Swords From the Sea by Harold Lamb Page B

assurance of other days when he had stood on his own poop.
    "Let no factions arise in your company, my masters; if you differ in opinion, submit the question to the council of officers of the captaingeneral, Sir Hugh. Remember, when you reach the new lands, to take precautions against attack.
    "The natives you will see, perchance, have no knowledge of Christians or their ships. If you take one of the savages on your ships, entreat him in friendly wise, give him food and apparel, and set him safely ashore.
    "When you go ashore, leave mariners to guard the pinnace and venture not to any city of the pagans save in numbers sufficient for your protection and with swords and firelocks in hand. If a storm arises, agree upon a meeting place where your ships may join together if you are parted."
    Then, turning to the people of Orfordnesse, he lifted his hand.
    "And you, sirs, who keep to your own coast, bethink ye that these navigants go of their own will into the perils of the sea, and the uncertainties of pagan lands. We hazard a little money upon Fortune, they risk their lives. For those who, by God's will, are not to return to this coast, whose sepulcher shall be the sea or pagan earth, let us offer our prayers."
    He bent his head, and the folk of Orfordnesse, amazed at his gentle words, followed his example in silence, harkening to the spluttering of the torches, the mild rustle of the wind in the foliage, and the sighing and muttering of the distant breakers. Perhaps it was the first time they had ever prayed for men who were yet living.
    Thorne waited until the last of the gentry had gone off in the coaches of the manor house, attended by linkmen. Then he allowed the innkeeper, who had a liking for gossip, to wash out the cut in his shoulder and wrap wet cloths around it. Which being done, he called for his horse.
    "Alack, Master Ralph, thou'lt not ride, wi' thy shoulder hacked and bloodied."
    Master Ralph, pacing the yard betwixt pump and threshold, offering no response, the fellow tried another tack.
    "The gentry be mortal angered at ye, angered as ever was! Thou'lt not be for London town, where the worshipful lords would set thy body on a gibbet. Or it may be a wrack, or e'en fire and the stake."
    Abruptly-so quickly that the worthy keeper of the White Hart quivered in the ample region of his stomach-the armiger stopped his walk, close beside him.
    "Where is the nag?"
    The other muttered something about the horse being foundered and his men all beside themselves, what with the king's gentlemen and the Spanish lord.
    Thorne took up the lanthorn which Fulke had fetched with him.
    "Nay, I'll wait upon myself." And, glancing back a moment later, he was amused to see his stout host legging it around the tavern.
    Reflecting that he had gained, overnight, a reputation for violence, he sought the stables and halted to peer within the carriage house at the line of stalls in the rear. The horses were stamping and restless but he could not see any stable knaves.
    Thoughtfully he set the lanthorn down between his feet. The delay in bringing his horse out, the uneasiness of the beasts in the stalls, the alarm of the tavern keeper, all this bred in Thorne an undefinable suspicion.
    He was at some pains to make certain by listening and watching the shadows in the stable that no retainers of the Spaniard were awaiting him here.
    He was alone in the stable, but not at ease in his mind. Instinct urged him to turn and run through the door, or at least to look around. Instead, the armiger unbuckled the clasp that held his cloak at the throat. Still grasping the loosened ends he stepped forward, over the lanthorn, and let the long riding cloak fall. So it covered the light, and the stable was in darkness that same second.
    Thorne stepped to one side, his soft leather boots making no sound on the trodden earth, and laughed aloud. From one of the windows behind the carriages a pistol had blazed and roared, filling the place with smoke and setting