“The bulk of King Philip’s goods were being sold in the markets of Algiers before word even reached London that the treasure was gone. We found only some of King Philip’s treasure cargo aboard the Gazelle, as well as cargo from other ships. These were among the stores. I am sure the manifest that the Spanish ambassador gave you lists these items.” He pulled a velvet bag from his doublet and, opening it, poured a stream of unset green emeralds upon Cecil’s desk.
The chancellor gaped openmouthed at the flashing blue-green fire that lay blazing before him. For a moment the silence was thick, then Cecil found his voice. “Where is the crew of this ship, my lord de Marisco? You can hardly expect me to believe this fairy tale of an empty ship floating conveniently off your island.” “The crew of the Gazelle are still aboard her-in various stages of decomposition, my lord,” replied Adam. “I would have buried the poor bastards, but Robbie said you’d not believe us unless you saw them, and I can see that he was right.” He shook his huge head, disappointed in human nature.
“Where is this ship?” William Cecil croaked.
De Marisco smiled broadly, a wicked smile, his teeth blinding white against his wind-bronzed skin and black beard. Cecil had not noted until now that the giant wore a gold earring. His black hair was shaggy, and his smoky blue eyes mocked in a way that made the Queen’s chancellor lower his gaze.
‘The Gazelle lies under tow by Robbie’s Mermaid in the Pool, m’lord. You are free to remove the cargo and to inspect the bodies before we sink her. The log didn’t disclose what killed her crew, and anyhow, she’ll be considered a bad-luck ship now. She’s best off at the bottom of the sea with her men.”
Cecil was incredulous. “D’you mean there’s a ship of dead men in the Pool? Christ’s bones! They might be carrying the plague! Are you mad?”
‘They didn’t die of plague,” stated Robbie calmly. “More likely a passing sickness brought aboard by some shipwreck victims they rescued.”
“But a ship of rotting bodies? Here in London?”
“You were ready to disbelieve me without the bodies, Cecil. I’ve brought the log along too. You may be able to find someone here in London who can speak Arabic, and read it, and thus corroborate our story.”
Cecil looked sourly at the three men, determined to find someone who could read Arabic. Still, he knew that if Robert Small seemed this confident he must be sure of his story. But Cecil was suspicious. There was something just too convenient about the tale. “We’ll take you to the Pool ourselves, Cecil,” said Lord Burke, “and then perhaps you’ll give me back my wife and my child. By the way, I’d be interested in knowing whether I have a son or a daughter.”
“A daughter,” said Cecil absently. “I’ll have to inform the Queen about this interesting turn of events. Very well, we’ll go aboard the Gazelle to inspect her. Where are you staying?”
“A daughter!” Niall exulted, feeling no disappointment at all.
“I have a daughter!”
“We’re at Greenwood,” said Robbie, “Skye’s small residence next to Lynmouth House. We felt it was a bit more discreet.” Cecil nodded, glad they had considered that.
“I want to see my wife and my daughter,” said Niall.
“In time, my lord. In the Queen’s good time.”
“For God’s sake, Cecil, have you no pity in you?” “My lord! You are forbidden London, and yet you came. You’re in no position to ask me for anything. Await my word on this matter Greenwood and be thankful that I haven’t ordered your arrest. and please avoid being seen. Master Morgan!”
The secretary nearly fell through the door.
“Master Morgan, show these gentlemen out through my private entrance.”
They were dismissed, and Cecil was once more in control of the situation. Robbie could see that Niall wanted to argue. He looked to de Marisco, and Adam clamped a firm hand on Lord Burke’s shoulder. “Come on, man,” said Adam gently. Niall sighed, an angry, frustrated sigh, but he nodded and followed Robbie out of Cecil’s closet.
In the tower, Skye had awakened with a sense of hopeless futility. she relieved herself in the chamberpot, and then, picking up Deirdre, changed her wet napkin. Climbing back into bed with her daughter, Skye put her to her breast. They would question her again today as they had been questioning her nearly every day for the last month and she would fight them again today as she had been fighting them for the last month. She would ask for a list of the charges against her, demand her immediate release, and say nothing more. Dudley had been removed from the council, but the Earl of Shrewsbury fightened her with his cold eyes and exaggeratedly polite ways. Deirdre suckled noisily, smacking her little lips with pleasure, and Skye smiled down at the baby. Gently she rubbed the little head with its silky dark curls. Yesterday they had threatened to take the baby away from her. She had stared at them in stony silence, refusing even to acknowledge the threat, but she knew she would have to and Deirdre down to Devon with Eibhlin very soon. Dearest Eibhilin! She had imprisoned herself with Skye, never once leaving the tower for fear of not being allowed back inside. Recently even Daisy had ceased her trips to the city markets when Lady Alyce had sent a warning that if she left, she’d not be allowed to return. Now Dudley, though removed from the council, was sniffing about the Tower like a wolf after a staked goat, and Skye was genuinely frightened. She was the Queen’s prisoner, and helpless Elizabeth’s favorite chose to assault her. The baby hiccoughed, Skye patted her back. I will not be beaten, she thought. I won’t! At Greenwood Niall Burke paced helplessly. Outside the rain drizzled softly, pale gray dripping into the darker gray river. Along the river banks the yellow willows had begun to send forth their pale green leaves, but the rain showed no signs of letting up. The graceful trees reminded Niall of his stepdaughter.
Before he had left Lynmouth she had come to him and said, “You will bring my mama home, Niall? Promise me!” And he had looked down into her little face-heart-shaped like Skye’s, but with features he didn’t recognize-and he had promised.
Downriver in the Pool, Lord Burghley leaned weakly over the Gazelle’s rail, vomiting the entire contents of his belly into the roiling dark waters of the Thames. Next to him, and just as sick, was the Spanish ambassador’s second secretary, a Christian Moot who could read Arabic well enough to stumble through the passages pointed out to him by Robbie. He had corroborated the story told Cecil by Niall, de Marisco, and Small.
The sight that had greeted the men had been hideous, a vision neither would ever be able to forget. Bodies. Rotting bodies, scraps of cloth and flesh still clinging to the skeletons. And the smell! The terrible, terrible smell that even their clove-studded pomander orange balls couldn’t wipe out. Cecil couldn’t even remember later how he was transferred over to the Mermaid, but he was there after a little while and a cup of strong red wine was pressed upon him. He gagged, still smelling the rot. His whole body was cold and clammy with perspiration. He mastered his stomach, and took a sip of the wine, but the smell of death was still in his nostrils and he retched, tasting the sour bile of his now-empty stomach mixed with the strong wine.