust me. The rain is starting to ease off.’

As if to contradict his prediction, the ship veered over sharply to starboard and sent a couple of them tumbling across the floor in a heap. One of the victims, Edmund Hoode, rubbed his bruised elbow.

‘Will we ever get out of this alive, Nick?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Edmund. It’s only a question of time.’

Nobody believed him. They resented the fact that Nicholas was completely untroubled by the squall or by the cramped conditions in which they sailed. He was patently at ease. Though it was years since he had been on a voyage, he felt at home aboard a ship. The only other person not struck down by seasickness was James Ingram.

‘Will this storm have blown us off course, Nick?’ he said.

‘I fear so, James.’

‘Are we likely to meet more bad weather?’

‘Very likely,’ said Nicholas. ‘The North Sea can be like a cauldron at this time of year. It’s all a matter of luck.’

‘Well, we’ve had none!’ complained Gill.

‘I disagree. We’ve been let off lightly.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘This is a nightmare,’ said Hoode.

‘But it’s almost over,’ Nicholas told him. ‘Listen, Edmund.’

‘To what?’

‘Just listen.’

They all pricked up their ears and soon realised something. The rain had stopped. The wind was less punitive, too, and the ship no longer rocked quite so wildly. She was still rearing and diving through the waves but with less discomfort for the passengers. The worst was definitely over. Within a quarter of an hour, there had been a marked improvement in the stability of the Cormorant. Some of them actually began to relax. Nicholas got to his feet and moved to the stairs.

‘I’ll see what’s happening up there,’ he said.

‘Be careful,’ warned Elias.

‘Yes,’ said Hoode. ‘We don’t want to lose you, Nick.’

Lifting the hatch, Nicholas let in a blast of cold air. He went swiftly up on deck and lowered the hatch again. The first thing he noticed was how much lighter the sky was. Dark clouds had given way to patches of blue. Since the deck was so slippery, he moved slowly to the bulwark, taking a firm grip on the timber rim. Two men were at the wheel and Nicholas could see that they were no longer struggling to steer the vessel. Working his way towards the quarterdeck, he went up the steps and approached the captain, a solid man in his forties, wearing a cape and hat that were both glistening from the downpour.

‘Stay below, sir,’ he cautioned. ‘It’s safer there.’

‘I’m a seasoned mariner,’ said Nicholas cheerily. ‘I’ve been through many squalls. If you ever have need of me, captain, look upon me as another member of the crew.’

‘I’ll remember that, my friend.’

‘We came through it well.’

‘The Cormorant is a fine vessel. She’ll survive almost anything. The Dutch have good shipwrights.’

The captain broke off to bark some orders to the crew and Nicholas went to the stern of the ship. Somewhere below him, Anne was sharing a cabin with Lord Westfield and the others. He hoped that she had not been too jangled by the storm. There was no sign of land in any direction but his sharp eyes did descry a sail in the middle distance. Another vessel had ridden out the storm and was slowly gaining on them. Nicholas watched it for a long time until he was certain. They were being followed.

He drew the captain’s attention to the other ship. Putting his telescope to his eye, the captain studied the vessel for a several minutes before coming to a grim conclusion.

‘Pirates,’ he said.