Swords From the Sea (21 page)

His voice, which had been hoarse, now rang out clearly:

Peter nodded approval, beating time with a finger as if he was a criterion of good music. His rasping roar joined in the chorus, while he kept an eye on the maiden:

"And now," quoth the Shipman, "God lack, the maid is weeping. She is a-leak at the eyes."

So, in truth, loan was crying, her hands pressed to her cheeks. The two men surveyed her doubtfully, rather taken aback at the result of their holiday spirit. Peter made bold to lay his hand on her shoulder.

"What cheer, mistress? Sets the wind foul or fair?"

She glanced up, her face flushed and a smile twitching her lips.

"Nay, I am a simpleton, good Peter. The ballad minded me of Christmas Eve long since when we had candles in the casements of the cottages of Cairness, and the children sang sweet carols. Nay, my tears were not-not of grief. I do give you thanks for your entertainment, good Peter."

The boatswain drew back as if satisfied and motioned Thorne to one side.

"Does 'ee love the lass, Master Ralph?"

"Why not? Certainly, she is a fair companion and a brave soul."

"Ah." Peter nodded sagely. "Y'are a dullard with words, but still, with an observant eye. In a manner o' speaking, ye keep a sharp lookout, Master Ralph. But not so sharp as Peter Palmer," and he made mysterious motions with brows and lips. "I have good tidings for ye, younker. The maid is an honest maid, and no sea troll."

Thorne laughed.

"And why, Peter?"

"By reason of the holy words of the Christian song. When it was sung, she did not vanish, she did not slip cable and leave us. If she had been a witch, now, or a troll, she would not be here. So I say, if ye love the lass, why cherish her and ye will have no harm by it."

"I am indebted to your wisdom, Peter, and to your-observant eye."

"Y'are so," assented the Shipman. "For I was about to tell the lass my tidings. While I was on yonder headland seeking the Yule fir I saw the ships. Aye, Sir Hugh's ship and the Confidentia, lying in the ice of a bay. Come morrow, we'll be with our mates."

Kyrger, squatting by the fire, waited solemnly for the end of this ritual of the outlanders. He wondered if they had been paying reverence to the quoren vairgin, the Reindeer Spirit.

Perhaps, he thought, like himself they had been paying their respects to the elder souls, the spirits of their dead companions, which were quite visible in the sky.

Purple and fiery red, these elder souls flamed on the broad gate of the sky. Kyrger knew well that the northern lights were the souls of the dead, rushing from earth to the zenith in their wild, merry dance.

Never had he seen the gate in the sky so broad, the flames so bright.

Chapter XIV

Thorne Meets Sir Hugh

The little Con fidentia lay stranded in a chaos of jutting ice fragments and rocks. A few cables' lengths farther out the admiral-ship rode at anchor, although so girdled with ice that it was wedged fast.

They were in a shallow bay, where the wind, sweeping in from the open sea, had driven ice floes into a solid pack. The shores were treeless.

Under the wind gusts the waist curtains, that had been put up to shelter the crews, shivered, and the long pennant of Sir Hugh's ship whipped around the mast. From the solid ice near the Con fidentia a trail ran through the snow to disappear over the distant hillocks.

Thorne and Peter shouted joyfully and Kyrger clucked on his reindeer until they entered this trail and reached the shore. Without waiting for a hail or a sight of their shipmates, the two men crossed the frozen surface of the bay, climbing between the rocks, and reached the ship's ladder.

Peter was first under the waistcloth and Thorne found him standing by the bole of the mainmast, staring aft. The helmsman of the Confidentia faced them, on his knees, one arm crooked around the tiller. He had a ragged red cap cocked over one ear.

"God's mercy," whispered the boatswain, "look at his skin!"

The seaman's whole face was purple, his lips, drawn back from the teeth, were no longer visible. Peter climbed the poop ladder and bent over the man; then he touched the fellow's arm.

"Stiff as a merlyn-spike," he muttered. Thorne had gone to the door on the quarterdeck and thrust it open, his pulse quickening. For this was Durforth's ship.

In the dim light from the narrow ports the great cabin seemed deserted and he wondered if the officers were on shore.

Presently he stooped down and touched a misshapen form on the deck planking, a human body so bundled up in cloaks and blankets that it was hardly to be recognized. It was bent up in a knot as if gripped by intolerable agony.

With his hand on the man's shoulder he tried to turn him over, and was forced to pull with all his strength. The body did turn over, but the bent legs came up into the air without altering their position.

"That would be Dick Ingram, master's mate," said Peter behind him in a strained voice, "his carcass, poor ."

Thorne released his hold and the coiled-up body fell over on its side again with a muffled thump.

"Save us!" cried the boatswain, his eyes starting from his head. "I've seen the workings of dropsy and scurvy and such, but here is a black plague. The black death itself hath fallen upon this ship."

"Nay," said Thorne slowly, "these twain are frozen."

"Aye, they are now. But how did they die? Let us go for'ard."

They searched the forecastle in vain, and descended from the hold to the galley, which was nearly in darkness. But Peter stumbled over another body, and fumbled around on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

"Here be a mort o' dead men," he grunted. "What cheer, mates, who has a word for Peter Palmer that's come a weary way to have speech with ye? Who is living?"

Their ears strained, they listened for a space, then Peter gave a yell of fear, and, thrusting Thorne aside, sprang up the ladder. On the spar deck he wrenched down the waist curtain, staring out at the Bona Esperanza. His broad red face was streaming perspiration, as he cupped his hands and sent a quavering hail over the ice.

"Ahoy, the Esperanza! Nick Anthony, where be ye? Ho, Allen! Master Davison-Garge Blage-"

When no response came from the admiral-ship, Peter choked and the blood drained from his face. Wagging his massive head from side to side he began to walk unsteadily toward the ladder.

"Feared I be, Master Ralph. Feared and boding-let be; by all the saints, let me go."

"Then go," assented Thorne, "and bid Kyrger make camp beyond sight of the ships. I will seek out Sir Hugh and his company."

An hour later Thorne stood alone in the roundhouse of the Bona Esperanza, his brows knit in thought, his eyes heavy with grief. Alone he was, assuredly, except for the wide-winged gulls that circled over the masts, swerving away when the tip of the pennant flapped. Yet was the Esperanza fully manned, the stern cabins occupied. The cook was in his galley, curled up on the cold stove, Sir Hugh seated at his table by the stern casements.

Crew and officers were dead. Cadavers leered at the armiger from deck planks or berths, the eyes standing open as if gazing upon some devastating horror. All the faces were tinged with the same bluish cast. All the bodies were wrapped in odds and ends of garments, tabards and cloaks over all.

Some, apparently, had died while crawling to the lower portions of the ship; others, chiefly the merchant-adventurers, in their berths.

Thorne fought down a rising fear that impelled him to run after Peter and escape from this assemblage of the unspeaking dead. He had seen on the captain-general's table two folded pamphlets and judged that Sir Hugh had written therein. This message must be read.

With an effort, he made his way into the passage and so to the main cabin, which was nearly dark, the ports being boarded over. And at once the skin of his head grew cold, a cry trembled in his throat. Before him and below him in the gloom two red eyes were fastened upon him.

He knew that they were eyes because they moved, and he was aware of a faint hissing. Before he could take a grip on himself, or reach for a weapon, the tiny fires glowed brighter. There was a scampering of little feet and something darted past him.

Turning swiftly he saw an ermine, a white creature kin to the weasel, void of fear and relentless as a ferret on the scent of prey.

"What a chucklehead I am," he cried aloud, "to be frightened by a ferret."

But his own voice, ringing hollow in the chill of the pent-in ship, did not serve to reassure him. Passing into the presence of the dead leader, he forced himself to take up the papers under the open eyes of tall Sir Hugh.

He saw that both pamphlets were inscribed on the outside. One, marked The will and testament of Sir Hugh Willoughbie, Knight, he laid down again.

The other he made out to be a short journal of the voyage. This he pored through slowly, for he was fairly skilled at reading, weighing everything in his mind, as was his habit.

Sir Hugh had been driven far out of his course by the storm that had separated the ships, and had picked up the Confidentia when the weather cleared. They put back, but failed to fall in with the Wardhouse.

We sounded and had 160 fadomes whereby we thought to be farre from land and perceived that the land lay not as the Globe made mention.

For a month they cruised in the Ice Sea, finding the coast barren, and, putting into this haven assailed by

very evil weather, as frost, snow and hail, as though it had been the dead of winter. We thought it best to winter there. Wherefore we sent out three men Southsouthwest, to search if they could find people, who went three days journey but could find none: after that we sent other three Westward four days journey, which also returned without finding any people. Then sent we three men Southeast three days journey, who in like sort returned without finding of people or any similitude of habitation.

At this point, on the eighteenth day of September, the journal of Sir Hugh Willoughby ended.*

Thorne read over the line "the land lay not as the Globe made mention" to be sure that he was not mistaken. No, the words were clear and honest in their meaning.

Why had Durforth, who was in company with Sir Hugh, failed to pick up the Wardhouse? He knew its bearing. Why did the journal end, as it were, in the middle of a day, and that day long before the death of the captain-general?

Now Thorne wished that his father, the Cosmographer, could have been at his side to answer these riddles. He was no navigator. But the thought came to him that his father would have gone to Durforth's cabin to look at the globe which had failed Sir Hugh. Durforth must have led the ships away from the Wardhouse to separate them from Chancellor.

Then the agent of Spain had put the ships upon the coast in a desolate region, swept by the winds that came off the pack ice. And, perhaps Sir Hugh had come to suspect Durforth, perhaps the journal had recorded his suspicions after this day in September and Durforth had removed the pages after the death of his commander.

That Durforth was still alive Thorne believed firmly, after he returned to the Confidentia and searched the master's cabin. Durforth's body was not to be seen. And, upon the table he found a candle burning, a mass of wax with a wick stuck in it, the whole floating in water in a tin basin. This was the only kind of candle Sir Hugh would permit to be lighted in the cabins, owing to the danger of fire. It might have been burning for two or three days.