A Ship for The King (10 page)

Within an hour of the ship coming to her anchor, Sir John Finnet and Sir Thomas Somerset were landed by boat and went in quest of Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham who, it was said, were coming over the mountains hotfoot, having greatly embarrassed both themselves and the entire Spanish court. Their sundry improprieties had, it was said, included the invasion of the Infanta Maria's privacy by climbing a wall into a garden wherein walked the Princess and her ladies, thereby putting in danger the life of the ancient marquess charged with her protection.

The following days were, for Faulkner, a period of miserable and relentless duty. The misery arose out of his humiliation by Rutland in front of Katherine Villiers, and was compounded by solitary reflections – for he and Brenton had little liberty to discuss anything – that he was a damned fool, a fool for thinking anything could come of his encounter with the young woman, and a fool for behaving as he had. To this was added the constant irritant that once Prince Charles and Buckingham had been embarked, the ship took on a different air. Suddenly the courtiers, prostrated for the greater part on the outward voyage by seasickness, suddenly seemed to take over the
Prince Royal
. It was as though the presence of the Prince not only galvanized them, which was understandable, but enabled them to assume rights that extended to the very running of the ship. Now, everything was subservient to their demands and these came day and night – an unending stream of stupid requests, of demands for wine and food, the services of an officer to carry some message or to pay some act of respect, ceremonial or otherwise, to either Prince Charles or Buckingham. Indeed, Faulkner formed the indelible impression that the latter was the greater man for he made the most noise, took the lead in everything and seemed to arrange matters entirely to his own convenience.

This too added to Faulkner's unhappiness, or it further marked the wide social distinction between Katherine Villiers and himself, adding to his impression that she had been only toying with him, engaged in a frivolous flirtation.

The days that followed were full of comings and goings. An exciting few hours were spent by the
Prince Royal
's bargemen who, in rowing Prince Charles ashore in a strong wind and tide one night, were nearly swept out to sea. Had not Sir Sackville Trevor of the
Defiance
not appreciated what was happening and thrown out ropes attached to lantern-lit buoys, the barge would have been lost.

Held by the weather from the beginning of the homeward passage, the Prince entertained the Spanish envoys and Cardinal Zapata, in some hope of mollifying the Spanish in their wounded pride. Finally, on Thursday 18th September, the wind came fair from the south and with much ceremony, including the blaring of fanfares and thunder of drums and guns, the fleet weighed and headed out of the ria of Santander for the open sea. The wind held steadily from the south for several hours before it veered, first to the south-west and then further into the north-west. So distracted was Faulkner by the constant demands of his duty, and so convinced did he become that he meant nothing to Katherine, that he buried himself in it all, worked constantly and made himself – at least to the satisfaction of his self-conceit – indispensable to the efficient working of the ship. Thus it was that one morning, about five days after they had departed from Santander, that he carried the news down to Mainwaring that the deterioration in the weather had compelled him to reef the topsails and the
Prince Royal
was going full-and-bye on the larboard tack at five knots in a stiff north-westerly breeze. It was the end of the morning watch and he had handed the deck over to the third lieutenant and Brenton for the forenoon. He nodded at the sentry leaning on his spontoon outside Mainwaring's cabin and knocked, entering at Sir Henry's behest. A sudden patch of brilliant sunlight reflected off the sea threw dancing lights on the white-painted deck-head and showed Sir Henry's silhouette against the roiling wake that rose up, and then subsided under the transom, accompanied by the creaking of the rudder stock. Another figure sat at table with the captain and Faulkner assumed it to be Rutland, breaking his fast with Mainwaring since the two were obliged to mess together, the admiral's cabin having been taken over as a royal suite. Faulkner had no wish to appear before Rutland as anything other than an efficient officer and he delivered his message with a studied if laconic authority, which Mainwaring acknowledged with his usual courtesy. Faulkner was about to turn and leave the two men to their breakfast when Mainwaring said, ‘Stay, sir. Will you break your fast with us, Mr Faulkner?'

Faulkner flushed. He did not wish to make small talk with Rutland, though he knew that Mainwaring's invitation was an act of kindness, an opportunity for him to make a good impression on the admiral after their unfortunate encounter some weeks earlier.

‘Sit, Faulkner! I command it.'

Surprised at the unfamiliar voice, Faulkner squinted against the sunlight and found himself staring at the Duke of Buckingham. He bowed deeply as Mainwaring said, with a touch of irony, ‘His Grace commands as Lord High Admiral, Faulkner.'

‘Indeed I do,' said Buckingham, rising and moving towards Faulkner, one hand braced upon the corner of the table until he reached a chair and drew it out. ‘Come, Mr Faulkner, I pray you sit.'

The act was of such condescension that it seemed obscene to allow the chair to remain unoccupied a moment more than was absolutely needful to allow Buckingham to return to his own seat. A moment later a servant was at Faulkner's elbow with a plate of smoked fish and a pot of hot coffee. ‘I am obliged, Your Grace, Sir Henry.'

‘You will be hungry after your watch, Faulkner,' remarked Buckingham with a solicitude that seemed unfeigned, and Faulkner looked up at a face that reminded him of another: the same eyes and almost the same lips – odd on a man, but the curling moustache and the short, pointed beard declared the effeminately beautiful face to be male.

‘Aye, Your Grace, and it is a raw morning, though a bright one and the wind—'

‘Remains foul. Yes, I heard you report it so to Sir Henry.'

‘Just so, Your Grace.' Faulkner felt crushed.

‘Come, eat up your fish else it will spoil.'

Faulkner picked up knife and fork and suppressed the shaking of his hands. Then, just as he had filled his mouth, Buckingham spoke again. ‘Sir Henry speaks well of you; in fact he tells me you are a coming man and the King has need of good men at sea.'

Faulkner swallowed and almost coughed. He wondered where on earth Rutland was hiding. ‘That is kind of Sir Henry,' he managed, his face red and reddening further as he saw Buckingham smile at his discomfiture.

‘I am torturing the poor fellow, Sir Henry,' Buckingham said laughingly.

‘I fear you are, Your Grace. I fear too that the Earl of Rutland has worn away Mr Faulkner's natural armour. He will be himself when he has mastered the herring.'

Filled with confusion as both older men laughed at him, Faulkner could only mumble his apologies.

‘Oh, fie, sir,' said Buckingham, his tone friendly, ‘you must not mind us. What is the Lord High Admiral to do if not to tweak the noses of junior officers. Besides, I gather you gave the Earl a lesson in manners . . .'

‘Good Lord! Not I, Your Grace,' Faulkner said hurriedly. ‘I should not have dared such an impropriety!'

‘He left that to me, Your Grace,' Mainwaring remarked casually.

Buckingham chuckled. ‘Well, well, subordination is a necessary thing aboard a man-of-war, as no doubt you would agree, Faulkner.'

‘Indeed, sir, I would.' He paused a moment, shot a glance at Mainwaring who was watching him, it seemed, with an expression denoting encouragement. ‘I trust I have given no offence or committed any impropriety as my Lord of Rutland imputed, Your Grace.'

Buckingham threw back his head and laughed. The sunlight shimmered off his gorgeous doublet of sky-blue slashed with silver silk, and caught his long locks as he shook his head like an elegant hound. ‘I trust not too, Faulkner, though I am scarce the one to judge. It seems that I upset half the
duennas
in Madrid and was near banned the entire Escorial, so minor infractions of etiquette . . .' He let the sentence trail off. ‘No, Mr Faulkner,' Buckingham resumed after a moment's consideration, ‘I value a man who sticks to his last. If you are half the sea-officer of which Sir Henry sings, then stand firm, sir, and do your duty.'

Faulkner sensed dismissal and pushed his chair back. ‘Your Grace; Sir Henry . . . with Your Grace's permission I have other duties to attend to.'

‘Of course.' Buckingham flicked his left hand dismissively and Faulkner rose. Outside the cabin he paused a moment. Whatever impression he had made on Buckingham seemed less important than the impression Buckingham had made on him – was this the corrupt Duke of Muckingham of whom Brenton was so disparaging? Certainly his manner contained a high-bred hauteur, but there was withal a certain warmth, even an inspiration. Pondering on the complexities of human nature – Brenton's as much as Buckingham's – he went in search of his bunk.

Afterwards, however, the encounter troubled Faulkner. The incident with Rutland had so thoroughly unsettled him that he could not fling it off. He was aware that Mainwaring had gone to some lengths to divert Rutland's ire, even to the extent of damaging his own relationship with the admiral. Of course, it was common knowledge that Rutland was no seaman, but he possessed enormous influence and it was inconceivable that Mainwaring would not have suffered some damage – now, or later – from his pun on Rutland's name. That being so, it might have been of some comfort that he had received so encouraging a meeting with Buckingham who, whatever his deficiencies in other directions, remained the Lord High Admiral and therefore Rutland's senior in the naval hierarchy. On the other hand, it was equally probable that Rutland, with his older lineage, would consider Buckingham a parvenu and any man raised by him, such as it was clear Mainwaring intended for his protégé, risked acquiring a similar name, to which might be added the obloquy of Rutland and his faction at court. These considerations discommoded Faulkner, increasing his misery and blighting his spirit on the homeward passage which otherwise – despite the onset of the season of strong winds – was marked by a good passage.

Though the wind necessitated the fleet tacking, the weather failed to discourage the royal party from frequently appearing on deck. The Prince and Buckingham promenaded ostentatiously, a little gaggle of courtiers in close and sycophantic attendance, Katherine Villiers among them. On these occasions it became obligatory for all the commissioned officers, irrespective of their routine duties, to appear on deck and gather on the opposite side of the half deck where they were expected to maintain a respectful interest, though what in, Faulkner could not quite comprehend. Despite his discomfiture he was nevertheless anxious that Brenton's irreverent asides were not heard by anyone other than himself. Unfortunately, Slessor caught Brenton's aside on one such afternoon, and shot Brenton and Faulkner – into whose left ear the former was so obviously ‘whispering' – a glare of such fury that would have stopped the heart of a more timorous man. Faulkner, oversensitive, flushed scarlet just as Buckingham, looking up from his discourse with the shorter Prince Charles, saw the knot of be-sashed officers and drew the Prince's attention to them.

The two men, braced against the lurch of the ship as she shouldered aside a sea heavier than its predecessors, crossed the deck. The officers uncovered and footed their bows with a sweep of their feathered headgear. Was Brenton sniggering as they executed their dutiful obeisance? Faulkner certainly thought so as they straightened up and he found himself looking directly into the face of the Prince of Wales. He hurriedly lowered his gaze but was left with an indelible impression of sensitive weakness, of a thin, pallid countenance, of deep-set, dark eyes of indeterminate colour set either side of a large nose. A thin, adolescent and drooping moustache bracketed a feminine mouth below which the vertical wisps of a boyish beard bisected a pointed chin. The Prince's dark-blue doublet was in marked contrast with the Duke's silver and sky-blue, though the lace collar at his throat was of exquisite workmanship, even to Faulkner's ignorant eye.

‘Allow me to introduce these
gallants
, Highness,' purred Buckingham as he guided his charge in a manner that bespoke deferential, but absolute, control. ‘Mr Slessor, the First Lieutenant to Sir Henry . . .' Slessor bowed again.

‘M–M–Mr S–S–Slessor and I have met be–f–f–f–fore,' stuttered the Prince, smiling wanly and holding out a gloved hand which Slessor took briefly. When it came to Faulkner's turn, Buckingham said, ‘Christopher Faulkner, Highness, of whom Sir Henry speaks highly, having employed him in trade.'

Faulkner wished the deck could have opened up and consumed him. Such particularity would stand him in ill stead among his fellow officers, especially Slessor.

‘F–F–Faulkner,' stammered Prince Charles, ‘trade, eh? Have you been much in action?'

Faulkner attempted to speak but found he had lost his voice for a moment. Then he managed, ‘Only against the Barbary pirates, Your Highness.'

‘
Only?
' The royal tone was ironic. ‘W–W–Why, sir, they tell me a man must fight for his life against the Moors . . .'

‘At the risk of his foreskin at the least, Highness,' Buckingham put in, raising a polite titter among the officers.

‘I t–trust yours is intact, Faulkner?'

The harmless ridicule stirred something in Faulkner, paring him to some previous sharpness he appeared to have abandoned since his attempts to become a gentleman. And yet, in losing his paralysing diffidence it suddenly seemed to the others, particularly Slessor, that he was indeed a man to watch. ‘I thank Your Highness for your solicitude and, yes, I am intact, sir.'