the edge of the table as the ship lurched beneath her.
“Have faith,” he responded, bracing himself easily against the motion.
“We’re luring the frigate,” Meg informed him rather pointedly, sliding off the table. “But I’m not certain what to.” She regarded him closely in the wavering light and saw a quick frown cross his eyes. So he was not quite so placidly unquestioning about his captain’s plans as he’d implied.
But apart from that fleeting frown he gave nothing away. “Would you like me to fashion a sling for you?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be careful.” She set off cautiously towards the ladder leading to the decks above.
“Try not to knock it.”
Any reply she might have made was lost as a clatter of feet in the corridor above heralded the arrival on the ladder of two men carrying a third between them. “Cannon got loose, sir,” one of them said, coming backwards down the ladder supporting the legs of the groaning man. “Crushed Sly against the fo’c’sle. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Meg stood aside as the other bearer supporting the man’s head and shoulders inched down the ladder. There was little room now in the confined space and she decided she’d only be in the way if she offered to help. Besides, they didn’t need it. The man was already on the table, his breathing harsh and ragged, and David was already stripping away his shirt, giving rapid-fire instructions to the boy who acted as his assistant.
She made her way back up to the fresh air. Strangely her fear had vanished and she was now only curious to see what was happening on deck, and how things had changed since she’d gone below.
At first glance everything looked the same. Cosimo was back at the wheel. The French frigate was still in pursuit, but at a slightly greater distance. Meg saw that all the sails were once more set and the
Mary Rose
was speeding over the waves. Ahead the spume from the breaking waves against the rocky outcrop seemed much closer and she felt something clutch in her throat. They seemed on a collision course. But it was clear to her now that Cosimo did not intend for his own ship to founder on those rocks. He was leading the enemy.
But why didn’t they notice? she thought, going to the rail to stare out at the pursuing vessel. They had charts. They must know where they were heading. But perhaps they were so eager for the prize that must seem within their grasp they weren’t concentrating. Perhaps they assumed that the
Mary Rose
knew where she was going and wouldn’t deliberately put herself in danger. Perhaps the French captain didn’t know these waters as well as his English counterpart.
But it was useless speculation. Rather tentatively she approached the helm, keeping out of Cosimo’s line of sight in order not to distract him. But he was instantly aware of her. His gaze flicked for a second over her pale face, down to the bound arm, then returned to his scrutiny of the sails. “Does it hurt?”
“Throbs,” she admitted. “Are we going to run aground on those rocks?”
“O ye of little faith,” he scoffed lightly.
Meg swallowed. “Are
they
going to be wrecked?”
He glanced at her again with a slightly mocking glint in his eye. “I assure you they’d have no more sympathy for us were the positions reversed than I have for them.”
Meg shook her head in mute denial of such callous pragmatism.
Cosimo said, “If it makes you feel better, there’s a sandy shoal just before the rocks. That’s where they’ll run aground. Now, you’re distracting me.”
Meg left at once, taking up her station against the deck rail. Things were happening fast now. Cosimo was calling out orders, his feet braced against the deck, his hands on the wheel as he swung it around. She could see the sudden tensing of his shoulders as the wheel fought him, then the ship began to turn, the boom swinging overhead, the sails cracking as they slammed across to the other side. The
Mary Rose
caught the
“Have faith,” he responded, bracing himself easily against the motion.
“We’re luring the frigate,” Meg informed him rather pointedly, sliding off the table. “But I’m not certain what to.” She regarded him closely in the wavering light and saw a quick frown cross his eyes. So he was not quite so placidly unquestioning about his captain’s plans as he’d implied.
But apart from that fleeting frown he gave nothing away. “Would you like me to fashion a sling for you?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be careful.” She set off cautiously towards the ladder leading to the decks above.
“Try not to knock it.”
Any reply she might have made was lost as a clatter of feet in the corridor above heralded the arrival on the ladder of two men carrying a third between them. “Cannon got loose, sir,” one of them said, coming backwards down the ladder supporting the legs of the groaning man. “Crushed Sly against the fo’c’sle. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Meg stood aside as the other bearer supporting the man’s head and shoulders inched down the ladder. There was little room now in the confined space and she decided she’d only be in the way if she offered to help. Besides, they didn’t need it. The man was already on the table, his breathing harsh and ragged, and David was already stripping away his shirt, giving rapid-fire instructions to the boy who acted as his assistant.
She made her way back up to the fresh air. Strangely her fear had vanished and she was now only curious to see what was happening on deck, and how things had changed since she’d gone below.
At first glance everything looked the same. Cosimo was back at the wheel. The French frigate was still in pursuit, but at a slightly greater distance. Meg saw that all the sails were once more set and the
Mary Rose
was speeding over the waves. Ahead the spume from the breaking waves against the rocky outcrop seemed much closer and she felt something clutch in her throat. They seemed on a collision course. But it was clear to her now that Cosimo did not intend for his own ship to founder on those rocks. He was leading the enemy.
But why didn’t they notice? she thought, going to the rail to stare out at the pursuing vessel. They had charts. They must know where they were heading. But perhaps they were so eager for the prize that must seem within their grasp they weren’t concentrating. Perhaps they assumed that the
Mary Rose
knew where she was going and wouldn’t deliberately put herself in danger. Perhaps the French captain didn’t know these waters as well as his English counterpart.
But it was useless speculation. Rather tentatively she approached the helm, keeping out of Cosimo’s line of sight in order not to distract him. But he was instantly aware of her. His gaze flicked for a second over her pale face, down to the bound arm, then returned to his scrutiny of the sails. “Does it hurt?”
“Throbs,” she admitted. “Are we going to run aground on those rocks?”
“O ye of little faith,” he scoffed lightly.
Meg swallowed. “Are
they
going to be wrecked?”
He glanced at her again with a slightly mocking glint in his eye. “I assure you they’d have no more sympathy for us were the positions reversed than I have for them.”
Meg shook her head in mute denial of such callous pragmatism.
Cosimo said, “If it makes you feel better, there’s a sandy shoal just before the rocks. That’s where they’ll run aground. Now, you’re distracting me.”
Meg left at once, taking up her station against the deck rail. Things were happening fast now. Cosimo was calling out orders, his feet braced against the deck, his hands on the wheel as he swung it around. She could see the sudden tensing of his shoulders as the wheel fought him, then the ship began to turn, the boom swinging overhead, the sails cracking as they slammed across to the other side. The
Mary Rose
caught the
Similar Books
