Sidney hesitates; I fear he is weighing up whether this is the time to announce his grand plan of joining the expedition.
‘What circumstances?’ I ask, before he can speak.
By way of answer, Drake raises his eyes to the door and then to his brother.
‘Thomas, call them to clear the board. Then tell those two fellows to stand a little further off.’
Thomas Drake opens the door and calls for the serving boys. While the plates are hurried away, he exchanges a few words with the guards, waits to ensure that his orders have been obeyed, then closes it firmly behind him and takes his seat at the table. Drake lowers his voice.
‘Gentlemen, I have sad news to share. Yesterday, at first light, one of my officers on this ship was found dead.’
‘God preserve us. Who?’ Knollys asks, sitting up.
‘How?’ says Sidney, at the same time.
‘Robert Dunne. Perhaps you know him, Sir Philip? A worthy gentleman – he sailed with me around the world in ’77.’
‘I know him only by reputation,’ Sidney says. His tone does not make this sound like a compliment.
‘Robert Dunne. Dear God. I am most sorry to hear of it,’ Knollys says, slumping back against the wall, shock etched on his face. ‘He was a good sailor, even if—’ He breaks off, as if thinking better of whatever he had been about to say. So this accounts for the subdued atmosphere among the men.
‘The how is more difficult,’ Drake says, and his brother reaches a hand out.
‘Francis—’
‘They may as well know the truth of it, Thomas, since we can go neither forward nor back until the business is resolved.’ He pours himself another drink and passes the decanter up the table.
‘Dunne was found hanged in his quarters,’ Drake continues. ‘You may imagine how this has affected the crew. They talk of omens, a curse on the voyage, God’s punishment. Sailors read the world as a book of prophecies, Doctor Bruno,’ he adds, turning to me, ‘and on every page they find evidence that the Fates are set against them. So a death such as this on board, before we have even cast off …’
‘Self-slaughter, then?’ Knollys interrupts, nodding sadly.
‘So it appeared. A crudely fashioned noose fastened to a ceiling hook.’
‘But you do not believe it.’ I finish the thought for him.
Drake gives me a sharp look. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I read it in your face, sir.’
He considers me for a moment without speaking, as if trying to read me in return. ‘Interesting,’ he says, eventually. ‘Robert Dunne was a solid man. An experienced sailor.’
‘He was a deeply troubled man, Francis, we all know that,’ Knollys says.
‘He had heavy debts, certainly,’ Drake agrees, ‘but this voyage was supposed to remedy that. It would make no sense to die by his own hand before we set sail.’
‘A man may lose faith in himself,’ Sidney says.
‘In himself, perhaps, but not in his God. Dunne was devout, in the way of seafaring men. He would have regarded it as a grievous sin.’ Drake pauses, holding up a warning finger, and lowers his voice. ‘But here is my problem. I have allowed the men to believe his death was self-slaughter, as far as I can. They may talk of inviting curses and Dunne’s unburied soul plaguing the ship, but I had rather that for the present than any speculation on the alternative.’
‘You think someone killed him?’ Sidney’s eyes are so wide his brows threaten to disappear. Drake motions for him to keep his voice down.
‘I am certain of it. He did not have the face of a hanged man.’
‘So he was strung up after death, to look like suicide?’ I murmur. ‘How many people know of your suspicions?’
‘The only ones who saw the body were the man who found him, Jonas Solon, and my brother Thomas, who I sent for immediately. I also called the ship’s chaplain to ask his advice. He offered to say a prayer over the body, though he said there was little he could do for a suicide in terms of ritual.’
‘But no one else thought the body looked unusual? For a suicide by hanging, I mean?’
‘If they did, they said nothing. I only voiced my disquiet to Thomas in private later and he said he had thought the same.’ Drake takes a mouthful of wine. The strain of anxiety is plain in his face, though he is doing his best to conceal it.
‘Dunne did not show the signs of strangulation, though it was evident he had been hanging by the neck for some time,’ Thomas says, keeping his voice low. ‘The eyes were bloodshot and there was bruising around his nose and mouth. But he did not have the swollen features you would expect from choking.’
‘My first thought was to have him buried at sea that same day, to spare him the indignity of a suicide’s burial,’ Drake continues. ‘But Padre Pettifer, the chaplain, and my brother here talked me out of it – though the death happened aboard my ship, we are still in English waters and it would be folly to disregard the legal procedures. Besides, we could hardly keep it a secret. So I had him rowed ashore and handed over to the coroner. A messenger was dispatched to his wife the same day – Dunne was a Devon man, his family seat no more than a day’s ride away. The inquest will be held in three days, to give her time to travel.’ He twists the gold ring in his ear. ‘You see my difficulty, gentlemen? If Dunne was killed unlawfully, I must find out what happened before we set sail, but without jeopardising the voyage.’
‘You mean to say it could have been someone in the crew? He might still be here?’ Sidney asks in an awed whisper.
‘This is what we must ascertain, as subtly as possible,’ Drake says. ‘For my part, I do not believe any stranger could have done it. We have a watch throughout the night and they swear no unknown person came aboard after dark.’
‘If it was someone among your men, surely it is all to the good that he believes the death is taken for a suicide?’ Knollys says. ‘He will think himself safe, and perhaps make some slip that will give him away.’
‘That is my hope. Either way, we cannot sail until this is resolved.’ Drake pinches the point of his beard and frowns. ‘He may strike again.’ He glances at his brother. I wonder if he has some particular grounds for believing this. ‘But neither do I want the inquest to conclude that Dunne was murdered and set the coroner to investigate it. The fleet could be delayed indefinitely then. Men would desert. The entire expedition could be finished.’ He looks to Sidney as he says this. Given how many of Sidney’s friends and relatives at court have invested in this voyage, he knows as well as Drake what is at stake. He nods, his face sombre.
‘But the family will not want a verdict of felo de se,’ Knollys murmurs. ‘It would mean he died a criminal and his property would be forfeit to the crown. If there is the slightest doubt, his widow would surely rather it were treated as unlawful killing. At least then there is the prospect of justice.’
‘The coroner must reach a verdict of felo de se,’ Drake says sharply, ‘or we are looking at sixty thousand pounds’ worth of investment lost.’ He waves a hand towards the window, where the other ships of this expensive enterprise can be seen rising and falling on the swell. ‘To say nothing of the faith of some of the highest people in the land, including the Queen herself. This is the largest private fleet England has ever sent out. If we should fail before we even leave harbour, I would never again raise the finance for another such venture. I must determine whether there is a killer aboard my ship before the inquest.’
‘And what will you do when you find him?’ Sidney asks.
‘I will decide that when the time comes.’
Knollys looks as if he is about to offer another argument, but at the sight of his commander’s face he falls silent. I watch Drake, fascinated by his flinty expression. To lead a company of ships and men to the other side of the world must require a character that inspires loyalty. But what other qualities must it demand? Ruthlessness, in no small measure, I imagine; the willingness, if necessity forces your hand, to declare that the law is whatever you say it is. On board a ship, thousands of miles from shore, you must believe yourself the king of your own small kingdom, and keep your subjects obedient by any means necessary. You would have to act without compunction, and make your decisions without wavering.
‘Why before the inquest?’ Sidney asks.
‘I was mayor of Plymouth four years ago,’ Drake says. He rests his elbows on the table. ‘I know how the functionaries of the Town Corporation work. The Devonshire coroner could not find a felon if one were hiding behind his bed-curtains. The kind of ham-fisted investigation he would carry out aboard my fleet would achieve nothing but to sow discord and mistrust among the crews and allow the killer every chance to escape. No.’ His right hand closes into a fist and the muscles tighten in his jaw. ‘I mean to find this man myself.’
He looks around the company as if daring anyone else to question his judgement. The others lower their eyes; there is a prickly silence.
‘How many men do you have on board the Elizabeth?’ I ask.
‘At present, while we wait in harbour, around eighty men,’ Drake says.
‘And no one saw or heard anything? It would seem strange, on such a busy ship, that a man in good health could be subdued and hanged in his own cabin without anyone hearing a disturbance.’
Drake looks at me. ‘You are right. But Dunne was very drunk the night he died. He had gone ashore with a few of the others. They said he was acting strangely even before they had come within sight of a tavern.’
‘Strangely, how?’
‘Some of the men said he had a blazing argument in an inn yard, ending with punches thrown on both sides. Then Dunne stormed away and the others didn’t see him again until later. Padre Pettifer, our chaplain, found him wandering in the street and brought him back to the ship. Thomas met them as they were trying to climb aboard.’
‘I was returning from dinner with Francis,’ Thomas says. ‘I thought only that Dunne was extremely drunk. He was swaying violently and his talk was very wild.’
‘In what way?’
‘Like a man in the grip of fever. He kept saying they were at his heels, and pointing out into the night.’
‘Who was at his heels?’ Sidney says, leaning forward. Thomas glances at him with disdain.
‘Well, if he’d said, we might have a better idea of who to look for.’ He jabs a forefinger into the air. ‘He just kept pointing like a madman, like so, and saying “Do you not see him, Thomas Drake?” When I asked who, he opened his eyes very wide and said, “The Devil himself.”’
‘Did you notice anything about his eyes?’ I ask.
‘His eyes? It was dark, man,’ Thomas says. Then he seems to relent. ‘Though in that light they appeared very bloodshot, and the pupils dilated. The eyes of a drunken man, as you’d expect.’ He sucks in his cheeks. ‘It is strange. Dunne had his faults, but the bottle was not one of them. It had clearly gone to his head – he even started addressing me as his wife—’
‘God help her, if you are easily mistaken in looks,’ Sidney says. Thomas glares him into silence.
‘I helped him to his cabin. Told him to sleep it off. Just before we reached the door, he pointed ahead and said, “Martha, why have you brought that horse aboard this ship?” Then he vomited copiously all over the deck and his legs went from under him.’
‘We’ve all had nights like that,’ Sidney says.
‘Yes, it would be an amusing story, if he had not been found dead the next morning,’ Drake remarks, his face stern. Sidney looks chastened.
‘Between us, we laid him on the bed,’ Thomas says. ‘He seemed to fall asleep right away.’
‘And no one saw or spoke to him after he returned to his cabin? No one heard anything unusual? Though I suppose it would be difficult to ask too many questions.’ I rub the nail of my thumb along my jaw and think again that I must visit a barber soon.
‘You ask a great many questions, Doctor Bruno,’ Thomas Drake mutters. ‘Anyone would think you were the coroner.’
Sir Francis regards me with shrewd eyes.
‘You perceive my problem exactly. Having given out that he died by his own hand, it becomes difficult then to press the men too closely as to what they saw or heard without arousing suspicion.’ He sighs, and pushes his glass away from him. ‘Already some are saying they want to leave while they still can, that this is now a doomed voyage. I have persuaded them to stay for now, but if it is presumed to be murder, it would be impossible to hold a crew together, each man looking at his fellows, wondering who among them is a killer. I must tread very carefully.’
‘But one of them is a killer, so you believe,’ Sidney says, a touch of impatience in his tone. ‘So you must find him, or risk him killing again.’
‘Thank you, Sir Philip,’ Drake says, with impeccable politeness, ‘but the situation is perhaps more complicated than you understand. In any case, be thankful it is not a problem that need disturb your sleep. You will have your hands full with Dom Antonio. The poor man spends his life running from assassins already – I do not want him staying in Plymouth if there is another close at hand.’
I see in Sidney’s face the effort it takes not to respond to this courteous dismissal. I half expect him to stand up and announce his intention to travel with the fleet, but perhaps I should give him more credit; even he can see that this is not the time. I frown at the table, already assembling the evidence in my mind, querying the how and the why. In part I am curiously relieved by the news of this death; surely with this shadow cast over the voyage Sidney will not be able to elbow his way aboard and I will be given an easy excuse without having to defy him. And yet there is another part of my brain that snaps to attention at the prospect of an unexplained death to be riddled out – already I am picturing the scene on deck, the last movements of the dead man as he enters his cabin, the ship dark and still. I shake my head to silence the buzzing questions in my mind. This man’s death is not my business, as Drake has made clear enough.
As if he shared my thoughts, Sidney sits forward and points down the table to me.
‘Well, perhaps we are in a position to help you, Sir Francis. You are fortunate that my friend Bruno here is better than a hunting dog for following the scent of a killer. When it comes to unexplained murders, he is your man.’
He leans back, beaming at me. At this moment, I would willingly push him overboard.
Drake arches an eyebrow. ‘Is that so? A curious talent for a theologian.’
‘I fear Sir Philip exaggerates. On one or two occasions I have happened, by chance, to be—’
‘He will not boast of it because he is too modest,’ Sidney cuts in. ‘But I could tell you some tales – Bruno has a prodigious memory and the subtlest mind of any man alive for finding a murderer and bringing him to justice. Why, only last summer—’
‘Yes, but these are nautical matters, Sir Philip, and I have no experience of such things,’ I say quickly, before Sidney can volunteer me for the task. ‘Sir Francis is right – this sad business is not our concern.’
I expect Drake to concur, but instead he studies me carefully, still pulling at the point of his beard. ‘You are a scholar, though, Sir Philip assures me? You are familiar with ancient languages?’
I bow my head in acknowledgement, recalling what Sidney had told me about Drake’s interest in me. ‘Some. It would depend which you have in mind.’
‘That is the issue. I’m not sure.’
Thomas Drake raises his hand again. ‘Francis, I don’t think—’
‘Peace, Brother.’ Drake pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He looks up and smiles at the company, with some effort. ‘Well, gentlemen. I wish you could have found us in better cheer. I am sorry to have dampened your spirits, but I thought it best you be informed. I have faith that we will resolve this matter as soon as possible. And now, you will want to get ashore, I suppose, and settle for the night.’
Sidney looks from Drake to Knollys, confused. ‘But we have a berth aboard the Leicester.’
Knollys clears his throat.
‘Philip, I must make some adjustments to my crew now we are here and will need that cabin for another officer. I had thought, once we arrived in Plymouth, you would prefer the comfort of an inn.’
‘I will have some of the men row you ashore. They are expecting you at the sign of the Star – don’t worry, it’s the best inn in Plymouth. I should know – I own the lease.’ Drake laughs. ‘I stay there myself when I am in town. Mention my name and they will do whatever they can to oblige you.’ He rises, sweeping his smile over both of us, but his gaze rests on me, as if he is debating whether to say something more.
Sidney’s face is taut with the effort not to protest. ‘That is gracious of you,’ he says, in a clipped tone. ‘I wondered, Sir Francis, if we might speak privately before we leave?’
Thomas Drake looks set to step in; it seems that he has appointed himself his brother’s counsellor, monitoring what he says and to whom. Drake, who does not appear to require such careful protection, waves him back.
‘Of course. Perhaps we may take the air? I feel the need of it.’ He nods us towards the door. ‘Wait for me on the quarterdeck – I will join you shortly.’
Sidney hesitates, then bows in acceptance. Thomas Drake opens the door for us. True to their orders, the guards are standing a little way off, close enough to keep an eye on the captain’s quarters but not, you would suppose, near enough to follow the conversation within. I wonder if they have been in these positions throughout the meal. If it were me, I would have had my ear stuck to the door as soon as it was closed. I say as much to Sidney once Thomas is back inside.
‘Of course you would,’ he says, laughing. ‘The surest way to get Bruno to do anything is to tell him he must not, in case he learns something forbidden.’
‘Whereas you are the very model of obedience, as Her Majesty will soon discover.’
He hisses at me to keep quiet. We emerge on to the upper deck at the stern of the ship, the part reserved for officers. Below us, the men sit in groups, some playing at dice, some whittling away at pieces of wood with pocket knives, others leaning over the rail and staring out across the Sound at the other ships.
‘It must be hard to keep discipline among the men while the ships stand idle here,’ I remark.
Sidney pounces on me, his eyes lit up again with a new scheme – one I can guess at before he even speaks.
‘Exactly! And Drake will be bleeding money keeping the crews fed so they don’t desert. This is why we must resolve this situation for him so that the fleet can leave as soon as possible. Then he will be in our debt.’
‘No.’ I take a step back. ‘You will not appoint me to find this killer, Philip. You have already persuaded me to join the voyage against my better judgement – though I see no sign of an invitation from Drake yet. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
He flaps a sleeve in my direction. ‘That is what I mean to discuss with him. Besides – what better way to demonstrate how indispensable we are?’ He squints into the low evening sun. ‘Listen – the fleet cannot sail until Drake determines who was responsible for the death of Robert Dunne. A good many persons of high standing have put up their own money for this venture, at my behest, including my uncle Leicester and Lord Burghley, not to mention the Queen herself. If the ships are stuck here in Plymouth, they lose the best part of their investment. But if we were to find this killer, Bruno, we would save the voyage.’ He gives my arm a little shake to press the point.
‘You overpraise my abilities,’ I say, pulling away. ‘Once or twice, I grant you, I have been fortunate in finding out a murderer, but it is not work I seek out for the love of it. Mostly I find myself in these situations with no choice.’
‘What about Canterbury? You went there willingly to seek out a killer, for the sake of a woman. But you will not do it for a friend, is that it?’
I look away. There is nothing to be said on the subject of Canterbury. He tries another tack.
‘You may not wish it, Bruno, but this is something you have a talent for, just as some men have a gift for making money or singing. If God has given this to you, He intends you to use it. I see that sceptical look. But remember the parable of the talents.’
‘I am only wondering when you became my spiritual adviser.’ I shake my head. ‘This is not our business. You heard what Drake said – the man had debts. No doubt one of his creditors grew tired of waiting. Or it is some quarrel between sailors – you think if anyone among the crew knows something, he would confide in a foreigner who has never sailed further than Calais to Tilbury? Let Drake take care of it according to his own judgement, as he said.’
Sidney nudges me to be silent; the Captain-General’s head appears at the top of the stair ladder.
‘Gentlemen! Thank you for waiting. It is more pleasant out here, is it not?’
He sweeps an arm round to encompass the view. The evening is still light, with charcoal streaks of cloud smudged across the deepening blue of the sky. White gulls circle around the topmast, loudly complaining; to either side the green slopes rise from the water and smoke curls from the chimneys of scattered cottages. Before us, out to sea, the other ships of the fleet rock gently at anchor, sails furled; behind us, the small town of Plymouth huddles into the bay. A thin breeze lifts my hair from my face and flutters the lace at Sidney’s collar.
Drake joins us by the rail. He turns and considers me again, as if weighing me up, then returns his gaze to the horizon. ‘What is it you wish to discuss, Sir Philip?’ Something in his tone suggests to me he already knows full well.
Sidney knots his fingers together, giving them his close attention. When he eventually speaks, he lifts his head and looks across the harbour, not at Drake.
‘Sir Francis, you recall in London, when you came to me to discuss the ordnance? We spoke of another matter then too, concerning my involvement with this voyage.’
He is careful with Drake’s title now that he wants his favour. Drake frowns, then turns to Sidney with an expression of confusion or amusement, or perhaps both.
‘But, Sir Philip, I thought that was just talk. I recall you proposed that you should come with us, but we both agreed Her Majesty would never give her consent.’
‘And I said to you, that being the case, we would have to take care she did not find out until we were well under way.’ Sidney keeps his voice low and steady, but I recognise the tone: determination edged with petulance. It is a matter of honour for him now not to back down.
Drake rubs the back of his neck. ‘I assumed that was a joke. I laughed when you said it, as I remember.’
‘I thought you were laughing in agreement.’
There is a long silence, during which we all watch the gulls. One lands on the rail a little way along from us and regards us with hauteur.
‘Well, look,’ Drake says eventually, placatory, ‘we misunderstood one another, but no harm done. In any case, you are needed to escort Dom Antonio to London and my fleet is sailing nowhere while this matter remains uncertain.’ He passes a hand through his hair and raises his eyes to the clouds, as if some explanation might be found there.
‘Sir Francis.’ Sidney is firm now, all business. ‘You will not deny my part in raising capital for this expedition. Therefore I have earned my passage with you, I think, and my friend’s.’
Drake’s gaze flits to me in alarm. You as well? his raised eyebrow asks.
‘But if that is not sufficient for you, let us prove ourselves further. I was not in jest when I said that Bruno has a nose for unearthing murderers keener than a pig after truffles.’
‘A gracious comparison,’ I murmur. Drake smiles.
‘The Queen herself would vouch for him, if she were here.’ Sidney is relentless. ‘If we can find this killer for you, no one will be out of pocket, the fleet can sail, and we will have earned our place in it.’
