the
Golden Lion
, with the fleet’s second officer, Borough, on board had turned her bow northwards despite the entreaties of their captain.
Where lesser men might have succumbed, Drake had rallied, persuading the remaining crews to sail west to San Miguel. His resolve had been rewarded and a dawn attack by the last nine ships had yielded an enormous prize – the
Sao Phelipe
, a Portuguese carrack that was one of the Spanish King’s own vessels. After this enormous coup, Drake had been content to end the expedition and the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
had finally led the bedraggled fleet home.
Of Robert’s command, seven men had been lost to sickness while another thirty were isolated below decks, the men shivering in their hammocks, crying out in delirium, their bodies racked by fever. Some would survive, God would choose who, and Robert murmured a prayer for all. He wondered, like all sailors, what cursed element triggered the dread disease.
‘The ship is secure, Captain,’ Seeley said, coming up to the quarterdeck. His frame was lean and drawn from the rigours of the previous weeks.
‘Very well,’ Robert replied. ‘Have the men stand down. Mister Powell will need to see each of them before any can disembark to make sure none of them have ship-fever.’
The master nodded. He ordered the ship’s surgeon to the main deck, then called the boatswain to come aft.
‘Captain,’ Seeley began, as Shaw arrived, ‘I would like to question the men one last time before they disembark.’
Robert tried to hide his irritation, but he saw the master’s expression change to a frown of annoyance and knew his own face had betrayed him.
Since the discovery of the idols, Seeley’s search for the Catholic on board had been relentless. Every crewman had been subjected many times to Seeley’s questions while Shaw had assisted his efforts, watching the crew in their unguarded moments below decks when off watch. Many of the crew had reacted with fury when they had first heard of the traitor amongst them. They had vowed to help the master hunt him down but Seeley had refused to trust anyone on board. His obstinate suspicion had eventually put the entire crew on edge, exacerbating the fleet-wide scourges of disease and short supplies.
Robert had been on the cusp of ending the hunt many times, but on each occasion he had hesitated, unsure if his motivation was to guard the dwindling morale of his crew or his own safety. The responsibilities of his rank had continually decided the issue, but at the cost of his patience at Seeley’s ever increasing obsession to cleanse the
Retribution
of treachery. This final request to question the exhausted crew could not be countenanced.
‘This is our last chance,’ Seeley said. ‘Once the traitor goes ashore he is bound to disappear.’
‘We might still catch him, Captain,’ Shaw added, his own enthusiasm for the hunt fuelled by frustration.
‘No,’ Robert said, ‘there will be no further questioning.’
Seeley was about to protest but Robert held up his hand.
‘You are dismissed, Mister Shaw,’ he said to the boatswain. ‘Inform the men of the morning and fore-noon watches that they may go ashore.’
Shaw hesitated for a second before nodding his assent and leaving the quarterdeck.
Robert drew Seeley over to the bulwark. ‘You have done enough, Thomas,’ he said soothingly, taking a different tack, ‘and God has brought us home safe. Be content with that.’
‘But a traitor still walks amongst us,’ Seeley replied vehemently, glancing unconsciously over his shoulder to the assembled men on the main deck.
‘The man you seek might have fallen at Lagos, or may have been one of those who succumbed to fever and was buried at sea.’
Seeley shook his head. ‘I searched all the belongings of every man who died and found nothing, no further evidence.’
He paused for a moment, searching the captain’s face. ‘Don’t you want to catch the traitor?’ he asked
Golden Lion
, with the fleet’s second officer, Borough, on board had turned her bow northwards despite the entreaties of their captain.
Where lesser men might have succumbed, Drake had rallied, persuading the remaining crews to sail west to San Miguel. His resolve had been rewarded and a dawn attack by the last nine ships had yielded an enormous prize – the
Sao Phelipe
, a Portuguese carrack that was one of the Spanish King’s own vessels. After this enormous coup, Drake had been content to end the expedition and the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
had finally led the bedraggled fleet home.
Of Robert’s command, seven men had been lost to sickness while another thirty were isolated below decks, the men shivering in their hammocks, crying out in delirium, their bodies racked by fever. Some would survive, God would choose who, and Robert murmured a prayer for all. He wondered, like all sailors, what cursed element triggered the dread disease.
‘The ship is secure, Captain,’ Seeley said, coming up to the quarterdeck. His frame was lean and drawn from the rigours of the previous weeks.
‘Very well,’ Robert replied. ‘Have the men stand down. Mister Powell will need to see each of them before any can disembark to make sure none of them have ship-fever.’
The master nodded. He ordered the ship’s surgeon to the main deck, then called the boatswain to come aft.
‘Captain,’ Seeley began, as Shaw arrived, ‘I would like to question the men one last time before they disembark.’
Robert tried to hide his irritation, but he saw the master’s expression change to a frown of annoyance and knew his own face had betrayed him.
Since the discovery of the idols, Seeley’s search for the Catholic on board had been relentless. Every crewman had been subjected many times to Seeley’s questions while Shaw had assisted his efforts, watching the crew in their unguarded moments below decks when off watch. Many of the crew had reacted with fury when they had first heard of the traitor amongst them. They had vowed to help the master hunt him down but Seeley had refused to trust anyone on board. His obstinate suspicion had eventually put the entire crew on edge, exacerbating the fleet-wide scourges of disease and short supplies.
Robert had been on the cusp of ending the hunt many times, but on each occasion he had hesitated, unsure if his motivation was to guard the dwindling morale of his crew or his own safety. The responsibilities of his rank had continually decided the issue, but at the cost of his patience at Seeley’s ever increasing obsession to cleanse the
Retribution
of treachery. This final request to question the exhausted crew could not be countenanced.
‘This is our last chance,’ Seeley said. ‘Once the traitor goes ashore he is bound to disappear.’
‘We might still catch him, Captain,’ Shaw added, his own enthusiasm for the hunt fuelled by frustration.
‘No,’ Robert said, ‘there will be no further questioning.’
Seeley was about to protest but Robert held up his hand.
‘You are dismissed, Mister Shaw,’ he said to the boatswain. ‘Inform the men of the morning and fore-noon watches that they may go ashore.’
Shaw hesitated for a second before nodding his assent and leaving the quarterdeck.
Robert drew Seeley over to the bulwark. ‘You have done enough, Thomas,’ he said soothingly, taking a different tack, ‘and God has brought us home safe. Be content with that.’
‘But a traitor still walks amongst us,’ Seeley replied vehemently, glancing unconsciously over his shoulder to the assembled men on the main deck.
‘The man you seek might have fallen at Lagos, or may have been one of those who succumbed to fever and was buried at sea.’
Seeley shook his head. ‘I searched all the belongings of every man who died and found nothing, no further evidence.’
He paused for a moment, searching the captain’s face. ‘Don’t you want to catch the traitor?’ he asked
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