Launceston considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "You speak sense, but for some of us that is not such an easy task."
Clouds of midges danced in the lazy heat, and as the shadows lengthened, the sounds of boots clattering at a steady pace over the cobbles drew towards them from the direction of the dark, mazy streets descending the steep hill to the dock. A confident, upright man emerged, striding purposefully, his hands clasped behind his back, his chest puffed out, and his head held high as if he was being watched by everyone he passed. His brown moustache and beard were carefully trimmed for the occasion and his hair swept back from his forehead. His features would have been familiar to almost all Englishmen and Englishwomen from the surfeit of pamphlets in circulation to mark the great successes of England's bravest adventurer, navigator, and sea captain.
"Sir Francis Drake," Launceston said, adding, "Does `vice admiral' fit him better than `privateer' these days?"
"No one can doubt what he has done for England, whatever his title."
Drake had dressed in his finest clothes, a new doublet in deep brown with gold stitching at the shoulders, a high white collar, and a black collarbone protector held in place by a gold chain. He walked up to them with a pronounced swagger and enquired, "Walsingham's men?"
"Yes, sir," Carpenter replied. "We are to accompany you aboard the Revenge in case the knowledge we have gained of the Enemy ..." He corrected himself. "... the Spaniards, may be of some use in the coming battle."
"Very good," Drake replied. "Good men are always welcome aboard my ship."
"It is true, then," Carpenter enquired. "The Armada has been sighted."
"Fifty Spanish ships, off the Scilly Islands this very dawn, seen from the lookout of the Golden Hind, assigned to patrol the western approaches to England. The captain, Thomas Fleming, raced to tell me himself. This day, July twenty-ninth, will never be forgotten, for it is the day that the sleeping beast of England was woken."
"As we had heard," Launceston said. "The Spanish race up the Channel to engage us at their leisure."
With pride, Drake looked to his ship, the Revenge, resting elegantly on the gleaming waves amid the other great ships. "I have spent the afternoon at Plymouth Hoe, studying the weather for any change in the direction of the wind. I have said my goodbyes to my Elizabeth, and now I am ready."
"Should there not be more haste?" Carpenter ventured.
"More haste?" Drake repeated superciliously. "Nothing could be done until the tide had turned. Besides, these are Spaniards and we are Englishmen. I could put out tomorrow morning and still whip them like dogs."
News of Drake's arrival at Sutton Harbour spread quickly in whispers along the narrow streets. Soon groups of old women and men gathered to see the great hero, shooing the clutches of excited children racing and playing along the harbour's edge.
Drake briefly moved among them, bragging about the natural prowess of Englishmen, and by the time he left they were all cheering and pumping his hand.
"He plays his part well," Launceston observed, "like Will."
"I am not so sure it is a role with Drake," Carpenter replied. "He believes his own legend."
A rowboat took them out from the quay to the Revenge in the lee of St. Nicholas' Island. Drake's eyes never left his ship as they neared. "How can the Spaniards even hope to win this war?" he said. "They circulated full details of the strength of their Armada, hoping it would strike fear into us and encourage the powers of Europe to support them. All it did was give us a tactical advantage." He waved his hand towards his ship. "Thirteen years old, forty-three guns, firing shot of nine pounds to sixty pounds in weight. What fine firepower for an Englishman! Thanks to the Spanish, we now know that their most heavily armed vessel, the San Lorenzo, has forty guns, and sixteen are but sakers or minions firing only four or six pound a shot." He laughed, his eyes gleaming.
Carpenter watched him closely. He'd heard the stories but had never encountered Drake before, and he wondered if his bravado rang true. Whether it did or not, Drake's confidence was infectious. The black mood that had gripped him since he had disembarked the Tempest lifted slightly.
A hundred feet long at the keel, but appearing even larger, the Revenge grew more imposing as they neared. It was weather worn and its green and white chevrons had faded slightly, but that only gave it the appearance of a seasoned warhorse. Carpenter could smell the sticky bitterness of the fresh tar that turned the keel a shining black.
On deck, the crew waited in small groups to greet Drake. Drake never met their eyes, but Carpenter could see they were comforted by his presence. The great cannon gleamed, the gun crews standing at the ready. As if in silent prayer, he glanced up the mainmast to where the sails were furled at the yards, gave an approving nod, and then began his final inspection.
As the last glimmer of the setting sun lit the waters ablaze, the wind from the sea turned, and with the tide on the ebb, the signal gun fired. Slowly but steadily, the Revenge and the other great English galleons began their journey down Plymouth Sound. Night fell.
Once they were in open water, the crew scaled the rigging like monkeys to unfurl the sails. Carpenter knew this was a crucial time. The Spanish could have been waiting to bear down on them, but the topmen reported no ships ahead, though the danger would remain until first light. Drake gave the order for all lanterns to be extinguished, and they moved forwards as part of the night.
Launceston stood at the rail, his deathly pallor unnerving some of the crew who bowed their heads and muttered prayers as they passed. Carpenter thought a strange mood had come upon him.
"Will they strike now, coming out of the dark before our journey has even begun, like the death we spoke of ashore?" he mused.
Carpenter didn't know what to say, and left him there to watch Drake as he strode proudly across the still-warm deck, the master of his world.
When dawn came, the seas were still empty and the tense mood lifted slightly. The fleet of fifty-four ships led by Lord Howard of Effingham sailed out into mist and squalls.
At three p.m. that day, an exuberant Drake summoned Carpenter to the poop deck. "Would you like your first sight of our enemy?" he said gleefully.
Carpenter peered into the drizzle, but could see nothing, even when the rain cleared briefly. He eyed Drake to see if he was finding humour at the expense of a man who had not earned his sea legs. He was surprised to see Drake watching him deferentially.
"I, and all England, owe you a great deal," he said. "You have turned the tide of this war."
Carpenter was lost for words. From behind his back, Drake handed him a long tube of shaped beechwood, bounded by brass hoops. A second tube slid in and out of it, and there was glass in the end.
"What is this?" Carpenter asked, still unsure if he was to be made a joke.
Drake pressed the tube to Carpenter's eye and positioned him. Spanish sails loomed up in Carpenter's vision, shocking him so much he almost dropped the device. He lowered it, but could no longer see the sails.
"They are far away," he stuttered, "beyond my natural sight. Yet this device lets me see them. Is this some of Dee's magic?"
Drake laughed. "It is Dee's magic, but not in the way you mean. It is called a tele-scope. This arrangement of glass draws closer that which is distant. No supernatural power there, only human ingenuity."
Admiring the tele-scope, Carpenter said, "I never knew we had such a thing. How is that?"
"No one knows. No one will know, for many years to come. It is a secret, and you would know about those things. There is plenty that never reaches the ears of the common man, am I correct?"