Armada

Robert leaned into the turn as the Retribution came full about, beginning anew a figure-of-eight as it held station at the periphery of the melee. The galleon was flanked by the other larger ships of the English fleet, creating a partial blockade of the upper harbour while the smaller vessels, their crews complemented by additional men from the galleons, wreaked havoc amongst the tightly packed remnants of the Spanish supply fleet. There were over forty ships of every hue, from Spain and all her major allies and dominions, an unprecedented bounty on which the English crews continued to feed. Their appetite was insatiable even after hours of plunder, yet there were ships closer to the centre of the formation that were still untouched.

The evening was foreshortened by a false horizon of clouds to the west behind which the sun had already fallen and the sky was rapidly darkening. Robert took his gaze from the pillage to look to the harbour mouth. The fort of Cadiz was firing its cannon sporadically. It was a futile gesture of defiance, a hollow warning against attacking the meagre flotilla of supply ships that had sought refuge there. Across the mouth, the Spanish galleys that had been driven off earlier had re-emerged from the refuge of shallow water but seemed unwilling to advance once more into the fray.

Robert turned his attention to the chaotic scene of the supply fleet once more. He smiled. The prize from such an attack would be substantial and as the master of a galleon his share could well be in excess of a year’s pay on board his own ship, the Spirit. Drake’s unorthodox change in the established plan had been inspirational, for without supplies the Spanish war fleet in Lisbon were hamstrung and Robert whispered a prayer of thanks. England would surely be spared the threat of invasion for another season.

‘The wages of sin is death sayeth the Lord,’ Robert heard and he turned to see Seeley approach, his face twisted in a malicious grin. ‘Today, with His guiding hand, we have shown the papists that they are not safe from our wrath anywhere, on the Main, in the Atlantic and now in their own home waters.’

Robert nodded, sharing that joy, although he felt a thread of unease as he looked at the younger man’s manic face, conscious that, to Seeley, the triumph of England took second place to the triumph of his faith.

‘Where is the Spy?’ the master’s mate asked.

‘Two hundred yards off the larboard beam,’ Robert replied, pointing to the English pinnace drawing away from a merchantman many times its size.

Captain Morgan had taken a hundred crewmen of the Retribution on board the Spy at the outset of the attack on the upper harbour and had thereafter ravaged at least a half-dozen vessels, boarding each with impunity, the watching guns of the galleons making the Spanish mindful only of their lives and not of their possessions. The pinnace turned towards the Retribution and Robert saw the captain signal to him from the fore deck of the Spy. The two ships drew alongside.

‘Mister Varian, man the longboat with twenty armed men and make haste to follow me to that galleon,’ Morgan shouted with elation, pointing to the Spanish warship amidst the remaining untouched merchantmen, ‘I mean to take her and I want you to command the prize crew.’

‘Aye, Captain,’ Robert replied with gusto. ‘Coxswain to the main! Launch the boat!’

Robert looked to the Spanish galleon. There were men on the quarter- and poop decks. They were motionless and Robert paused, his brow creasing in puzzlement. The Spanish crew’s attitude was completely at odds with the pandemonium on board the surrounding Spanish ships. He quickly dismissed his hesitation. The only other Spanish galleon in the upper harbour had fallen in the opening minutes of the battle without a shot fired and Robert could only assume the Spaniards he could see were merely resigned to that same fate, knowing there was no escape.

The longboat was launched and Robert followed the last of twenty men down the rope ladder, taking station at the stern.

‘Lay on, boys,’ the coxswain shouted and the boat drew away under oars.

The Spy was already weaving its way towards the Spanish galleon but Robert ordered the coxswain not to follow. The smaller size of his boat allowed them to take a more direct route and they kept pace with the approach of the faster pinnace. The Spanish galleon towered over them as the longboat drew closer. Robert kept his gaze locked on the Spaniards he could see and the muzzles of the cannons on the gun and main decks. The coxswain deftly altered the course of the boat to spoil any aim as the cover from the surrounding boats fell away. Robert felt uneasy, not only because they were exposed under enemy guns, but again because the Spanish crew, although they had no weapons in hand, seemed strangely unperturbed by the approach of the longboat and pinnace.