Armada

Suddenly a light appeared directly ahead. The longboat reared again and the rowers deftly balanced the hull as the wave carried them forward. They spoke rapidly to each other in Spanish but Nathaniel ignored them, conscious that soon he would hear naught but his mother tongue. He focused on the light ahead. It was a storm lantern and it seemed to be sitting directly on the beach. No one stood within its illumination.

As the boat crashed through the surf, two of the crew jumped out into the waist deep water to guide the boat ashore. The hull touched sand and Nathaniel jumped over the gunwale. His feet touched solid ground and for a moment he stood still, savouring the moment. He strode forward towards the light but stopped short, crouching down and taking up a handful of sand he let it sift through his fingers. He was home.

‘Señor,’ a voice said in the darkness behind him. ‘We will leave you now. God speed.’

‘No, wait,’ Nathaniel commanded. ‘Wait until I am safely away.’

The reply was muttered in gutter Spanish. Nathaniel did not understand the words but he knew their portent. If his contact did not show immediately he would either have to leave with the Spaniards or stay alone. He walked quickly to the storm lantern and stood beside it.

‘I am Nathaniel Young,’ he called into the darkness.

He was answered with silence.

‘Señor, we go.’

Nathaniel spun around to protest but in the whiter shade of the crashing surf he saw the men were already clambering back into the boat. For a heartbeat he thought to follow but he stood resolute. There could be no going back. He looked around in the darkness and picked up the storm lantern, then began to walk further up the beach, pausing as his legs brushed against the marram grass above the storm line. He could go no further. There was little point, for his next move was supposed to be decided by his contact. Where in blazes was he? Surely he lit the storm lantern and placed it on the beach. Why did he then retreat? He was tempted to shout out again, but held his tongue. There was no way of knowing who was abroad and he did not want to attract unwanted attention.

The thought brought home the reality of his situation. He was home. This was England. But it was no longer his. The heretic Queen who controlled this land had branded him a traitor and made him an outcast. He had been reduced to fearing discovery by his own countrymen.

‘Enough!’ he shouted and he walked forward again, oblivious of his course.

‘Nathaniel Young,’ a voice called out. Nathaniel spun around in the direction of the cry.

‘Show yourself.’ Nathaniel’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

‘Stand easy, Young. It is I, Clarsdale.’

Nathaniel breathed with relief, which was quickly replaced by anger. ‘Why did you not show yourself before?’

‘I was wary of the boat load of men who brought you ashore,’ Clarsdale lied as he stepped into the light. ‘I thought for a moment that news of your arrival might have been discovered and those men were here to capture your contact.’

Clarsdale discerned a slight sneer of contempt from Young at his explanation. He ignored it. What did it matter if Young believed he was meek? It was better if Young continued to harbour a low opinion of him. Clarsdale hid his own scorn behind a neutral expression. He had let Young wait alone in the darkness to ensure the Duke of Greyfarne realized that without him he was just that – alone.

Clarsdale had debated coming himself to meet Young at the landing site. It was a significant risk. But if he had sent a servant with orders to escort Young to his estate, there was a chance the exiled duke might countermand those orders and have the servant guide him to another location. For his plan to succeed, Clarsdale had to strictly control Young’s movements from the start.

Clarsdale’s original plan, when Nathaniel Young was still in Spain, was to blackmail the exiled duke into revealing the identity of his contact in the Spanish hierarchy. He had intended to tell him that the agent he had secured was his son and if Young did not comply with his wishes Clarsdale would withhold communication between the two, or better yet, threaten to kill Robert. While Nathaniel Young had been in Spain he could have done nothing to protect his son and would surely have stepped aside and allowed Clarsdale unfettered access to the future masters of England.

But Young’s announcement that he was coming to England had thrown those budding plans into disarray. For all Clarsdale knew, Young was seeking to bypass Clarsdale and set up a direct link with the agent. And as soon as he found out their new ally was his son that idea would surely come of itself.