For King or Commonwealth (10 page)

‘I am charged to command you to accompany me and to attend the King in person with Mistress Villiers and Lieutenants Hervey and Digby tomorrow at noon. You had better array yourself in your best finery, Kit. You too, Kate, for I am convinced this encounter with the King shall be of some significance.'

Faulkner looked up from his ledger where he was making up his accounts. ‘What significance?' he scoffed, recalling Mainwaring's assurances months ago when he had returned from his raid on the Nore, that the King intended summoning him. Faulkner was learning not to put too much trust in such vague implications.

‘Why,' Mainwaring waved his hand airily, ‘some mark of the Royal favour, I don't doubt.'

‘Oh, Kit, this might mean . . .' began Katherine, her eyes shining.

‘I have been here three weeks,' he said sourly, ‘during which His Majesty has not seen fit to send any indication of his approbation even though he has been enriched to the extent of –' he looked down at his books – ‘some seven and a quarter thousand pounds.'

Mainwaring winked at Katherine and dismissed the matter. ‘We shall see,' he said, ‘we shall see.'

The morning in question came with heavy rain driven by a strong westerly gale and the little party arrived at the King's lodgings wet and dishevelled. Running repairs were effected in an antechamber before they announced their arrival and were summoned to the presence.

Faulkner, in a fractious temper, had seen the young King intermittently since his arrival in The Netherlands. On only one of these occasions had the King spoken to him, so he found the young man different from the boy he had taught to sail off the Isles of Scilly. Though the subsequent passage of time had not been great, much had happened in the young man's life, not least his assumption of his executed father's claim to the throne and the opening of diplomatic negotiations with any court in Europe that would entertain them. The change in Charles was subtle, something in his bearing and the decisive manner in which he spoke. Whatever it was, it commanded Faulkner's instant respect. Unlike his nervous and vacillating father he seemed at ease, even in the extremity of exile; or perhaps because of it, Faulkner thought as he footed his bow and uncovered his head with Katherine curtseying at his side. As he cast his eyes down he noticed that the hem of Kate's dress was not only soiled and damp, but ragged with poverty. Hervey and Digby, their boots creaking, swept their feathered headgear to the floor.

‘You have excelled yourself, Captain, and I congratulate you upon your recent cruise. I consider it something of a phenomenon.'

‘Your Majesty is most kind.' Faulkner was conscious that this was the man who had toyed with his mistress, yet – almost against his will – he found himself placated by the pleasing condescension, at least to the extent of soothing his temper.

‘Tell me, sir,' the King went on easily, ‘how exactly you bluffed the
Unicorn
.' Faulkner did as he was bid with as much bluff modesty as he thought became him. ‘And what of these two?' The King indicated Hervey and Digby.

‘They will make good sea officers in time, sir . . .'

‘But not yet?'

‘Not yet, sir. I do not impugn their courage or character, but, as Your Majesty well knows, the conduct of ships, especially ships-of-war, requires certain skills.'

‘Ah, the arts and mysteries of navigation, cunning and seamanship,' the King remarked, looking at the two young men. ‘You would do well to attend to Captain Faulkner, gentlemen, he is well versed in these arts. He was my first instructor in the business of handling a vessel in a seaway.' Sensing there was even more to Faulkner than they had as yet been informed of, the two murmured their eagerness to place themselves entirely at the good captain's every whim. ‘And what did you two do when the
Unicorn
boarded you?'

‘We were aloft, Your Majesty,' Hervey said with a quick opportunism and some indignation, ‘dressed and acting as common seamen.'

If Hervey had sought at least the King's sympathy, he miscalculated. ‘A right and proper place for a King's officer to learn his business,' Charles said dismissively, turning his attention to Katherine. ‘Now, Mistress Villiers, I see having your Perseus home has cloven your chains and you are as handsome as ever. You are a fortunate man, Captain Faulkner, but it would be better if you were married.'

Astonished at the turn of the King's conversation, Faulkner flushed, unaware of where the King's discourse was leading, though his gentlemen-in-waiting were all smirking as the King went on.

‘Of course we all live in unusual circumstances but I can . . .' The King paused, reaching out his right hand behind him. Faulkner, his eyes remaining lowered, heard the rasp of sword blade on scabbard rim and caught the dull gleam of light on steel. A moment later the long blade wavered before him.

‘Come, captain, on your knees if you please.' Only half comprehending what was happening Faulkner obeyed. ‘That's well . . . I can dub thee knight but cannot thereby make Mistress Villiers Lady Faulkner – at least, not until . . . but no matter.' Faulkner felt the blade pressed upon each shoulder, stirring his hair as the King passed it over his head from one to the other. ‘Now, rise, Sir Christopher. Or shall you be Sir Kit?' The King handed the sword back to his gentleman-in-waiting as Faulkner rose. ‘Well, sir,' the King went on, waving Mainwaring forward. ‘Sir Henry has orders for your next foray for which I wish you good fortune. You are making our name feared again, just as my cousin does in Ireland.'

‘But it is a trap!' Faulkner said furiously. ‘And I am damnably cozened by it, by Jupiter!'

‘For heaven's sake, Kit,' began Katherine, rolling her eyes at Mainwaring. Faulkner saw the communication between them.

‘You two knew of all this, didn't you?' His tone was outraged. ‘Why, you had a hand in it! This is infamous! I am dubbed knight one day and sent to my slaughter the next.'

‘Oh that is preposterous, Kit, quite preposterous!' Mainwaring said, angering. ‘You are growing too big—'

‘What? For my boots? God damn it, don't you see what he has done? He has obliged me, just as he obliged me to feed those two young bloods! God, the House of Stuart does not lack cunning. And I thought him a better man than his father . . .'

‘What is it that so disturbs you, Kit?' a puzzled Katherine enquired. ‘He does you great honour.'

Faulkner looked at her as though stunned. ‘What? You don't see it? You would rather have me dead Sir Christopher than good old plain and living Kit? Yesterday you were weeping at my departure, now you speak eagerly of honour!'

‘I don't understand . . .'

‘He sends me into the Thames under orders so precise that I have no hope of commanding my fate. And in mine own ship too! A ship I put at his disposal.' Anger and outrage robbed him of further words and he bit at his own crooked index finger with such fury that it drew blood.

‘I think you grossly overestimate the risk, Kit,' Mainwaring said. ‘Why, His Majesty requires only that you repeat your success off the Nore arguing, quite logically, that you cannot yet repeat the success of your cruise to the northwards.'

‘The enemy knows that I am back in The Hague; the place is full of spies,' Faulkner said with contempt but calming himself with an effort to match Mainwaring's argument with his own. ‘If this is your stratagem, Sir Henry, then I deplore it and admit I am too big for my boots. Moreover, I have little doubt but that word is already on its way to London that another attempt is going to be made on the Thames and Medway.' He looked at Mainwaring, a sudden suspicion entering his mind and growing in an instant with the certainty of conviction. ‘If this plan is so easy to undertake, Sir Henry,' he said, fixing the old man with his gaze, ‘would you not condescend in hoisting your flag and accompanying me as the King's admiral?'

‘I have every intention of so doing, Sir Christopher,' Mainwaring said archly, steadily meeting his interlocutor's eyes. Faulkner nodded. ‘I divine your purpose,' he said, shooting a look at Katherine who was none the wiser. Mainwaring intended to carry Faulkner, the
Phoenix
and all her people into the hands of the enemy and make his compact with them.

Faulkner lay that night beside the sleeping Katherine, his thoughts in turmoil. He felt torn in his loyalty to Mainwaring, unable to understand the imperative that was driving the old man. Faulkner had supposed Mainwaring had no roots in England, and misunderstood the other's complex intellect and the compulsions of a man of Mainwaring's subtle character. He himself had sundered his present from his past, retaining the cunning and opportunism that had kept him alive as a child in the gutters of Bristol along with his clear vision of what he conceived as right from wrong. It was indeed true that he owed Mainwaring a great deal, but he had himself accomplished much by his own efforts. Now he felt betrayed; Mainwaring wanted to play on his obligation and compel Faulkner to facilitate his own return to a welcome Faulkner guessed Mainwaring had secretly arranged.

But the implications of Mainwaring's plan were compounded by other complexities. What could be his motive in going over to the Commonwealth with his flag flying in the
Phoenix
other than to betray Faulkner and all his people, to hand over the last Royalist ship in these home waters capable of dealing an effective blow against the trade of England? It was not credible that he, Faulkner, could make such a compact as Mainwaring had, presumably, made provision for. Faulkner was a wanted man and they would make an example of him; what was more he would be seen of by both sides as a gullible dupe, fooled by the old man who had been pirate, courtier, admiral and Judas!

Faulkner had no friends in England. He could scarce revive his association with Nathan Gooding who had been not merely his former business partner but his brother-in-law, any more than he could claim assistance from Judith herself. She would be so steeped in her Puritan victory that she would never forgive him sufficiently to save him from the noose she would conceive he deserved.

And what of Kate stirring beside him? To fall in – even blindly – with Mainwaring meant her abandonment. And that in turn would drive her directly into the arms of the King. The thought brought him wide-awake. He lay for a moment thinking fast and then, having rapidly come to a conclusion, he slipped out of bed. Waiting to ensure Kate remained fast asleep, he then left the room, crossed the landing and, without knocking, entered Mainwaring's chamber.

The room was close and stank of the old man's breath. ‘Sir Henry,' Faulkner said in a low voice, shaking the old man so that he started awake and sat bolt upright in bed.

‘What the devil! Is that you, Kit?'

‘Be quiet. I would talk with you. You mean to defect by carrying yourself into the Thames in the
Phoenix
, with me and my people as an earnest of your good faith and reformation,' Faulkner hissed, his voice low but strident with passion.

‘Yes, but you do not—'

‘Do not, I beg you, tell me that I do not understand. On the contrary, I understand you all too well and I am reluctant to be hanged as a pirate on the evidence of another such.'

‘You think I would do that?' Mainwaring's tone was outraged. ‘After all I have done for you, you think that I would thus throw you away?'

‘What else?'

‘You, among the finest of sea officers, would be of great value to the Commonwealth. You think that you have risen far, to a trumpery knighthood . . .'

‘I think nothing of my knighthood.'

‘Ah, but Kate does.'

‘Ah, yes, Kate. And what use is my knighthood to Kate? I cannot marry her; the King said as much. He received her out of his own desire because her curtsey afforded him a good view of her bubs. And what of Kate? Where does she come into this complex intrigue of yours? Shall she bob her hair and sign on as my boy? Perhaps you would have me turn pretended sodomite like the great Buckingham himself that I might smuggle her in as my bawd in breeches?'

‘Don't be a fool, Kit! D'you think that I have not thought of her? Why, I am as fond of her as of you – fonder perhaps, if only because she has better manners. She shall remain here; we have, thanks to you and Providence, sufficient money to maintain her. Then, when we have made our compositions, we shall fetch her over.'

‘Does she know anything of all this?'

‘No, of course not.'

Faulkner fell silent for a few moments and Mainwaring left him to his thoughts. Then he said, shaking his head in the darkness, ‘No, it will not do.'

‘Think about it, Kit. The King's cause is doomed. I did not think that they would cut His Late Majesty's head off but having done it there is no turning back. England will not die like even the young Charles will do sooner or later, as we all must. England is a rock, her people stolid. They are reaping the advantages of their new order. See how the Dutch have prospered since they threw off the yoke of Papist Spain. Why, one can scarce believe it: the riches of Madrid in every burgher's chamber. Likewise England will do well, believe me.'

‘You are no necromancer; you can see the future no more than any other man,' Faulkner said, adding sarcastically, ‘You only believe you can, thanks to your earlier composition with King James.'

‘That is as untrue as it is unkind, Kit,' Mainwaring responded.

‘Be that as it may, it shall not fall out as you wish.' Faulkner drew away and without heeding any more of the old man's argument he withdrew.

Back in his own room he gently shook Katherine. She woke confused from a deep sleep. ‘Hush, my love, but I must be away tonight. I would have you remain quiet here. Expect me back in ten days, if God wills it, and I will yet make you a duchess.'

‘But . . . Why the sudden departure?'

He put his finger to her lips and she grasped his wrist tightly. ‘I am in dispute with Sir Henry,' he whispered, ‘the details of which need not concern you but are of importance to us both in the long run. If I am to obey the King, I must move with great speed. If I am successful then much may flow in consequence.'