of her skirts and caught the fragrance of a light perfume. I smiled down at her. 'Thank you,' I said, meaning it.
'For what? I can't have old Onion Crosspatch die on us!'
In a low-cut dress, the sleeves pulled back, Maria looked as fresh as some golden milkmaid on an English morning. Her eyes were soft and her mouth was welcoming. She stroked my hand lightly.
'You were very ill, Roger,' she said. 'And delirious.'
'About you,' I half-joked.
'No, no, about some other woman. Agnes.'
I looked away. Strange that someone like Maria should drag back the memories of Agnes - Agnes, pure and innocent as a doe, strangled in a garden just because she and her family knew me.
'Agnes is dead,' I told her. 'We all have dreams.'
Maria looked past me at Benjamin.
'You must take him out of the sun,' she said briskly, 'and cover his head and the back of his neck, otherwise the sun will drive him mad. More people die of sunstroke than at the hands of the Turks.'
I looked at her uncovered head and neck and bare shoulders.
'In which case, Mistress, surely you should take better care?'
Maria giggled, ‘I am used to this heat. As a child I often ran naked.'
'And now?' I teased, forgetting my discomfort.
'Only in the company of friends,' she said mischievously, and walked daintily away.
Ah well, as you can see, I was getting better. My master borrowed a cloak and hood for me and I followed Maria's advice. Using his charm, he persuaded the ship's cook to serve me dishes of meat, slightly rancid but nonetheless appetising. Maria brought me strange fruits called oranges. I had seen their like in England, but these were full and ripe their juice slaked my thirst and cleaned the sourness from my mouth. I bathed under a water pump and changed my clothes and within a few days I had rejoined the company of the living, my eyes again sharp for mischief, with Lady Beatrice in particular. Now, though, she ignored me.
A few days later we sighted land, a grey dull mass. My master explained that we were slipping through the Straits of Hercules, past the outpost of Gibraltar, where we stopped to take on fresh water before turning north-west to the port of Pisa. At once the sky clouded over. We ran into a sudden storm, but that soon passed and I suffered no sort of sickness. The mood of the ship now abruptly changed. The ship's guns were cleaned and prepared. The crew had their weapons ready. Benjamin explained that we were now in the Middle Sea where Moorish corsairs prowled in their long galleys.
'Singly, they would probably not attack a warship,' he said, 'but there's always the danger that we might meet several of them working together and then, of course, they might try their chances even against a well-armed ship like the Bonaventure. Or we might come across a squadron of Suleiman's fleet from the Golden Horn.'
Two days after that conversation, just before sunset, ten long, narrow vessels appeared over the horizon. They swept towards us, low in the water. They reminded me of wolves, so silent, so eerie was their approach. Our captain ordered the beat to arms and the decks were cleared for action. The galleys came closer, dark sails flapping whilst their oars dipped slowly in the calm blue sea. The captain ordered a volley and the ship shuddered as our cannon roared out. The galleys were too far away to be suitable targets but they heeded our warning and kept their distance. Nevertheless, I was fascinated by these masters of the sea, these sea-wolves darting in and out from ports along the North African coast. At night I stood by the rail and watched their lights and heard the loud drumbeat of their master oarsman. The wind shifted and I gagged at the terrible stench.
'Slaves,' Benjamin murmured, standing beside me. The galleys are packed with Christian men who, until the day they die, have to man their oars. Pray, Roger, that such a fate is never yours or mine.'
Believe me, I did. And for once the good Lord must have heard me for, at dawn the next
'For what? I can't have old Onion Crosspatch die on us!'
In a low-cut dress, the sleeves pulled back, Maria looked as fresh as some golden milkmaid on an English morning. Her eyes were soft and her mouth was welcoming. She stroked my hand lightly.
'You were very ill, Roger,' she said. 'And delirious.'
'About you,' I half-joked.
'No, no, about some other woman. Agnes.'
I looked away. Strange that someone like Maria should drag back the memories of Agnes - Agnes, pure and innocent as a doe, strangled in a garden just because she and her family knew me.
'Agnes is dead,' I told her. 'We all have dreams.'
Maria looked past me at Benjamin.
'You must take him out of the sun,' she said briskly, 'and cover his head and the back of his neck, otherwise the sun will drive him mad. More people die of sunstroke than at the hands of the Turks.'
I looked at her uncovered head and neck and bare shoulders.
'In which case, Mistress, surely you should take better care?'
Maria giggled, ‘I am used to this heat. As a child I often ran naked.'
'And now?' I teased, forgetting my discomfort.
'Only in the company of friends,' she said mischievously, and walked daintily away.
Ah well, as you can see, I was getting better. My master borrowed a cloak and hood for me and I followed Maria's advice. Using his charm, he persuaded the ship's cook to serve me dishes of meat, slightly rancid but nonetheless appetising. Maria brought me strange fruits called oranges. I had seen their like in England, but these were full and ripe their juice slaked my thirst and cleaned the sourness from my mouth. I bathed under a water pump and changed my clothes and within a few days I had rejoined the company of the living, my eyes again sharp for mischief, with Lady Beatrice in particular. Now, though, she ignored me.
A few days later we sighted land, a grey dull mass. My master explained that we were slipping through the Straits of Hercules, past the outpost of Gibraltar, where we stopped to take on fresh water before turning north-west to the port of Pisa. At once the sky clouded over. We ran into a sudden storm, but that soon passed and I suffered no sort of sickness. The mood of the ship now abruptly changed. The ship's guns were cleaned and prepared. The crew had their weapons ready. Benjamin explained that we were now in the Middle Sea where Moorish corsairs prowled in their long galleys.
'Singly, they would probably not attack a warship,' he said, 'but there's always the danger that we might meet several of them working together and then, of course, they might try their chances even against a well-armed ship like the Bonaventure. Or we might come across a squadron of Suleiman's fleet from the Golden Horn.'
Two days after that conversation, just before sunset, ten long, narrow vessels appeared over the horizon. They swept towards us, low in the water. They reminded me of wolves, so silent, so eerie was their approach. Our captain ordered the beat to arms and the decks were cleared for action. The galleys came closer, dark sails flapping whilst their oars dipped slowly in the calm blue sea. The captain ordered a volley and the ship shuddered as our cannon roared out. The galleys were too far away to be suitable targets but they heeded our warning and kept their distance. Nevertheless, I was fascinated by these masters of the sea, these sea-wolves darting in and out from ports along the North African coast. At night I stood by the rail and watched their lights and heard the loud drumbeat of their master oarsman. The wind shifted and I gagged at the terrible stench.
'Slaves,' Benjamin murmured, standing beside me. The galleys are packed with Christian men who, until the day they die, have to man their oars. Pray, Roger, that such a fate is never yours or mine.'
Believe me, I did. And for once the good Lord must have heard me for, at dawn the next
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