The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Seven

After failing at the first attempt, the two men were eager to make amends by satisfying the demands of their paymaster. A personal interest was involved. They still bore the marks of the beating they had received at the hands of Owen Elias and they wanted immediate revenge. Offered a handsome reward for their murderous work, they were determined not to falter again. When they were given their orders, however, they blenched.

‘They’ve sailed to Denmark?’ cried Josias Greet, the elder of the men. ‘How ever can we reach him there?’

‘By going after him,’ said Isaac Dunmow.

‘Across the sea?’

‘I know of no other means of travel.’

‘Why not wait until they return to England, sir?’

‘Because that might be several weeks away and I’ll not tarry that long. My anger needs to be appeased now.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I can see that you are not the men for me,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll find someone with more mettle. Good day to you.’

‘Wait,’ said Greet quickly. ‘Let us think about this.’

‘Then do so quickly.’

They were in the taproom of the inn where Dunmow was staying. While the merchant sipped a cup of wine, the two men had tankards of ale on the table in front of them. They exchanged a glance. Greet was clearly perturbed but Ben Ryden, his confederate, was not so easily put off an assignment that could bring in a large amount of money. Shorter and stockier than his companion, Ryden had a flat face spreading out from a snub nose, with thick, black hair and beard. Because he had been a sailor in his younger days, the sea held no fears for him. He had other worries.

‘Denmark is a country of islands,’ he said. ‘I’ve been there. How would we know where to find Westfield’s Men?’

‘They’ll go first to Elsinore,’ explained Dunmow, ‘and are likely to stay a week or more as guests at the castle. The company is there to celebrate the wedding of their patron.’ He drained his cup in one gulp. ‘I want them to attend the funeral of Owen Elias as well.’

‘How will we be paid?’ asked Greet.

‘You’ll have some of the money now but most of it when the deed is done. That will encourage you to dispatch him quickly. It will also prevent you,’ he added pointedly, ‘from simply taking your payment and vanishing before you have earned it. I’ll not allow that.’

‘What about the cost of travel, sir?’

‘I’ll arrange passports for both of you,’ said Dunmow, ‘and put money in your purses to pay any charges you may incur along the way. You have a score to settle with this man. Remember that.’

‘We do,’ murmured Greet, rubbing his sore chin.

‘We’ll burn him to a cinder,’ said Ryden with a smirk. ‘My only worry is that we may never catch up with him. By the time we reach Elsinore, he and the others may have left.’

Dunmow shook his head. ‘I doubt that. They sailed on the Cormorant and she is due to call in at Flushing and Amsterdam on the way. That will delay them. In a few days, the Speedwell sets out for Elsinore, her first port of call. You’ll be on board. It may well be that you overtake them and reach the town first.’

‘If they stay at the castle, they’ll be out of reach.’

‘You bide your time.’ His face darkened. ‘I loathe plays myself,’ he said with scorn, ‘and I’ve even more cause now to loathe the actors who put them on. But the theatre is ever popular with many people. Westfield’s Men are certain to be invited to perform in the town. Make sure that you are there when they do so. All that you have to do is to wait, watch and choose your moment.’

‘We’ll know where to find them afterwards,’ said Ryden.

‘And where’s that, Ben?’ asked Greet.

‘The nearest inn. The breweries of Denmark are famous for the strength of their beer. I’ve tasted it, Josias.’

‘Then I’ll test its power as well.’

‘Make sure you do not drink any of it before you strike,’ warned Dunmow. ‘Keep your heads clear. Bring me back certain word of his death. Only then can my son be truly laid to rest.’

‘Owen Elias is a good actor,’ said Ryden grudgingly. ‘We’ve seen the Welshman on stage at the Queen’s Head more than once. When they lose him, Westfield’s Men will suffer badly.’

‘That’s only the start of their suffering.’

‘How so, Master Dunmow?’

‘There’s more to come. Whatever it takes, I mean to bring the whole company down for what they did to my son.’ Dunmow gritted his teeth. ‘They do not know what misery lies in store for them.’

The main deck of the Cormorant was a scene of frantic activity. The crew had clapped on full sail and the vessel was surging on through the North Sea with an urgency she had never possessed before. Her canvas flapped noisily and the eerie creaking of her timbers was louder than ever. Being at the mercy of a storm was a regular occurrence and the sailors had learnt to take it in their stride. Finding themselves pursued by pirates, however, induced a real fear. If captured, they would not merely sacrifice their ship and her cargo. Their lives would be at risk as well.

Nicholas Bracewell remained on the quarterdeck and watched the chasing vessel getting inexorably closer. Up in the crow’s nest, the lookout was trying to pick out as much detail from the other ship as he could. When he had counted her guns, he called the number down.

‘Twenty or more, captain!’

Even though the pirates had less cannon aboard, Nicholas was disturbed. Evidently, their vessel was smaller than the Cormorant but she was also faster and easier to manoeuvre. Since they made their living by preying on other ships, the pirates would be expert gunners. Nicholas did not think that his own crew would be so experienced and well trained. If the Cormorant were boarded, the pirates were bound to have the advantage in hand-to-hand fighting.

The captain stood beside him and used his telescope again.

‘I think she’s Spanish,’ he decided.

Nicholas was positive. ‘She is, captain.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because she’s like other Spanish galleons, built high so that she can grapple with more effect. I’ve seen dozens like her and had the pleasure of helping to sink one or two of them.’

‘When was that?’

‘When I sailed on the Golden Hind,’ said Nicholas, seeing a look of admiration in the captain’s eyes. ‘If it comes to a fight, I know how to fire a cannon so I’m at your disposal. I’ve counted only thirty-four in your crew. That’s well short of the number you’d need to sail the Cormorant and man all the guns.’

‘We are glad to have you aboard, sir.’

The book holder flashed a smile. ‘I’m not sure that I’m glad to be here at this very moment.’

‘Your name, sir?’

‘Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘I am Captain Skrine,’ said the other. ‘I sailed on the Revenge with Sir John Hawkins so I am well used to action. My hope is that we can outrun them but our heavy cargo is slowing us down. If she attacks us, we’ll need every man we can get. Is there anyone else who might help?’

‘None who’ve been sailors, captain, but I can think of three at least who could man a cannon if they were taught how. And most of them can handle a weapon if we are boarded.’

‘Instruct your three friends now, Master Bracewell,’ said the captain, ‘but do not tell the others of our danger. We may yet escape. There’s no point in spreading alarm too early.’

‘Time is against you.’

‘In what way?’

‘If she maintains her speed,’ said Nicholas, ‘she’ll overhaul us before long. Then everyone aboard will know that we have a fight on our hands. I think it best to warn them now.’

‘You heard my orders,’ asserted Skrine.

‘I’ll obey them to the letter.’

‘You’re on the Cormorant now — she’s mine to command.’

Nicholas took no offence at the crackle of authority in his voice. Captain Skrine was confident and decisive. Those qualities would be needed in the engagement that lay ahead. Excusing himself, Nicholas went below to seek out some of the actors.

When the storm abated, Lawrence Firethorn thanked their patron for his hospitality and left the cabin to join the others. Anne Hendrik felt that it was her turn to go as well.

‘I’m very grateful to you, my lord,’ she said, about to rise, ‘but I think that you’re entitled to have the cabin to yourself now.’

‘Stay as long as you wish, dear lady,’ Lord Westfield told her, gesturing for her to remain. ‘You are delightful company and it’s far more comfortable in here than anywhere else.’

‘I’ll not deny that.’

‘Though not without its hazards,’ noted Rolfe Harling wryly.

During the inclement weather, he had fared badly. The others had been queasy but Harling came off worst of all and he had been obliged to rush out of the cabin at one point. Firethorn was amused by his sudden departure. It somehow relieved the discomfort he was feeling himself. When he returned to the cabin, Harling had been deeply embarrassed. He was still uneasy.

‘I’ve sailed across the North Sea a number of times,’ he said, ‘but I can never get used to its vagaries. I’m a land creature.’

‘So am I,’ confessed Anne.

‘That makes three of us,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘Crossing the Thames by boat is the only voyage that I enjoy.’

‘I hope that you stop your ears against the blasphemy of the watermen. It’s not fit for a lady to hear. I sometimes think that sailors and boatmen were put on this earth to mangle the English language. Unlike Rolfe here,’ he continued, indicating Harling with a gloved hand, ‘who can talk politely in several foreign tongues.’

‘I’ve devoted my life to their study,’ said Harling.

‘Do you speak Dutch?’ asked Anne.

‘Very well.’

‘It took me some time to master it.’

‘I once spent three months in the Low Countries. By the end of that time, I was fluent.’

‘You’ll have to teach me a few words in Danish,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘I would like to show consideration to my bride.’

‘You do that by marrying her, my lord,’ observed Anne.

He beamed. ‘Yes, I suppose that I do. But I would still like to greet her in her own language and to have a telling phrase or two at my command. Will you be my tutor, Rolfe?’

Harling nodded, clearly still troubled by seasickness. ‘I begin to wish that I had found your new wife in England, my lord,’ he said. ‘Then I’d have been spared this voyage.’

‘I endure it willingly as proof of my love to Sigbrit.’

‘Is the lady ready to leave Denmark?’ said Anne.

‘She will go anywhere with her husband.’

‘I felt the same when I was married.’

‘Yet you stayed in England.’

‘Jacob — my husband — set up his business there.’

‘From the way you talked about him earlier, it sounds to have been a happy marriage.’

‘Very happy, my lord.’

‘That reassures me,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘I know that our kings have married foreign brides — Henry VIII did so more than once — but only for political reasons. I am prompted by the heart.’

‘And so is your bride,’ said Harling.

‘My princess of Denmark.’

‘You’ll not be disappointed, my lord. In every way, Sigbrit Olsen will be a good wife.’ He noticed the sudden concern in Anne’s eyes. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘I hope not,’ she said.

The two men were sitting with their backs to the window. Occupying a chair opposite, Anne could look over their shoulders and see the water being churned into a bubbling whiteness in the wake of the vessel. She could also see the ship that was following them. Lord Westfield and Harling glanced over their shoulders.

Anne was fretful. ‘Are we being chased?’

‘That’s no English ship,’ said Harling. ‘I dare swear that.’

‘She’s probably another merchant vessel,’ said Lord Westfield airily, ‘trying to overtake us. There’s no call for anxiety.’

‘I’m not so sure, my lord.’

Anne shared his apprehension. She sensed trouble.

Nicholas Bracewell worked quickly. Having taken the three men up on deck, he told them about the likelihood of an attack then instructed them in how to load and fire a cannon. Lawrence Firethorn, James Ingram and Frank Quilter had been selected because they were the most able-bodied members of the company. Owen Elias would also have been a natural choice but he was handicapped by his injuries. Shocked at the news that they were being pursued, the actors were keen to do anything within their power to repel an attack.

‘What of the others, Nick?’ said Ingram.

‘They’ll all be needed,’ replied Nicholas, ‘even the apprentices. If they hit us with a broadside, there are bound to be fires. The lads can help to throw buckets of water over it.’

He ran quickly through the names of the company, allotting tasks to them in the event of combat. If they were boarded, every one of them — including their patron — would need to defend himself with a weapon. Nor would Anne Hendrik be content to stay hidden below deck while the battle raged above her. Nicholas knew that she would insist on being involved. Anne was not squeamish; she would readily tend the wounded. In a crisis, nobody could be excused.

The other ship was getting closer all the time, its sails billowing, its prow carving an undulating path through the waves. Firethorn waved a fist at it and emitted a roar of defiance.

‘Spanish curs!’ he yelled. ‘We defeated your Armada and we’ll send you to the bottom of the sea to join them!’

‘Brave words,’ said Nicholas, ‘but you speak too hastily. There may be no Spaniards at all aboard.’

‘You told us that it was a Spanish galleon.’

‘No question of it. However, that proves little. The Cormorant is a Dutch ship yet Anne is the only person here with links to the Low Countries. No,’ he continued, ‘piracy attracts men of all nations and they’ll commandeer the finest ship they can find. The crew could be French, Portuguese, Dutch — even English.’

‘English!’ shouted Firethorn. ‘They would kill their own kind?’

‘They are not interested in our country of origin. All that they see is a rich prize, there for the taking. It’s only a question of time before they try to take it.’

‘We’ll be ready for the rogues!’

‘Yes,’ said Quilter, slapping the cannon. ‘Let them come on. We three will prove doughty gunners. We’ll blow the black-hearted devils to smithereens.’

‘Keeping them at bay is all that we need to do,’ said Nicholas. ‘If the action is too hot for them, they’ll withdraw. We just have to pray that they do not get too close.’

‘Why, Nick?’

‘Because they will rely on light guns and superior manpower. Their aim is to grapple and board.’

‘I’ll kill the knaves with my bare hands,’ said Firethorn.

‘They’ll have swords and daggers, Lawrence — guns, too, in some cases. I’ll make sure that we all have weapons. Without them, Westfield’s Men will become extinct.’

Captain Skrine had done all he could to shake off the pursuit but his efforts were in vain. Though the Cormorant changed course repeatedly and zigzagged through the open sea, it could neither elude nor outrun the pirate vessel. With a series of sharp commands, he deployed his crew at the gun ports on both decks and on both sides of the ship. The helmsmen were ordered to bring the Cormorant around in a wide arc. The Spanish galleon was now less than two hundred yards behind them. Beckoned by the captain, Nicholas climbed swiftly up to the quarterdeck.

‘Alert the others, Master Bracewell,’ ordered the captain.

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

‘We’ll need every man jack of them.’

‘You shall have them.’

Nicholas went off at speed. Lord Westfield was the patron and Lawrence Firethorn the actor-manager of the troupe, but it was the book holder who was in charge now. Given his greater naval experience, nobody would dare to challenge his authority. He went first below deck to warn his colleagues that the ship was in danger of attack and that they would all be required to defend it. Nicholas gave them no opportunity to fly into a panic. Pointing to each in turn, he assigned specific tasks to them before sending them up on deck. Necessity was a ready cure for seasickness. Even those most severely afflicted somehow managed to rally. To his credit, Barnaby Gill was the first to mount the steps, shedding his habitual selfishness and making common cause with the others.

Weapons were essential. Taking both George Dart and the limping Owen Elias with him, Nicholas went to the storeroom that had been unlocked by the master-at-arms. They grabbed swords, pikes and daggers to give to the others. While his friends rushed up on deck, Nicholas knocked on the door of Lord Westfield’s cabin before opening it. When they saw the weapons that he was carrying, all three occupants leapt to their feet at once.

‘What’s happened, Nick?’ asked Anne.

‘We have pirates on our tail.’

‘Pirates!’ cried Lord Westfield with disgust. ‘How dare they! I’ll not be kept from my bride by anybody. Give me a sword, Nicholas,’ he said, taking one from him. ‘I’m yours to command.’

‘Here’s a weapon for you as well, Master Harling,’ said Nicholas, handing him a cutlass ‘Do you know how to use it, sir?’

‘No,’ confessed the other, quailing.

‘You’ll soon learn.’

‘What about me?’ said Anne.

‘If they engage us, there’ll be serious injuries.’

‘I’ll look to the wounded. I’m not afraid of the sight of blood.’ She glanced through the window at the other ship. ‘I had a feeling that they were getting very close.’

‘Too close,’ said Nicholas. ‘Let’s see if we can scare them away.’

He led the way up the stairs to the main deck. Everyone was at his station. After telling the newcomers where to stand, and what to do if the ship was fired upon, Nicholas went off to join Captain Skrine on the quarterdeck. From his elevated position, he had an excellent view of the pirate ship. Sitting high in the water, its gun ports were open and its cannon at the ready. When the vessel got within a hundred yards of them, Nicholas turned to the captain.

‘They have no long-range guns,’ he said, ‘or they’d have fired on us well before now.’

‘That’s what we did in the Revenge,’ said Skrine. ‘We fired heavy shots low down from three hundred yards. We crippled some ships and took much of the boldness out of others.’

‘They are after our cargo so they’ll try not to damage it too much. They mean to board us. Their intent is to disable us first. With your permission, Captain, we’ll make use of Martin Yeo.’

‘Martin Yeo?’

‘One of our boy apprentices,’ said Nicholas, pointing to the lad on the main deck. ‘Martin is also a fine musician. I told him to bring his trumpet with him. When we fire, he’ll blow hard in triumph. When their cannon sound, he will respond with a mocking fanfare.’

‘I like the notion,’ said Shrine, grinning. ‘Permission granted.’

‘Thank you, captain.’ He signalled to Martin Yeo, who gave a nervous smile of acknowledgement. ‘The others all have instructions. I’ll make sure that they abide by them.’

Carrying a sword, Nicholas went down to the main deck so that he would be in the thick of the action. The Cormorant, meanwhile, had come round in a wide arc so that it was heading towards the other ship at an acute angle. At the command of Captain Skrine, a single shot was fired across the bows of the pirate vessel, passing within twenty yards of her bowsprit before plopping harmlessly into the sea. The response was immediate. Instead of being warned off, the ship altered its course sharply so that it could come alongside the Cormorant. A broadside was inevitable but Skrine was determined to fire his first. As they drew level with the three-masted pirate galleon, he gave the signal and the guns thundered. Martin Yeo played a shrill fanfare on his trumpet.

His celebration was premature. Before the echoes of the first broadside has died away, and before they could see what damage they had inflicted, a second one boomed out and the Cormorant was hit so hard that it rocked in the water. Some cannon balls flew over the head of the crew but others struck the bulwark, holing it instantly and sending showers of splinters into the air like wooden bullets. One man was instantly blinded, another’s face was horribly disfigured by a hail of splinters. There were other casualties. Two men were crushed to death beneath the weight of their cannon when it suffered a direct hit and jumped into the air before pinning them to the deck. A third member of the crew had his leg fractured by flying debris.

Anne Hendrik could hear their screams but she had to wait until the smoke had cleared before she was able to find the injured men. Clearing his throat, Yeo did his best to play a derisive fanfare. Still on the main deck, Nicholas was pleased that none of the company had been wounded. He was also impressed with the way that his three friends had fired their cannon and were trying to reload. James Ingram was lifting a heavy iron cannon ball while Frank Quilter held the wooden ram to pack the charge home. Lawrence Firethorn had put more gunpowder in the touch hole and stood by to apply a spark to the linstock.

‘Wait there, James,’ said Nicholas, stepping forward to pick up a different cannonball. ‘Use stone instead of iron. It will shatter on impact and cause more damage. Let me show you.’

He supervised the reloading then waved his friends back. The other ship had passed them and they were now looping around her stern. Nicholas saw his opportunity. Without waiting for an order, he picked his moment then lit the slow match, moving smartly aside so that he would not be caught by the vicious recoil of the gun and its solid wooden carriage. The lint burnt down and the gunpowder ignited with an ear-spitting bang. The stone shot was lethal. Smashing its way through the windows of a cabin below the quarterdeck, it went straight through a door then sped along the main deck until it hit the main mast with juddering force.

Stone flew everywhere, killing two men and wounding several others. Razor-edged shards also sliced through the rigging and cut dozens of holes in the canvas sails. One well-aimed shot had caused pandemonium on the pirate ship. Aboard the Cormorant, they could hear the screams of pain and confusion. Martin Yeo found much more breath to blow his trumpet. But the action was not over yet. As soon as the ships came alongside each other again, the pirates retaliated with another broadside. It was more destructive this time, holing the Cormorant in a number of places just above the waterline and raking the main deck. The broadside also caused a barrel of gunpowder to explode, hurling men in every direction by the force of the blast.

Three of the crew were killed outright and some of the actors were injured. A fire started. Nicholas was everywhere, helping the apprentices to douse the flames with water, calling Anne’s attention to wounded men in need of bandaging, then replacing a gunner whose arm had been shot away. On a signal from Captain Shrine, they discharged their own broadside with deafening volume. A mixture of stone and iron shot had been used, the former splitting on impact to spread its terror far and wide, the latter punching large holes in the bulwark and knocking two cannon out of commission.

Though they did not know it, the stone ball fired by the three actors had the most dramatic effect. Striking the main mast that had already been badly weakened by the earlier impact, the heavy stone opened up a split that widened within seconds. Its own massive weight told against it, pressing down on the fissure until it burst asunder. There was a loud crack then the main mast came crashing down like a tall tree in a forest, demolishing everything in its way and bringing the battle to a sudden end. Everyone aboard the Cormorant gave a rousing cheer.

Over the distant howls of agony, came the loudest fanfare yet.

‘When will they arrive, Uncle?’ asked Sigbrit Olsen.

‘Not for some time yet.’

‘But they are on their way?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Bror Langberg. ‘They will have set sail by now. When they reach Vlissingen — the English call it Flushing — there will be letters from me awaiting them. I’ve explained how delighted you are with the match.’

Sigbrit was hesitant. ‘Yes, Uncle.’

She was a slender young woman of middle height with the white skin of a true Scandinavian. She had a cambric ruff above her stiffened bodice and a hooped skirt whose hem brushed the ground and concealed her slippers. Worn high on the forehead and away from the sides of her face, her fair hair had a natural sheen. Bror Langberg, her uncle, was a tall man in his fifties with broad shoulders and a substantial paunch. Wearing a long gown over his doublet and hose, he had a ruff of yellow starched linen. Langberg had a pleasant, round, open face and a warm smile. He was visiting his niece at an apartment in Kronborg, the castle at Elsinore. The closer the visit of Lord Westfield became, the more reassurance she would need.

‘Will he like me?’ she wondered.

‘He already loves you, Sigbrit.’

‘But he has not even met me.’

‘Yes, he has,’ said Langberg, ‘albeit through intercessories. He has two portraits of you — one in miniature and the other in life-size, painted with my own words. Rolfe Harling described you in detail and his master was enchanted.’

‘Will I find Lord Westfield agreeable?’

‘Of that, there is no doubt.’

‘What will he expect of me?’ she said anxiously.

‘That you are a good wife to him. Love and loyalty is all that he asks for, Sigbrit. Pledge yourself to him.’ Still worried, she turned away. He took her by the shoulders. ‘Away with these silly fears,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘His only wish is to make you happy. Do you not want to live in England as Lady Westfield?’

‘I do not know, Uncle.’ She faced him once more. ‘I would like to visit England because there are too many sad memories to vex me here, but I am not sure if I could live there. And I do not believe that I could ever love as I did once before.’

‘You will in time, Sigbrit.’

‘I do not believe it.’

‘You will and you must,’ he said softly. ‘It is right that you should mourn your husband but he would not have wanted you to pine forever. Consider Lord Westfield — he has grieved over the death of two wives yet he has enough spirit and hope to seek a third. He wants to pluck joy out of sorrow. You must do the same.’

‘I know.’

Her nod of obedience concealed her misgivings. Sigbrit Olsen loved, respected and trusted her uncle. She treated him as a father and, as a rule, accepted his advice unquestioningly. In this instance, however, she was assailed by doubts. While the prospect of marrying a member of the English nobility was tempting, it was also daunting. She wished that she could feel more enthusiastic about it.

‘Take heart,’ said Langberg, reading her thoughts. ‘It is all for the best, I promise you. Do you think that I would have entered upon these negotiations unless they were to the advantage of my niece? You will gain so much, Sigbrit — wealth, position and fine houses both in London and in the country. You will have real importance.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand all that.’

‘Then there is another aspect, of course.’

‘You have already talked to me about the king.’

‘He approves of this match. Denmark has enemies so we must be sure to strengthen bonds with our friends. King Christian wishes us to be closer to England and this marriage will be one small way of achieving that end.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We do not want to disappoint the king, do we?’

‘No, Uncle Bror.’

‘Look to the future.’

‘The future?’

‘Yes,’ he explained. ‘King Christian’s sister is herself married to a king, James VI of Scotland — a most happy union. Queen Elizabeth is old and tired. She will not rule England much longer. Just imagine if the person to succeed her was King James. What would that mean?’

‘England would have a Danish Queen,’ she said.

‘Someone you know and love.’

‘Anne was good to me.’

‘Your friendship will blossom again, Sigbrit — but not if you stay here in Elsinore, your mind forever entombed with your late husband. You must break away from Ingmar,’ he insisted. ‘Honour his memory but build your life anew with another man.’

‘Yes, Uncle.’

‘I ask it for your own sake and for that of your country.’ After a moment, Sigbrit nodded. Langberg kissed her on the cheek. ‘That is better,’ he continued. ‘Lord Westfield has a wedding gift for you that even King James could not match.’

‘When he got married in Oslo,’ she recalled, ‘he brought four Negroes with him to dance in the snow at the wedding. I was there and saw all four dance so prettily. But the cold was too much for them,’ she added with a wan smile. ‘All four died of pneumonia.’

‘No more talk of death,’ said her uncle, showing his irritation. ‘Think only of life, Sigbrit. Lord Westfield does not come with four dancers but with a whole company of actors.’

‘Yes,’ she said, brightening at last. ‘I long to see them.’

‘They are the finest troupe in England and they will be yours.’

Her doubts returned. ‘Will they?’

Celebrations aboard the Cormorant were short-lived. Having crippled the pirate ship and sailed out of range of her cannon, they took stock of their casualties. They were heavy. Five members of the crew had been killed and even more had been wounded. Only one member of Westfield’s Men had died — Harold Stoddard, crushed to death — but several had collected injuries. Barnaby Gill had been knocked unconscious by a glancing blow from a fallen spar and Edmund Hoode’s hands had been badly lacerated by flying splinters when he brought them up to protect his face. None of them had escaped without at least some cuts and grazes. Two of the apprentices had slight burns from the fire on board. To his annoyance, Owen Elias added a facial gash and a head wound to his other injuries.

Nicholas was proud of them all, especially of Anne Hendrik. Working tirelessly throughout, she had torn her clothing into pieces in order to bandage wounds, saving more than one man from bleeding to death. When she had finished with the more serious cases, she washed and dressed the minor wounds of crew and actors alike with great tenderness. It was she who poured the brandy into Gill’s mouth. It made him open his eyes again.

‘Well,’ said Elias with a cackle, ‘that’s a sight I never thought to see in a hundred years — Barnaby in the arms of a woman.’

The other actors laughed. Gill started. When he realised that Anne was cradling him, he sat quickly up and pushed her hands away, rubbing his sore head where he had been struck.

Burial of the dead was one of the first tasks. Captain Skrine did not want the gruesome, blood-covered corpses left on board to upset his crew so he officiated at a simple ceremony. Along with the others, Harold Stoddard was sewn into a piece of canvas and consigned to the deep. Damage had been extensive and many repairs were necessary. Nicholas volunteered the services of Oswald Megson, actor and carpenter, and undertook the most onerous duty himself. Lowered over the side of the ship on ropes, he mended the holes that had been opened during the action by cannon balls.

It was slow, laborious, tedious work and the constant movement of the vessel made it highly dangerous. Nicholas was soaked to the skin by the waves but he ignored the discomfort and stuck at it, knowing how crucial the repairs were. When he was finally hauled back on deck again, he was dripping wet.

‘Well done,’ said Captain Skrine. ‘We owe you our thanks.’

Nicholas grinned. ‘It’s the pirates who get my thanks,’ he said. ‘They holed us just above the waterline. Had they hit us lower, we would be in real difficulty. I know what it is to make repairs on the hull below the sea. It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat.’

‘Get below and change into dry clothing, Master Bracewell.’

‘I will, sir. Do you know where we are?’

‘Yes,’ said Skrine, ‘I’ve taken bearings. We were blown right off course by the storm and chased further north by the pirates. I’m minded to change our plans.’

‘Why?’

‘Most of the cargo is destined for Elsinore and we’ve to take some on board there. If we make for Denmark first, we can call at Amsterdam and Flushing on the voyage home.’

‘That will please Lord Westfield,’ said Nicholas, shaking out his wet hair, ‘for it will get him to his new bride sooner than he expected. But it will not suit everyone.’

Anne Hendrik was bandaging Lawrence Firethorn’s wounded arm nearby. Constant effort had taken its toll. Her hair was dishevelled, his face streaked with perspiration and the remnants of her skirt splashed with the blood of a dozen patients. Nicholas crooked a finger to call her over.

‘Do you hear that, Anne?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘The Cormorant is to make for Denmark first.’

‘I see,’ she said, crossing over to them.

‘She’ll call at Amsterdam on the return voyage.’

‘It will add a long time to your journey, I fear,’ apologised Skrine ‘but it suits our purpose. The Cormorant is, after all, a merchant ship and the fate of her cargo is paramount. You were the only person bound for the Low Countries.’

‘Do not worry, Anne,’ said Nicholas. ‘When we reach Elsinore, you may well find a ship that will get you to Amsterdam much sooner than this one.’

‘But I prefer the Cormorant,’ she announced.

‘Oh?’

‘I feel like part of the crew, Nick. And since you made me the ship’s surgeon, I would like to keep an eye on my patients. Besides,’ she went on, ‘I’ll not complain about a few days spent in Denmark. It will give me a chance to see Westfield’s Men perform again.’

‘Then you are welcome to join us.’

‘I would also like to meet the lady.’

‘What lady?’ he asked.

‘Sigbrit Olsen. Lord Westfield talked about her so much when we were in his cabin during the storm. He’s deeply in love with her.’

‘I know, Anne. That’s why he braved this voyage.’

‘I look forward to seeing this princess of Denmark.’

‘So do we,’ he said seriously, ‘for much hangs on this marriage. We must please his new wife and win her blessing because we must, above all else, keep our patron. Everything depends on Lady Westfield. Should she take against us, we may discover that we have made a long journey to the graveyard.’

‘In what way?’

‘Our patron is truly infatuated. He could refuse his bride nothing. We must pray for her approval. If he were forced to choose between Sigbrit Olsen and his theatre company, there is no question of the outcome.’ Nicholas gave a philosophical shrug. ‘Westfield’s Men would disappear into oblivion.’