Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

Standing on the rigging, Will could see the string of ships stretched for miles, a formidable sight for any enemy, but it was forced to move at the pace of the slowest hulk and that made progress excruciatingly slow for the Spanish officers.

After two days of sailing, the Armada was still south of the Rock of Lisbon, and it took thirteen more days to travel just one hundred and sixty nautical miles to Finisterre.

An outcry below deck drew Will's attention late in the afternoon. He found a knot of angry seamen gathered around the store of provisions, with a raging Barrett in the forefront.

"What is wrong?" Will asked.

Barrett flipped the lid off a barrel to reveal mouldy ship's biscuits heaving with maggots and worms. "The rice is the same," Barrett thundered. "And here." He opened another barrel from which Will recoiled at the foul stink. "Beef. Gone bad. All of it. And the fish too," Barrett added. He threw the barrel lid down so hard it shattered into pieces.

"All the provisions?" Will asked.

"Half of them. These damn Spaniards are like children. I should never have trusted them to mount an efficient campaign. They will poison us all with the food long before we engage in battle."

Will examined the biscuits. "These have been here a while?"

"Since the autumn," Barrett snapped. "All the delays to the Armada, and they sat upon their provisions. What were they thinking? There are already twenty men below, vomiting and fouling their quarters after eating this filth. The wine too has gone sour, and the water is undrinkable. I will have none of it."

Will saw an opportunity and fomented more anger among the gathered crew members before suggesting they take their complaints to Valdes. As the men stormed to the forecastle in search of the commander, Will held back, happy with the disruption he had caused. But as he waited, a hand caught his forearm. It was Hawksworth.

"Do I know you?" he asked. "Your face plays upon my mind. It would be ill mannered of me if we have fought beside each other in some campaign or other, or been in our cups in a tavern, and I did not recognise you."

"No, sir, I do not believe we have ever met," Will replied, with a contrite duck of his head. He made to go, but Hawksworth would not let him.

"That accent. Do I hear a hint of Warwickshire?"

"Sir, I have family in the Midlands, but I have not been home in many a year."

Hawksworth studied Will for a moment, and then asked, "And what campaigns have you been on?"

Will was grateful for the interruption of a Spanish officer ordering him to get back to work. He nodded to Hawksworth and trudged off, but could feel the traitor's eyes upon his back.

The fierce complaints spread from ship to ship as more and more provisions were found to be rotten, and Will did all he could to spread discontent. Medina Sidonia sent out requests for more supplies, from Philip, from anywhere in Portugal. All the time, men continued to fall ill with the flux, fouling their living spaces and bringing down the violent ire of those who slept near them. Barrel upon barrel of stinking food was tossed overboard.

Will watched the mounting chaos with a pleased eye, while searching for an opportunity to get to The Ship of Women to find Grace. His time would come, he was sure.

For four days, the fleet waited off Finisterre for victuals and fresh water to arrive, but there was never enough, and in the end Medina Sidonia called a council of war. Although initial orders demanded that no ship return to Spain under any circumstances, it was decided to put into Corunna to resupply.

Seeing his opportunity, Will volunteered for the shore crew who would oversee the collection and distribution of provisions across the fleet. It was a prime job, but the Spanish officers appeared happy to be rid of the Englishmen in their midst and, to Will's frustration, also assigned Hawksworth, Barrett, and Stanbury to the large team.

The coast of northwest Spain was a rugged expanse of sheer cliffs and sharp-toothed black rocks snapping against the crashing waves, but eventually it gave way to a pleasant crescent bay with the ragged spur of the Pyrenees rising up, purple and cloud-capped, in the distance. Perched over the bay was the fortress of Corunna guarding its walled city, built up by the Spanish over the years to deter any attack at the entrance to the peninsula, with a stout castle and a fort where a battery pointed seaward. Red, blue, and yellow roof tiles on the private homes glinted amid the gleaming white marble of the palace and public buildings so the city appeared to be studded with jewels in the morning sun. Along the seafront, peasants wound their way lazily with laden donkeys towards the market.

For most of the day, the lead ships settled into the harbour and dropped anchor, but by dusk nearly half the fleet-more than fifty ships-still waited at sea for daylight.

On the quayside, among the other crew members selected from the Rosario, Will waited for an opportunity to slip away, but Hawksworth watched his every movement with an unflinching eye. Every word Hawksworth said and every move he made reeked of suspicion, and Will had found himself waiting for the alarm to be raised and for him to be hauled off to the flagship and publicly executed. The strain of constant alertness was beginning to tell, and he had found himself sleeping fitfully, woken repeatedly by every slight noise in the filthy, stifling, overcrowded quarters.

Should he attempt to dispatch Hawksworth before the traitor acted, he wondered, or would that cause even more problems as the Spanish officers searched for the culprit?

His ruminations were disrupted by the sight of a storm sweeping in from the ocean. Lightning crackled in furious jagged bursts along the horizon, and as the wind gusted into the harbour, the ships bucked and rolled on the swell. The lanterns hanging outside the taverns swung wildly, the leaping shadows distorting the faces of those who waited. When the rain began to lash in horizontally, they gave up waiting for the officers who were supposed to be bringing their orders and fled into one of the taverns for shelter.

While the rest of the crew became progressively drunk on the local wine, Will stood at the window and watched the storm grow in intensity. The flashes of lightning revealed the ships at sea rising up on mountains before disappearing beneath a roll of black.

After a while other lights appeared in the sky, painting the roiling clouds in the colours that Will had witnessed over the ship with the grey sails. Was the Unseelie Court attempting to protect the fleet from nature's fury?

"Philip has sent his Armada against England knowing that his enemy has greater experience and more skilled commanders and refusing all the entreaties of his advisors." Hawksworth loomed at Will's shoulder, looking out across the harbour to the eerie wash of light. "Everyone told Philip not to send the Armada at this time," he continued, "but still he persevered. He stated his belief that God is on the side of the Spanish, and wherever weaknesses arise, God will help the Spanish overcome them. The confident hope of a miracle, he calls it. But consider this, Master Prowd. What if Philip does not put his faith in God after all? What if that sly king knows more than he says?"

Will watched the lights slowly die away until only impenetrable darkness remained.

"What if, instead, Philip has sided with the Devil, and England's sea forces face an infernal surprise that will destroy them? Out there, hidden among the fleet, is something beyond belief, waiting to be used."

"You know of these things for certain?" Will asked. Could Malantha have gifted the Armada with some secret weapon?

Hawksworth leaned in close so his hot breath warmed Will's ear. "Death waits ahead, and no one will be able to hide from its touch."