Armada by John Stack

unconsciousness mercifully claimed him once more.
    Afterwards he had awoken in the cabin where he now sat and although more than a week had passed since then, he still felt ill at ease in the room. He took a drink from a goblet of wine, spoils from the Spanish supply fleet, and looked around. His eyes were drawn to the rack of sea charts on the wall and the unopened chest beneath them: Morgan’s belongings.
    The story of Robert’s charge on the
Halcón
had spread rapidly throughout the English fleet and that action, coupled with his natural selection as second-in-command, had secured him a field promotion to captain. Drake himself had come from his flagship to confer the honour, bringing with him his chaplain, and the commander of the fleet had ordered a double ration of grog for the entire crew in recognition of their fight, prompting a cheer from the bloodied men of the
Retribution
.
    There was a knock on the cabin door and Seeley entered.
    ‘Well?’ Robert asked, sitting up straighter.
    ‘Six dead and nine wounded,’ Seeley replied, ‘and I fear two of those will not see tomorrow’s dawn.’
    ‘Who are they?’
    Seeley listed the names and Robert repeated them silently to himself.
    After Cadiz the fleet had sailed south to the Algarve coast and the fortified town of Lagos. The English had anchored five miles from the town and Drake had quickly assembled a landing party of a thousand men, taking one hundred from the
Retribution
. Owing to Robert’s injury Seeley had taken charge of the
Retribution
’s levy and Robert had watched them march away, only to see the badly mauled ranks return a day later.
    ‘A pox on the Spaniards,’ Seeley spat, pacing the cabin, ‘they led us all the way to the walls of Lagos before revealing their true strength.’
    ‘We were lucky to escape so lightly,’ Robert remarked, conscious that the fleet had been badly exposed while waiting at the landing point.
    ‘It was God’s will, Captain, not luck,’ Seeley corrected, ‘and He has opened our eyes to the perfidiousness of the enemy. We will not be so easily deceived again.’
    ‘We will soon have cause to test that wisdom,’ Robert said, leaning forward to offer Seeley a drink. The new master of the
Retribution
sat down, his expression questioning.
    ‘The order arrived while you were below decks,’ Robert explained. ‘We are sailing to Sagres and Drake means to take the town.’
    Seeley smiled and picked up the goblet from the table, swirling the wine within.
    ‘
Rejoice not over me, O my enemy
,’ he recited, ‘
when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me
.’
    Robert nodded, recognizing the quotation from the bible.
    ‘It is a small port, but strategically important.’ He put his goblet down to lean in over the table, wincing slightly as he shifted his leg. He pulled an opened chart across and Seeley stood up to study it. It was a detailed map of the south-western coastline of Portugal. Together they pored over the annotations regarding Sagres and its approaches.
    A hurried knock on the door interrupted them and the ship’s surgeon entered without awaiting permission. His face was agitated and he advanced with his hand outstretched before him.
    ‘What is it, Mister Powell?’ Robert asked, consciously suppressing the unwanted memories resurfaced by the unexpected arrival of the surgeon.
    Powell was one of the oldest members of the crew. He was a tall man but his back was curved from a lifetime of treating wounded men. He wore a heavy leather blood-stained apron and his arms were stained pink to the elbows.
    ‘I found these in the surgery.’ Powell opened his hand to reveal a silver crucifix and marble statuette of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
    Seeley shot out of his chair. For the briefest moment his and Powell’s full attention was on the artefacts alone. Robert knew his face betrayed the depths of his distress at the sudden revelation. He gathered his wits as Powell advanced