“I do wonder what is awaiting us.”

“Could you not lure it from him?”

“He will never give a hint.”

I was frustrated. Constantly I looked for that ship on the horizon, but it never came.

Once I talked to Richard Rackell, for I was on deck alone with him.

“Why did you lie to us?” I asked. “Why did you pretend to be what you were not?”

“I did what I must,” he answered.

“You were ordered to come?”

He nodded.

“For what purpose?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“You deceived us, you lied to us, you accepted our bounty and because of you a good man now lies cold in his grave.”

Richard Rackell crossed himself and murmured: “May God rest his soul.”

“And you are his murderer.”

“I would never have laid hands on him.”

“But because you came and worked with our enemies he is now a dead man.”

Richard Rackell’s lips moved; he was murmuring a prayer.

“You murder and ravish, you pirates and rascals and rogues!” I cried. “Yet you are all very religious men, I observe.” He did not speak and I went on: “And your affianced bride—what of her? You seduced her; you promised to marry her knowing full well that you never would. Am I right?”

He bowed his head.

“You have need of your prayers,” I said with sarcasm. “I hope you are repaid a thousandfold for what you have done to us.”

“Mistress,” he said, “I ask forgiveness.”

“There is no harm in asking.”

He sighed and looked out to sea.

I said after a while: “Tell me who sent you to us with your lies of coming from the North.”

“That I am forbidden to do.”

“But you were sent, as that rogue Gregory was sent.”

“We were sent.”

“And the purpose was to take us away.”

He was silent.

“Of course it was. But why … us! If you wanted women could you not have raided any coastal town and taken them? Why did you have to come, you and Gregory, and this great galleon to take us away?”

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.