Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [258]
Jack Howard swore. Then he gave a few succinct orders and a moment later, under cover of gunsmoke, was himself being rowed to the shore.
He had joined the others before he was seen from the castle. He rallied them, and attempted one assault, but didn’t waste time on another. There was no chance of a breach on this side, and his heavy fire was hardly denting the sea defences. He set his force to their second objective, and ran with them as they passed from house to house of the village, firing them all. The wind did half their work. Soon there would be nothing, no homes, warehouses, stables, sheds, fencing. Nothing to support or sustain the garrison if and when he got back and laid a proper siege. Then they ran for the boats.
He was lucky not to be killed. Quite a few of them were, even though his ships came in as close for him as they dared. Of course, he wore armour. He even wondered whether, if he knew Adorne’s coat of arms, Adorne might know his. The Order, if nothing else, recognised chivalry.
Then they were on board; and raised sail, with a last cannonade, to which the fortress replied. Behind them, the township burned: a beacon that said, not the English are coming, but the English have been. He had achieved something.
His prizes and the rest of his ships were further off, because of the wind, but he would catch up with them when the tide changed, and meanwhile could see to his repairs. It was not going to be a pleasant flog south—he was going to need sea room and some wearisome tacking, which was always tiresome with an undermanned fleet, never mind one with a cripple in tow. In its way, though, it was quite a triumph—every vessel he had met sunk or burned, save for the six fine ships he had taken. Maybe more, before he got out of these waters. He could hear, when he got close enough, that his men on the waiting vessels were singing. He thought, when they were in order and sailing together again, that he would break out some ale, and they could have a bite of those oysters. He supposed they could let the oystermen go.
He found, as he arrived and boarded the noisiest ship, that the oystermen had gone. He found, crunching on shells, that his crews had already broached the baskets of shellfish. He discovered that, tipped off by the oystermen (was it possible?), the remaining part of his fleet had discovered the nature of their little stray companion’s cargo and, being in the way of deserving a celebration, had helped themselves from its hold.
The wine-ship, like the oystermen, was with them no longer. Its captain, having made a number of unauthorised concessions, had thought it prudent to retreat out of reach, a decision with which the more sober officers of Howard’s fleet had agreed. It had seemed safe enough. They had cleared the firth of every ship within reach. No one could have guessed that some sly enemy vessel, lurking behind the island of May, would actually dart out and race after the wine-ship. When last seen, King Edward’s malmsey, of which there remained many butts, was flying north and east before a powerful beam wind and a Scottish pursuer.
‘Let it go,’ Jack Howard said. ‘We can’t drag all this lot after, and then beat all the way back, just for that. So. Where is this wine, and where are the oysters?’ When it was too late for reprimand, it was best to be hearty.
The wine was superb; but the singing turned sluggish and died, as the oysters had done, from ill-health.
It was a very, very bad voyage south.
ROBIN, BRUISED AND aching and strapped to a fiendish harness on deck, was speechless with laughter, while Jodi hung over the rail at his side, his dimpled face scarlet with pleasure. The sails creaked, the sea hissed, and far ahead of them in a flurry of spume the English wine-ship was striving, apparently, for Ultima Thule. Nicholas, ending his recital, said, ‘I’ve got some good oysters, grata ingluvies, if anyone wants them. No. It was a joke, but they’ve burned every house in Blackness. And they’ve captured eight ships, including three good fishing vessels,