safely in a Catholic country while I am wanted by the Inquisition on charges of heresy.
‘You will speak to the Queen?’
‘Wait and see,’ is all he says, with a cryptic wink that he knows infuriates me.
Sidney was appointed Master of the Ordnance early in the spring – a political appointment, a bauble from the Queen, no reflection of his military or naval abilities, which so far exist largely in his head. Over the summer he has been occupied with overseeing the provision of munitions for this latest venture of Francis Drake’s. So when the Queen received word that Dom Antonio, the pretender to the Portuguese throne, was sailing for England to visit her and intended to land at Plymouth, Sidney volunteered immediately for the task of meeting and escorting him to London, so that he might see Drake’s fleet at first hand.
The plan is that we sail with the Galleon Leicester as far as Plymouth, where the ships are assembling, spend a few days among the sailors and merchant adventurers while we wait for the Portuguese and his entourage, so that Sidney can strut about talking cannon-shot and navigation and generally making himself important, then return by road to London with our royal visitor by the end of the month, when the royal court will have made its way back to the city after a summer in the country. I am grateful for the diversion, but I cannot help dwelling on the reckoning that will come on our return. If Sidney can find a way for me to stay in London, I will be in his debt for a lifetime.
The sun is almost fully above the horizon when Knollys calls us back to the deck, its light shrouded by a thin gauze of white cloud. I think of a Sicilian lemon in a muslin bag, with a brief pang of nostalgia.
‘We shall have clear weather today, God willing,’ he says, nodding to the sky. ‘Though it would not hurt to pray for a little more wind.’
‘You’re asking the wrong man,’ Sidney says, nudging me. ‘Bruno does not pray.’
Knollys regards me, amused. ‘Wait until we’re out at sea. He will.’
The ship casts off smoothly from her moorings; orders are shouted, ropes hauled in, and from above comes a great creak of timber and the billowing slap of canvas as the sails breathe in and out like bellows. For the first time since we boarded, I am truly aware of the deck shifting beneath my feet; a gentle motion, back and forth on the swell as the Leicester moves away from the dock and the children who earn pennies loading cargo and running errands cheer us on our way, scampering as far as they can run along the wharf to wave us out of sight. Knollys laughs and waves back, so Sidney and I follow suit as the sun breaks through in a sudden shaft that gilds the brass fittings and the warm grain of the wood and makes the water ahead sparkle with a hundred thousand points of light, and I think perhaps I will enjoy this after all. But each time I move I am reminded that the ground under my feet is no longer solid.
‘Occupy yourselves for the present,’ Knollys says, ‘as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way.’
‘I am fully ready to pull my weight, Cousin, just let me know what tasks I should take in hand. I have heard how Drake likes to run his crews and we are not here to sit about watching honest men toil while we drink French wine in the sun.’ Sidney beams, spreading his hands wide as if to say, Here I am.
I look at him, alarmed; there had been no mention of this in the invitation. I glance up to the top of the mainmast, where a pennant with a gold crest flutters above the lookout platform. I hope he has not just volunteered us for shinning up rigging and swabbing decks.
Knollys looks him up and down, taking in the silk doublet, the lace cuffs, the ornaments. He smiles, but there is an edge to it.
‘Good – the wine is strictly rationed. I must say, Philip, I am surprised Her Majesty has allowed you to leave court for so long. In the circumstances.’
Sidney looks away. ‘Someone has to bring Dom Antonio to London. He wouldn’t make it in one piece on his own. You know Philip of Spain has a price on his head.’
‘Even so. Given that you and she are at odds at present, I’m amazed she trusts you to come back again.’ Knollys laughs, expecting Sidney to join in.
There is a pause that grows more uncomfortable the longer it continues. Sidney studies the horizon with intense concentration.
‘Tell me,’ I say, to relieve the silence, ‘what kind of man is Francis Drake?’
‘Stubborn,’ says Sidney, without hesitation.
‘A man of mettle,’ Knollys offers, after some consideration.
‘I have sat on parliamentary committees with him over the past few years,’ says Sidney, ‘and he is as single-minded as a ratting dog when he has his mind set to something. Pragmatic too, though, and damned hard-working – as you’d expect from a man raised to manual labour,’ he adds, examining his fingernails.
‘There is a combative aspect to him,’ Knollys says thoughtfully, ‘and a fierce ambition – though not for personal vanity, I don’t think. It’s more as if he enjoys pitting himself against the impossible. He can be the very soul of courtesy – I have seen him treat prisoners from captured ships with as much respect as he would pay his own men. But there is steel in him. If you cross him, by God, he will make you pay for it.’ He sucks in a sharp breath and seems poised to expand on this, but apparently thinks better of it.
‘Is he an educated man?’ I ask.
‘Not formally, though he is learned in matters that concern the sea, naturally,’ Knollys says. ‘But in his cabin he keeps an English Bible and a copy of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, as well as the writings of Magellan and French and Spanish volumes on the art of navigation. He is excessively fond of music and makes sure he has men aboard who can play with some skill. Why do you ask?’
‘Only that he is Europe’s most famous mariner,’ I say. ‘I am intrigued to meet him – he has changed our understanding of the world. I imagine he must be a man of extraordinary qualities.’
Knollys nods, smiling. ‘You will not be disappointed. Now, the two of you can watch the sights while I go about my business. God willing we shall have calm seas and a good wind and we will be in Plymouth inside two days.’
He waves us vaguely towards the front of the ship. I follow Sidney up a few almost vertical stairs to the high deck. As soon as Knollys has turned his back, Sidney disregards his command; he greets the nearest sailor heartily and presses him with questions about his business – why does he tie that rope so, what does it signify that the topsails are still furled, what is the hierarchy of men in the crew, where is the farthest he himself has been from England – barely pausing to draw breath, until the poor fellow looks about wildly for someone to save him from this interrogation.
Smiling, I leave them to it and find myself a quiet spot at the very prow. I do, as it happens, know one end of a ship from the other – I spent part of my youth around the Bay of Naples – but I reason that the more useless I make myself appear, the more I will be left to my own devices. What does pique my interest here is the art of navigation; I should like to have the opportunity to talk to Knollys about his charts and instruments, if he would allow. Since sailors for centuries have calculated their position by the stars with ever more precise calibrations, and since for those same centuries all our charts of the heavens have been based on erroneous beliefs about the movement of the stars and planets in their spheres, I am curious to know how navigators and cartographers will adapt to the new configuration of the universe, now that we know the Sun and not the Earth lies at its centre, and that the fixed stars are no such
