Martin Stephen - The galleon's grave

Mannion paused. Gresham sensed that the years had rolled back, and that he was, in his mind, actually back there, in the foul, stinking cell they had thrust him into.

'Any road, once they've roughed us up a bit, me and the crew, and 'ad their fun, we're hauled in front of what they call a court. Sir Francis Fucking Drake 'ad just knocked off a load of Spanish ships, so the English were really popular in Cadiz. And guess who the senior naval officer is, in charge of this Court and running the whole show?'

The Marquis of Santa Cruz,' whispered Gresham. 'Was it really him?'

'Oh, it was 'im alright. His bloody galleys had come out o' the Med for some reason, were staying in Cadiz — just like those bastard galleys that nearly did for us yesterday. They do it a lot, send the galleys out, just to prove they're sea-going vessels, not just right for the Med. Rarely get further north than Lisbon, tell the truth. They're not sea-going vessels, really, you see. Not North Sea vessels, at any rate.' Mannion paused.

'What happened? asked Gresham, caught up in the drama of the story.

'We were 'eathen pirates, apparently. Funny, I'd thought we were just God-fearing Englishmen trying to earn an honest living. The 'eathen pirate was Lord Fuckin' Drake, but they hadn't captured 'im. They'd captured us, so we were sentenced in 'is place.'

'Sentenced?'

'Sentenced. In the case of the Captain, to burn as a heretic. We were all mustered to watch it. Includin' his wife, of course. God wants good women to stand by and see their God-fearing 'usband burned to a crisp, apparently. Or at least, that's Spanish religion. After that, those of us with any muscle were sent to the galleys. It's the smell I'll never forget. That burnin' smell. That smell of a human bein' burned.'

'You were a galley slave?' asked Gresham, incredulous. 'But that's

… awful! It's unbelievable…' He was lost for words. Gresham knew that, incredibly, some of those working the oars in Spanish galleys were 'volunteers', forced by poverty and imminent starvation. Yet he also knew how many were common criminals, in effect condemned to death by their service.

'Not as unbelievable as it was for me,' said Mannion. 'Santa Cruz, 'e was eatin' his dinner when he sentenced us. Three types o' wine, I remember. They chain you to a bench,' he said bitterly, 'all the time you're at sea. You sit at the bench, you sleep at the bench, you eat what crap they give you at the bench, you piss and shit at the bench. And once you get chained there, you expect to die at the bench. 'Cept it's not all bad.' He turned, and grinned at Gresham. 'It's a padded bench, y'see. Otherwise you'd have the skin stripped off your arse in half an hour. Food's alright, really. Surprising. They need to keep you fit, you see. And all because of 'is Highness the Marquis of Santa Cruz. I'll never forget it. 'E couldn't give a shit. We was just dirt, flies to be stamped on by 'is fine leather boot! They called it a court but they'd made their minds up long before we was ever dragged before 'em. It were a farce. Men's lives at stake, and it bein' treated halfway between a joke and when a farmer decides to kill an' eat a chicken.'

'So how did you get out?'

'Luck. Pure luck. The bloody Spaniards talk about Lepanto as if it wiped the bloody Turks off the face of the water. Well, it didn't. We were sent — our boat, that is — to sort out some bloody Turkish corsairs, 'cept they sorted us out. Rams. These galleys have bloody great rams on their front, lined with brass. Our captain must 'ave got it wrong. Any road, we was rammed. Three benches in front o' me. I can see that brass end shinin' now, straight through the 'ull. Pulped those men. Then, as we were still movin' forward, their ram splintered the hull, like it were paper, crashin' on down to us. Man on the right o' me, caught by the ram, smashed to bits. Man on the left 'o me, bloody great splinter, straight into his gut.'

'And you?' said Gresham.

‘Not a mark on me. Ram broke the bench exactly where the ring was sunk to hold the chain. Result? I'm free — 'cept I've got half a ton of loose chain and a ring bolt round me knees, even if it ain't attached to the ship any more. And, of course, the galley's sinking, isn't she? Water flooding through the deck, already at me knees.'

'So what happened?' asked Gresham, like the child he had never been asking for the end of a story from the mother he had never known.

'The water's comin' towards me in waves, gettin' higher all the time. And then, on top of one of them, I see the key to the padlocks round our feet. The overseer kept it in a leather wallet — 'e must have dropped it. I grab it. By this time the water's at waist height when it's at its lowest, but slappin' me in the face when it's high. So I take a deep breath, and I ducks down underneath the water, tries to get the key into the locks.'

'What then?'

'I does one, and then the ship lurches over. I lose the key. I lose the key! I'm cryin', cryin d'you hear, cryin' underwater. An' I just want to breathe, don't care if it's water or air, I just got to open me lungs. And I'm clenching my fist, without thinking. And when I clench it for the last time, there's something in it.'

'The key?' Gresham breathed.

'The key! So I shove it in the second lock, thinkin' I'm dead so what the Hell. And it opens. My legs are free.' 'And then?' Gresham asked.

'Don't know,' said Mannion. 'All I know is that I'm floating on the surface. And breathing. Breathing.'

'But how did you get home?' asked Gresham.

'Well, now,' said Mannion, clearly deciding that he'd made enough of a confession, 'that's a different story. Save it for another day. Ended up in England. Your father gave me a job. Gardener!' Mannion barked a short, savage laugh. 'Can't tell you how good that word sounded. Gardener. Feet on God's earth for evermore. Catch me if you can wi' me feet on anything that moves ever again!' He made as if to stand up, then thought better of it, returned to Gresham's side. 'But I'll tell you one thing. When I 'eard we was goin' to Cadiz, I thought Christ! When I 'eard it was with Drake, I thought Christ Almighty! And when I saw those galleys, ain't no words no Christ ever 'eard passed through my brain. I was about to ask you to kill me if it ever looks like we're goin' to be captured by those bastards.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Thought it was daft- Thought we was dead anyway. Thought it was kind of poetic justice, someone like me being blown to bits by a bloody Spanish galley. Didn't like it, though. Never given up on anything before.'

Gresham looked deep into Mannion's. eyes. He was beginning to realise what this journey must have cost Mannion in courage.

'Why did you come with me on… this?'

"Cos people like me can't choose what 'appens to them. If they're lucky, they can choose who it 'appens with. I chose you. So the rest follows, don't it? Fall in love with Spain, if you like and you're that stupid. Me, I don't choose countries. I choose people.'

It had been chaos when Sidonia arrived at Cadiz, guided as he had feared by the plumes of smoke. Troops were milling around the town, each under their own command. Some were drunk, and it would only be a matter of time before one or more of them went out of control and started to loot or rape. Yet with relief he saw the smoke was coming from ships in the bay, not the town. 'My Lord, what are your orders?'

The militia officer was respectful, but forceful. He knew Sidonia's reputation. A hard taskmaster, but fair. As for Sidonia, he had no training as a General, but the necessary actions seemed obvious to him. He took fifty of the best mounted troops, and rode through the town, grabbing the disorganised men as he found them, sending the drunkards off to the dungeons in the Castle and organising the remainder into detachments of mixed horse and foot. Small enough to be mobile, yet powerful enough to hurt seriously a landing party, he placed the detachments all along the shoreline, defined a command structure. He gave the command to men who he either knew, or simply those officers with natural authority. Next he ordered such few light cannon as the city could muster and placed them in hurriedly constructed batteries along the shoreline. Now let the enemy land by boat! He had Cadiz scoured for powder and shot, placing it in the cellars of the stoutest brick and stone houses, within reach of his shoreline detachments but out of range of the English guns. Messengers were sent to the galleys, apparently his only effective fighting force afloat, and a line of communication set up. There was no escape from the harbour for any Spanish vessel, so a rider was sent to the next fishing village along the coast, with enough gold to send the entire fishing fleet out to sea to search for Recalde's squadron to tell it to return to Cadiz.