Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘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.

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.’