Armada. John Stack

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ forever. Now Seeley was determined to avenge the murder of his grandparents by carrying the cause of God and his faith into battle against the hated Roman Catholic Spanish and the antichrist who was their king, Philip II, the former husband of Bloody Mary.

      He looked to Varian again. God in his wisdom had placed him on board the Retribution and in the battle to come, when every man in the fleet would be a soldier of the Protestant faith. If the Lord had chosen Robert Varian then, Seeley conceded, he must be wrong about the new master.

      The ship’s bell tolled eight times and the boatswain, Shaw, called for the changing of the watch.

      ‘Call the men to the main deck, Mister Seeley,’ Robert said, eager to begin the day, ‘and have the top gallants brought down.’

      ‘Yes, Master,’ Seeley replied. His shouted order triggered the sound of bare feet running on the timber decks as all across the fleet the fore-noon watch began.

      Robert watched the men take to the shrouds as Seeley directed them from the main deck. The master’s mate was a young man, not twenty-two years old but his social rank gave him an innate confidence which was reflected in his easy command of the men. Robert had honed a similar style of command, although his had been forged over years at sea, his experience and skill earning him the respect of any crew he served with. His steadfast time on the triangular trade route had also brought him to the attention of John Hawkins and Robert had finally received his hard-earned captain’s commission six months before.

      Now he was master once more, albeit on one of the finest ships of the English fleet. He was left to wonder anew at how different his life would be if his true lineage was not tainted and could be revealed. His captaincy would have been attained years earlier, undoubtedly on a galleon rather than a merchantman. For all his skill at sailing and experience of fighting as a privateer he had never commanded in battle. Captain Morgan, on the other hand, although his junior, had sailed with Drake when the English fleet attacked the Spanish Main in the Caribbean two years before. It had been a hard fought campaign and although Robert was aggrieved that he had never been afforded such a chance to prove himself, he respected Morgan’s right to command.

      Reports that the Spanish were preparing a massive invasion fleet had reached every ear in England and the ships surrounding the Retribution had been assembled to sail once more against the enemy, although this time the attack would take place in Spanish home waters. It was a daring gamble. One worthy of Drake, Robert thought, as he looked to the flagship. He immediately saw the longboat bearing the captain returning to the Retribution. Even from a distance the agitation on Morgan’s face was evident and Robert ran to the gunwale. The longboat came alongside and the captain clambered on board.

      ‘Mister Varian,’ he called as he went aft of the main deck, ‘report to my cabin.’

      Robert walked quickly down the steps from the quarterdeck to the main and doubled back to go aft. He moved swiftly, side stepping the crewmen in the cramped space beneath the quarterdeck, his body slightly stooped in the restricted headroom. The air smelled of boiled meat and unwashed men, while underneath Robert could detect the all pervasive stink of the bilges. Ahead he could see the captain had already entered his cabin at the stern of the ship. He stopped at the door and knocked. A muffled voice commanded him to enter.

      The cabin was small but neat, with a cot to one side behind a curtain. Near the stern, under the windows, stood a table and single chair. The captain had cleared the tabletop and was laying out navigation charts, looking at each in turn before pulling another from the rack.

      ‘Lisbon,’ he said without looking up, his excitement clearly evident.

      ‘When?’ Robert asked, stepping in to view the charts he already knew intimately.

      ‘If the wind holds, we sail with the tide tomorrow,’ the captain replied. ‘Then we lay off the devil’s lair to make sure the squadrons of their fleet do not unite.’

      Robert nodded, a multitude of thoughts entering his mind at once, including the myriad tasks which needed to be completed before dawn the next morning. Until four days ago he had been like any other trader in Plymouth, fully aware of the growing threat posed by the greatest empire of the age, but unaffected by it. Now he stood shoulder to shoulder with the men who would stand against Goliath.

      CHAPTER 2

       8th April 1587. Cadiz, Spain.

      The rain fell in steady sheets borne by an onshore breeze that filled the air with the salt smell of the deep sea, smothering the odours of the cramped city on the peninsula a mile away. Evardo Alvarez Morales turned into the wind and breathed in deeply before lowering his head. The rain ran off the brim of his hat and he wiped the wind driven moisture from his face and neatly trimmed beard. The storm was blowing from the south-west and the Halcón tugged incessantly at her anchor line, trying to break free, as if to seek shelter from the shattered remnants of the Atlantic rollers that surged past the headland protecting the anchorage at Cadiz.

      He looked to the four points of his ship and beyond to the vessels that surrounded him in the upper harbour, many of them belonging to the supply fleet that was hastily being prepared under the protective watch of nine galleys, commanded by Don Pedro de Acuña, anchored in the lee of the city. The Halcón was Evardo’s first command of a galleon, granted to him at just twenty-six by his patron, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, commander of the Armada gathering in Lisbon harbour. With the planned attack on England only months away, Evardo knew he was on the cusp of writing a new chapter in the illustrious history of his family.

      Evardo’s grandfather had been a renowned explorer of the Spanish Main, while his father, Alvaro Juarez Morales, fell at the Battle of Lepanto, boldly leading an attack against the galleys of Uluj Ali. For the young Evardo the King’s crusade against the heretic English was his chance to make his name and stand shoulder to shoulder with his next eldest brother who, at twenty-eight, was already an aide-de-camp in the Duke of Parma’s army fighting the rebels of the United Provinces in the Spanish Netherlands.

      Evardo glanced over his shoulder as one of his senior officers, the ship’s captain, approached. He nodded curtly to his salute. The ship’s captain was in charge of the seventy-five sailors on board while the soldiers, two hundred of them, were under the command of a separate captain. Those men were currently garrisoned in the nearby Puerto Real and would not be embarked until the day before the galleon sailed.

      The wind slackened and shifted for a moment and Evardo moved instinctively to the bulwark of the aft deck, looking out over the side as the Halcón shifted slightly on her anchor cable. He checked her line to the other ships and to the shore, ensuring that all was well and as he looked up again he saw Abrahan Delgado standing beside him. The older man was staring at him, his gaze intense, as if he was scrutinizing his every action. Evardo smiled.

      ‘All is well, Abrahan,’ he said, ‘you should return to your cot.’

      ‘While this storm blows my place is on deck, Comandante,’ Abrahan said gruffly, pulling the collars of his cape tightly around his neck as he looked into the wind, his face twisted in a slight grimace as he eased some ancient pain in his back.

      Evardo smiled again, liking the older man. He knew the real reason Abrahan was on deck was so he could be on hand should Evardo need his advice. After fifteen years the comandante suspected there was little else his mentor could teach him on any subject.

      Abrahan Delgado was not an officer of the Halcón. He was on board as the comandante’s personal aid but the senior officers had quickly СКАЧАТЬ