The Miracle at St. Bruno's (69 page)

Still he did not answer.

“You came in the galleon, did you not? I awoke in the night and saw it. It was when the
Rampant Lion
lay in the harbor. I saw a boat rowing ashore. You were in that boat. And first you went to Lyon Court and they would have none of you. So you came to us. That’s so, is it not?”

“’Tis so, Mistress.”

“And the galleon came again and this time it brought John Gregory. He came with his lies and was given shelter. Then the galleon came for the third time and this time we sailed away with it. You are not going to lie to me, to tell me this is not so?”

“No, Mistress,” he said humbly.

“But why, why?” I demanded.

He would give no answer; and I had come no nearer to finding the solution than I had ever been.

The Captain’s chaplain came to stand beside me as I leaned over the rail. He spoke a little English so that we were able to converse. He told me that the Captain would like me to take instruction in the Catholic Faith.

“I shall not do so,” I said vehemently. “Why should I? I have been forced from my home, but at least I shall insist on freedom of thought.”

“It would be for your own good and protection,” he told me.

“So you think! I am weary of intolerance. My mother believed in tolerance. She taught me to believe the same. I do not wish you to change your religion. Why should you wish me to change mine?”

“It would be well for you to come to the True Faith.”

I think I spoke more loudly and fiercely than I would normally have done. I was suddenly so angry that these people should attempt to force their faith on me. I did not notice immediately that one or two sailors had come nearer and were listening intently.

“I shall not be coerced,” I cried. “I shall think as I wish. I am not going to be told I must worship God in this or that way.”

The priest took the cross which hung about his neck on a chain and gazed at it.

“One is no less Christian,” I cried, “because one does not believe in exactly the way you have decided all men should.”

He stepped toward me and with an impatient gesture I thrust him aside. As I did so, the cross fell from his hand.

One of the watching sailors cried out something which I did not understand. I was not particularly interested because I did not realize then how significant this could be.

We had sailed into smooth warmer seas.

Now it was a pleasure to be on deck. The Captain was anxious, for there was not enough wind to sail this mighty ship.

For two days the weather remained fair and warm with a slight breeze; then even that dropped. There was no breath of air; the sea was so calm it looked as if it had been painted—no ripple, no stirring of wind; the sea cooed quietly about us; we could walk about the vessel as though we were on dry land.

The following day when we awoke the ship was still; there was no vestige of wind; her sails were useless; she was a floating castle on a still and silent sea. Before that day was out we knew that we were becalmed.

The sun was warm; we had traveled many miles south. How pleasant it seemed at first to walk decks and companionways which were as steady as they would have been in dock.

We were on the deck every day—in the company of Gregory and Rackell; Jennet worked often with the sailors; I had seen her barefooted, swabbing the decks, singing as she did so; I had seen her in the galleys, ladling soup into the dishes.

I had seen too men’s eyes following her; and Jennet was aware of it too; she blushed constantly, as much as ever, but her big Spaniard was never far off with his knife ready. He was a king among the sailors; he had got a woman, which was what none of the others had. I knew they thought he should have shared her, but I was glad for Jennet’s sake that he would have none of that. Still, I thought how unsafe it was for her to go among them. They eyed us sometimes—beautiful Honey, now quite large with child; and myself, the flashing-eyed virgin, who they would know would fight with tooth and claw if attacked. It was not Honey’s pregnancy or my fiery spirit which saved us; it was the Captain’s orders. Lashes for those who attempted to molest us and for any who succeeded in doing so, death. So John Gregory had told us.

We ate in the Captain’s cabin and he talked of his anxieties.

The storm had been violent and threatened to shatter our vessel and throw us all into the merciless sea; but in such an emergency it was necessary to work all the time. There was no giving up, no time to spare. Every man was fighting for the life of the ship and that meant his own.

But to be becalmed was different. There was nothing to be done but look out on that sea which was like one painted on a canvas, so still was it. There was little to be done but watch a clear bright sky for the sign of a cloud and a little wind. The sails hung uselessly. The sun was growing warm; if the calm continued there would not be enough food to carry us to our next port of call, where we could replenish stores. And worst of all, idle men were dangerous men.

The Captain prayed for a wind.

“A wind,” I said to Honey, “will carry us nearer to that mysterious destination. Should we pray for a wind? Or are we better off on this ship?”

Honey said: “We must pray for a wind, for the men grow restive and restive men are dangerous.”

And she too prayed for a wind.

We were on deck for the fresh air. Another day and night had passed and still no sign of a wind. The tension was growing; it was becoming increasingly obvious. Groups of idle men stood about on the decks, murmuring together.

Food would have to be rationed; water was to be used with greater care than ever. And there was little that could be done but wait for a breeze. The great galleon was powerless; she was nothing but a hulk full of anxious, discontented men.

I had noticed one of the men eyeing me speculatively. I knew the meaning of that look. I had seen it in Jake Pennlyon’s eyes. Perhaps John Gregory noticed it too, for he hurried us down below.

Later that day I saw the man again; he was close to the rail where I was accustomed to stand. I heard his muttering and believe his words were directed toward me.

I was afraid. But I assured myself that the Captain’s orders must be obeyed and that I was safe from all men on this ship. What awaited me at the end of the journey I could not know, but I was protected here because I was being preserved for some mysterious mission.

I had reckoned without the boredom of a becalmed ship—and the anxieties which mingled with the boredom. Little to do all day but watch for a wind and the possibility of death from the elements which, fierce or quiet, could be lethal.

When men are in such a situation they take risks.

I was aware of him; there were rings in his ears, and his black eyes flashed in his dark brown face. He sidled closer. John Gregory moved toward me, but the man came too. I turned to John and said: “Should we go below?” As I moved forward the dark man put out his foot; I tripped; he caught me and for a moment I was held close against him. I saw the dark, lustful eyes close … the flash of yellow teeth.

I screamed, but he did not release his hold; he started to drag me away.

But John Gregory was there. They were both holding me, pulling me this way and that.

The Captain appeared I did not know from where, unless he was always watching when we were on deck. He shouted an order to a group of men standing by. For a few terrifying seconds everything seemed to be as still as the ocean. No one moved. The thought flashed into my mind: This is mutiny. The Captain spoke again. His voice rang out clear and firm with an authority to which those men were accustomed to respond.

Two men came forward; they seized the dark man and held him firmly. He was marched away.

“You should go below,” said the Captain to me.

He was flogged and the ship’s company were assembled to see it done.

We of course did not witness this. We remained below in the Captain’s cabin, but we knew what was happening. I could picture it as though I were there—that man tied to the whipping post; his back bare, the terrible whip descending, leaving his flesh torn, raw and bleeding. I could imagine his agony and I wanted to run up and stop it.

The Captain came down to the cabin later.

“He has had his punishment,” he said. “It will be a lesson.”

I shivered, and he went on: “He will survive. Thirty lashes. Fifty would have killed him.”

“Was so much necessary to teach a lesson?” I asked.

“Lashes are the only lessons which they understand.”

“And all because he touched me!”

“I have my duty,” he said.

“And that is to protect me.”

He nodded.

“He will never forget me, that man,” I said, “and he will never forgive me.”

“He will, let us hope, never forget the need to obey orders.”

“It is disturbing that such a thing has happened because of me.”

“Let us renew our prayers for a breeze,” said the Captain.

Another day passed, a day of breathless calm.

I was afraid to go on deck after what had happened; I knew I should not meet this man because he would be too sick of his wounds to stand about and stare at me.

“The men said he nearly died,” reported Jennet. “The whip is a terrible thing. ’Twill mark his back forever.”

“Poor man, I’m sorry for him.”

“He’d been boasting he’d take you. He said he didn’t care what you were. He said he didn’t care if you’d come from the Devil, he was going to have you.”

She was wearing a little image of the Virgin around her neck. Her lover had given it to her as a talisman to keep her from harm.

“What’s that?” I had asked.

“’Tis the Virgin,” she had told me. “She protects women.”

Now she was uneasy and wanted to give it to me.

“Mistress,” she pleaded, “take my Virgin. Wear it around your neck.”

“You need it, Jennet. You go among the sailors.”

She shook her head fearfully.

“What’s the matter, Jennet?” I asked.

“’Tis what they’re saying, Mistress. ’Tis what they’re saying about you.”

“What are they saying about me?”

“When they were lashing him he called out. He said it was the Devil in you that had urged him on. He said you were a witch and a heretic. You’d cast down the priest’s holy cross, he said, and you’d brought evil onto the ship. He said witches brew up storms and didn’t we have such a storm as they’d rarely seen before! Then they all said a man had nearly died through you and now there’s the calm. They frighten me, Mistress. So … take the Virgin. She’ll protect you.”

A cold fear took possession of me then. I recalled that moment of hesitation when the Captain had commanded them to seize my attacker. I knew that mutiny was in the air and for me there was a personal terror for many of these men believed me to be a witch.

What did they do to witches? I asked myself.

And the calm continued.

I was out on deck gazing toward that far horizon; the sky a delicate blue, the sea like a sheet of silk, not a ripple; silence everywhere.

On the deck a group of men watched us furtively. John Gregory was nervous, Richard Rackell was pale.

“It is very hot up here,” said Gregory. “I think we should go down.”

“Not hastily,” I said. “But presently.”

Somehow I knew that a hurried retreat would have pressed those men into action.

I had been afraid many times since I had stepped onto this ship, but I think I was then living through some of the most terrifying moments.

I gazed across that great arc of the sky; I stared out to the horizon; I asked John Gregory if there was any hope of a change in the weather—and all the time I was conscious of those men watching me.

At length I said: “I’ve had enough. Let us go below.”

Slowly I walked to the companionway. Every second I expected a rustle from behind, a scurry of feet, strong arms about me. I knew that they were ready and waiting for some sort of signal. Perhaps I would hear the words: “Heretic! Witch!” What did they do in Spain to heretics? They tied them to a stake; they placed wood at their feet; then they lighted the fagots. The bodies of heretics were consumed by the flames, a foretaste on earth of that fate which many believed would pursue them through eternity.

I was in revolt, as I always had been since my mother had taught me, against such bigotry. I could never believe that leading the good life depended on a single mode of belief. But I was now afraid.

The Captain came to his cabin, to which we had been taken.

He said: “I think it would be wise if you remained here until we sail. It is not good for the men in the mood they are in to see you.”

I nodded. I was in agreement with him now.

The door was locked. John Gregory remained on guard with Richard Rackell and we stayed in the cabin.

Night came. Every sound set my heart beating wildly. I could picture them all storming the cabin, battering down the door and seizing me. I could almost hear their shouts of “Witch” and “Heretic.”

They wanted to destroy me because I was on board and kept apart from them. Women on board—three of them, and only one serving the purpose for which these men would consider they were meant. Jennet—the property of Big Alfonso. Honey and myself kept under strict guard by the Captain’s orders. And everywhere that calm which was more devastating than the storm.

I slept but fitfully.

I whispered to Honey: “The Captain cannot guard us forever.”

“He will guard us for as long as he must,” she answered.

She had a blind faith in him.

I wondered afresh about Honey, who it seemed was a widow. But her plight and the baby she carried seemed to have kept the loss of Edward from her mind. I pondered too on this deep feeling of which I was conscious between herself and this Captain. It was there, some understanding. I wondered whether it was love.

Then I thought of Jake Pennlyon and my heart leaped, for I thought constantly: He will come for me. He will look for me and find me.

No ship could sail on this calm sea; was that the reason why this fear was with me? He could not come to me because the
Rampant Lion
would lie as still and helpless as the galleon.