The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [188]
‘You. Fellow. Watchman.’
A woman’s voice. What could this mean?
Whatever he was supposed to say in challenge he forgot. Instead, like a village rustic he enquired: ‘Who’s that, then?’
There was a brief pause, then the same person called out in a tone of authority: ‘Light your beacon, fellow, summon the muster.’
This was too much.
‘The beacon only gets lit when there be three on the island. Well, two, anyway. Those are my orders from Captain Albion.’ That sounded definitive.
‘But I come from Albion, good fellow. It is he who bids you light the beacon.’
‘And who might you be?’
‘I am the Lady Albion. He sent me.’ Some practical joker, obviously.
‘So you say. I only light this beacon when I see two down there,’ Nick said firmly. ‘And that’s that.’
‘Must I force you?’
‘You can try.’ He drew out his sword.
‘The Spanish are coming, fool.’
For a moment Nick Pride hesitated. Then he had an inspiration. ‘Tell me the password, then.’
There was a pause. ‘He told it me, good fellow, but alas I have forgotten it.’
‘He told you?’
‘Yes. Upon my life.’
‘Was it’ – he searched his mind – ‘Rufus oak?’
‘Yes. Yes, I believe it was.’ The miraculous tree.
‘Well, then, I’ll tell you something.’
‘Yes?’
‘There ain’t no password. Now be off with you, you trollop.’
‘You shall pay for this.’ The voice was furious, but disappointed – you could hear that in the dark.
‘Be off, I say.’ He laughed. And a moment later the strange rider retreated into the shadow again. He wondered who she was. At least it gave him something else to think about as he gazed down, once more, at the single light in the distance.
As for the Lady Albion, she turned her horse southwards. If necessary, she was going to seize the guns at Hurst Castle herself.
The short night was already well advanced by the time Albion came on to the high ground at Lymington. The clouds were still obscuring the stars. Looking out to sea past the faint paleness of the Isle of Wight’s chalk cliffs and the Needles, he could see nothing in the deep gloom. Wherever the Armada was, he did not think it was approaching the shore. In all probability it had vanished behind the Isle of Wight by now. Perhaps, at first light, he thought, he would ride westwards a few miles along the coast to see if he could get a view of the fleets behind the island. For the time being he dismounted and sat on the ground.
He had been there some time when he thought he saw a dark shape out in the water. For a moment he felt he’d imagined it. But no: it was there. A ship was approaching. He stood up, his heart suddenly pounding. Was it possible that the Armada had slipped in unnoticed? Or perhaps a squadron had been sent in under cover of night to seize the Solent? He turned and swung himself into the saddle. He must race to Hurst Castle and alert them.
But then he paused. Must he? Was he going to help Gorges or let the Spanish take him by surprise? Nobody could blame him. Nobody knew he was there. He suddenly realized, with a horrible force, that his moment of decision had come. What side was he on?
He had no idea.
He had spent so much time telling his mother one thing and the world another that he truly couldn’t remember where he stood. He stared helplessly out to sea.
The ship was still approaching, but very slowly. He searched in the darkness, trying to see others, but could not find them. He waited. Still nothing. Then the dark shape seemed to stop. It had. He smiled. It must have hit a sandbank. He continued to watch. It would be perfectly possible for half a dozen Spanish ships to run aground out there. But although he waited no other shapes appeared. Whatever it was, the ship was alone.
He gave a sigh of relief. He needn’t make a decision after all. Not yet.
Another hour later the first hint of light appeared in the east. The clouds were thinning, too. In the greyness the horizon line appeared unbroken. The Armada was no longer in sight.
He could see the hulk clearly, now. He looked for any sign of life upon it,