Armada by John Stack Page B

explained in halting Spanish the terms of his capture. He was to be brought back to England where he would be held until a ransom was paid for his release. It was an ignominious fate, one that would be shared by the four other men of noble birth who shared his quarters in the ship’s bowels.
    Evardo kept his gaze locked on the shafts of light. They swung slowly with the roll of the ship, sweeping across the near pitch darkness of the cell. He held out his right hand, his sword hand, to allow the feeble light to catch it. He vividly recalled that moment on the
Halcón
after he had handed over his weapon to the Englishman, Varian. Since then, and with a deep sense of shame, he had asked himself if he should not have fought on and accepted the price of death for his honour.
    After Varian had walked away from him, he had been jostled, along with the rest of his crew, into the fo’c’sle. His first reaction had been to look for Abrahan. When he saw the older man push through the throng to approach him, he had begun to smile, glad to see his old friend safe. That smile had died on his lips when he beheld the murderous look on Abrahan’s face.
    ‘You cursed
cobarde
,’ he had hissed, and Evardo had recoiled from the accusation of cowardice.
    ‘I was bested, there was nothing I could do, the fight …’
    ‘You surrendered your ship like some Portuguese
hijo de puta
and betrayed your command and your crew!’
    ‘Betrayed?’ Evardo had hissed back, dropping his hand to clasp the sword that was no longer by his side. ‘After the English counter-attacked, there was nothing we could do, you know that.’
    ‘Then you should have paid for the loss of the
Halcón
with your blood, not your sword.’
    Evardo had made to reply, but Abrahan had turned his back on him, pushing through the surrounding crewmen who had heard every word of the exchange. Evardo had looked at them, and while many had averted their gaze, others had stared back with accusing eyes, persuaded by Abrahan’s words that their captain had indeed betrayed the
Halcón
and its crew.
    In the quiet of the cell Evardo pictured his mentor in his mind’s eye. The image brought a flash of anger to his heart but then he thought of the years of comradeship and support that Abrahan had given him. Under his tutelage he had crossed the world, making the leap from boy to man. In many ways Evardo had come to consider Abrahan as the father he had lost to war. As a
comandante
he was accustomed to a solitary existence but for the first time he felt very alone. The feeling sickened him.
    In the darkness he closed his hand into a tight fist. The shame of his defeat threatened to overwhelm him, to unman him in that black space, but with savage determination he crushed his regret. Evardo gave his mind over to the boom of the waves striking the hull and the creak of timbers. The journey ahead would be long, but eventually he would return to Spain, and he focused his thoughts on that day. Using the powerful influence of his family he would seek another galleon command. His honour demanded nothing less. Only then would he be able to take the first step in fulfilling the vow that had now become the centre of his being: revenge.
     
    Above the swirling mists of gun smoke surrounding the English fleet in the waters off Sagres, a lookout on the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
spotted the raising of a white flag. He shouted it down to the quarterdeck and across the fleet the order was given to cease fire. In the quiet that followed, Robert looked out across the untroubled waters to the town’s castle. The bombardment had lasted a mere two hours, a savage cannonade that had pierced the battlements in several places and silenced the garrison’s return of fire. Black smoke was rising from within, billowing past the crude flag of surrender, and on the gentle breeze Robert could hear the desperate cries of a cornered populace.
    ‘Ho quarterdeck,
Cygnet
approaching on the starboard beam.’
    ‘Ahoy,