Fair Margaret
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H. Rider Haggard >> Fair Margaret
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When he had finished, the sailormen, of whom there were about thirty,
with the stout-hearted captain, Jacob Smith, a sturdy-built man of fifty
years of age, at the head of them, conferred together, and at last, with
one exception--that of a young new-married man, whose heart failed
him--they accepted the offer, swearing that they would see the thing
through to the end, were it good or ill, for they were all Englishmen,
and no lovers of the Spaniards. Moreover, so bitter a wrong stirred
their blood. Indeed, although for the most part they were not sailors,
six of the twelve men who had ridden with them from London prayed that
they might come too, for the love they had to Margaret, their master,
and Peter; and they took them. The other six they sent ashore again,
bearing letters to Castell's friends, agents, and reeves, as to the
transfer of his business and the care of his lands, houses, and other
properties during his absence. Also, they took a short will duly signed
by Castell and witnessed, wherein he left all his goods of whatever
sort that remained unsettled or undevised, to Margaret and Peter, or
the survivor of them, or their heirs, or failing these, for the purpose
of founding a hospital for the poor. Then these men bade them farewell
and departed, very heavy at heart, just as the anchor was hauled home,
and the sails began to draw in the stiff morning breeze.
About ten o'clock they rounded the Nore bank safely, and here spoke a
fishing-boat, who told them that more than six hours before they had
seen the _San Antonio_ sail past them down Channel, and noted two women
standing on her deck, holding each other's hands and gazing shorewards.
Then, knowing that there was no mistake, there being nothing more that
they could do, worn out with grief and journeying, they ate some food
and went to their cabin to sleep.
As he laid him down Peter remembered that at this very hour he should
have been in church taking Margaret as his bride--Margaret, who was now
in the power of the Spaniard--and swore a great and bitter oath that
d'Aguilar should pay him back for all this shame and agony. Indeed,
could his enemy have seen the look on Peter's face he might well have
been afraid, for this Peter was an ill man to cross, and had no
forgiving heart; also, his wrong was deep.
For four days the wind held, and they ran down Channel before it, hoping
to catch sight of the Spaniard; but the _San Antonio_ was a swift
caravel of 250 tons with much canvas, for she carried four masts, and
although the _Margaret_ was also a good sailer, she had but two masts,
and could not come up with her. Or, for anything they knew, they might
have missed her on the seas. On the afternoon of the fourth day, when
they were off the Lizard, and creeping along very slowly under a light
breeze, the look-out man reported a ship lying becalmed ahead. Peter,
who had the eyes of a hawk, climbed up the mast to look at her, and
presently called down that he believed from her shape and rig she must
be the caravel, though of this he could not be sure as he had never seen
her. Then the captain, Smith, went up also, and a few minutes later
returned saying that without doubt it was the _San Antonio._
Now there was a great and joyful stir on board the _Margaret_, every man
seeing to his sword and their long or cross bows, of which there were
plenty, although they had no bombards or cannon, that as yet were rare
on merchant ships. Their plan was to run alongside the _San Antonio_ and
board her, for thus they hoped to recover Margaret. As for the anger of
the king, which might well fall on them for this deed, since he would
think little of the stealing of a pair of Englishwomen, of that they
must take their chance.
Within half an hour everything was ready, and Peter, pacing to and fro,
looked happier than he had done since he rode away to Dedham. The light
breeze still held, although, if it reached the _San Antonio_, it did not
seem to move her, and, with the help of it, by degrees they came to
within half a mile of the caravel. Then the wind dropped altogether, and
there the two ships lay. Still the set of the tide, or some current,
seemed to be drawing them towards each other, so that when the night
closed in they were not more than four hundred paces apart, and the
Englishmen had great hopes that before morning they would close, and be
able to board by the light of the moon.
But this was not to be, since about nine o'clock thick clouds rose up
which covered the heavens, while with the clouds came strong winds
blowing off the land, and, when at length the dawn broke, all they could
see of the _San Antonio_ was her topmasts as she rose upon the seas,
flying southwards swiftly. This, indeed, was the last sight they had of
her for two long weeks.
From Ushant all across the Bay the airs were very light and variable,
but when at length they came off Finisterre a gale sprang up from the
north-east which drove them forward very fast. It was on the second
night of this gale, as the sun set, that, running out of some mist and
rain, suddenly they saw the _San Antonio_ not a mile away, and rejoiced,
for now they knew that she had not made for any port in the north of
Spain, as, although she was bound for Cadiz, they feared she might have
done to trick them. Then the rain came on again, and they saw her
no more.
All down the coast of Portugal the weather grew more heavy day by day,
and when they reached St. Vincent's Cape and bore round for Cadiz, it
blew a great gale. Now it was that for the third time they viewed the
_San Antonio_ labouring ahead of them, nor, except at night, did they
lose sight of her any more until the end of that voyage. Indeed, on the
next day they nearly came up with her, for she tried to beat in to
Cadiz, but, losing one of her masts in a fierce squall, and seeing that
the _Margaret_, which sailed better in this tempest, would soon be
aboard of her, abandoned her plan, and ran for the Straits of Gibraltar.
Past Tarifa Point they went, having the coast of Africa on their
right; past the bay of Algegiras, where the _San Antonio_ did not try to
harbour; past Gibraltar's grey old rock, where the signal fires were
burning, and so at nightfall, with not a mile between them, out into the
Mediterranean Sea.
Here the gale was furious, so that they could scarcely carry a rag of
canvas, and before morning lost one of their topmasts. It was an anxious
night, for they knew not if they would live through it; moreover, the
hearts of Castell and of Peter were torn with fear lest the Spaniard
should founder and take Margaret with her to the bottom of the sea. When
at length the wild, stormy dawn broke, however, they saw her, apparently
in an evil case, labouring away upon their starboard bow, and by noon
came to within a furlong of her, so that they could see the sailors
crawling about on her high poop and stern. Yes, and they saw more than
this, for presently two women ran from some cabin waving a white cloth
to them; then were hustled back, whereby they learned that Margaret and
Betty still lived and knew that they followed, and thanked God.
Presently, also, there was a flash, and, before ever they heard the
report, a great iron bullet fell upon their decks and, rebounding,
struck a sailor, who stood by Peter, on the breast, and dashed him away
into the sea. The _San Antonio_ had fired the bombard which she carried,
but as no more shots came they judged that the cannon had broke its
lashings or burst.
A while after the _San Antonio_, two of whose masts were gone, tried to
put about and run for Malaga, which they could see far away beneath the
snow-capped mountains of the Sierra. But this the Spaniard could not
do, for while she hung in the wind the _Margaret_ came right atop of
her, and as her men laboured at the sails, every one of the Englishmen
who could be spared, under the command of Peter, let loose on them with
their long shafts and crossbows, and, though the heaving deck of the
_Margaret_ was no good platform, and the wind bent the arrows from their
line, they killed and wounded eight or ten of them, causing them to
loose the ropes so that the _San Antonio_ swung round into the gale
again. On the high tower of the caravel, his arm round the sternmost
mast, stood d'Aguilar, shouting commands to his crew. Peter fitted an
arrow to his string and, waiting until the _Margaret_ was poised for a
moment on the crest of a great sea, aimed and loosed, making allowance
for the wind.
True to line sped that shaft of his, yet, alas! a span too high, for
when a moment later d'Aguilar leapt from the mast, the arrow quivered in
its wood, and pinned to it was the velvet cap he wore. Peter ground his
teeth in rage and disappointment; almost he could have wept, for the
vessels swung apart again, and his chance was gone.
"Five times out of seven," he said bitterly, "can I send a shaft
through a bull's ring at fifty paces to win a village badge, and now I
cannot hit a man to save my love from shame. Surely God has
forsaken me!"
Through all that afternoon they held on, shooting with their bows
whenever a Spaniard showed himself, and being shot at in return, though
little damage was done to either side. But this they noted--that the
_San Antonio_ had sprung a leak in the gale, for she was sinking deeper
in the water. The Spaniards knew it also, and, being aware that they
must either run ashore or founder, for the second time put about, and,
under the rain of English arrows, came right across the bows of the
_Margaret_, heading for the little bay of Calahonda, that is the port of
Motril, for here the shore was not much more than a league away.
"Now," said Jacob Smith, the captain of the _Margaret_, who stood under
the shelter of the bulwarks with Castell and Peter, "up that bay lies a
Spanish town. I know it, for I have anchored there, and if once the _San
Antonio_ reaches it, good-bye to our lady, for they will take her to
Granada, not thirty miles away across the mountains, where this Marquis
of Morella is a mighty man, for there is his palace. Say then, master,
what shall we do? In five more minutes the Spaniard will be across our
bows again. Shall we run her down, which will be easy, and take our
chance of picking up the women, or shall we let them be taken captive to
Granada and give up the chase?"
"Never," said Peter. "There is another thing that we can do--follow them
into the bay, and attack them there on shore."
"To find ourselves among hundreds of the Spaniards, and have our throats
cut," answered Smith, the captain, coolly.
"If we ran them down," asked Castell, who had been thinking deeply all
this while, "should we not sink also?"
"It might be so," answered Smith; "but we are built of English oak, and
very stout forward, and I think not. But she would sink at once, being
near to it already, and the odds are that the women are locked in the
cabin or between decks out of reach of the arrows, and must go
with her."
"There is another plan," said Peter sternly, "and that is to grapple
with her and board her, and this I will do."
The captain, a stout man with a flat face that never changed, lifted his
eyebrows, which was his only way of showing surprise.
"What!" he said. "In this sea? I have fought in some wars, but never
have I known such a thing."
"Then, friend, you shall know it now, if I can but find a dozen men to
follow me," answered Peter with a savage laugh. "What? Shall I see my
mistress carried off before my eyes and strike no blow to save her?
Rather will I trust in God and do it, and if I die, then die I must, as
a man should. There is no other way."
Then he turned and called in a loud voice to those who stood around or
loosed arrows at the Spaniard:
"Who will come with me aboard yonder ship? Those who live shall spend
their days in ease thereafter, that I promise, and those who fall will
win great fame and Heaven's glory."
The crew looked at the waves running hill high, and the water-logged
Spaniard labouring in the trough of them as she came round slowly in a
wide circle, very doubtfully, as well they might, and made no answer.
Then Peter spoke again.
"There is no choice," he said. "If we give that ship our stem we can
sink her, but then how will the women be saved? If we leave her alone,
mayhap she will founder, and then how will the women be saved? Or she
may win ashore, and they will be carried away to Granada, and how can we
snatch them out of the hand of the Moors or of the power of Spain? But
if we can take the ship, we may rescue them before they go down or reach
land. Will none back me at this inch?"
"Aye, son," said old Castell, "I will."
Peter stared at him in surprise. "You--at your years!" he said.
"Yes, at my years. Why not? I have the fewer to risk."
Then, as though he were ashamed of his doubts, one brawny sailorman
stepped forward and said that he was ready for a cut at the Spanish
thieves in foul weather as in fair. Next all Castell's household
servants came out in a body for love of him and Peter and their lady,
and after them more sailors, till nearly half of those aboard, something
over twenty in all, declared that they were ready for the venture,
wherein Peter cried, "Enough." Smith would have come also; but Castell
said No, he must stop with the ship.
Then, while the carack's head was laid so as to cut the path of the _San
Antonio_ circling round them slowly like a wounded swan, and the
boarders made ready their swords and knives, for here archery would not
avail them, Castell gave some orders to the captain. He bade him, if
they were cut down or taken, to put about and run for Seville, and there
deliver over the ship and her cargo to his partners and correspondents,
praying them in his name to do their best by means of gold, for which
the sale value of the vessel and her goods should be chargeable, or
otherwise, to procure the release of Margaret and Betty, if they still
lived, and to bring d'Aguilar, the Marquis of Morella, to account for
his crime. This done, he called to one of his servants to buckle on him
a light steel breastplate from the ship's stores. But Peter would wear
no iron because it was too heavy, only an archer's jerkin of bull-hide,
stout enough to turn a sword-cut, such as the other boarders put on also
with steel caps, of both of which they had a plenty in the cabin.
Now the _San Antonio_, having come round, was steering for the mouth of
the bay in such fashion that she would pass them within fifty yards.
Hoisting a small sail to give his ship way, the captain, Smith, took the
helm of the _Margaret_ and steered straight at her so as to cut her
path, while the boarders, headed by Peter and Castell, gathered near the
bowsprit, lay down there under shelter of the bulwarks, and waited.
CHAPTER XI
THE MEETING ON THE SEA
For another minute or more the _San Antonio_ held on until she divined
the desperate purpose of her foe. Then, seeing that soon the carack's
prow must crash into her frail side, she shifted her helm and came round
several points, so that in the end the _Margaret_ ran, not into her, but
alongside of her, grinding against her planking, and shearing away a
great length of her bulwark. For a few seconds they hung together thus,
and, before the seas bore them apart, grapnels were thrown from the
_Margaret_ whereof one forward got hold and brought them bow to bow.
Thus the end of the bowsprit of the _Margaret_ projected over the high
deck of the _San Antonio_.
"Now for it," said Peter. "Follow me, all." And springing up, he ran to
the bowsprit and began to swarm along it.
It was a fearful task. One moment the great seas lifted him high into
the air, and the next down he came again till the massive spar crashed
on to the deck of the _San Antonio_ with such a shock that he nearly
flew from it like a stone from a sling. Yet he hung on, and, biding his
chance, seized a broken stay-rope that dangled from the end of the
bowsprit like a lash from a whip, and began to slide down it. The gale
caught him and blew him to and fro; the vessel, pitching wildly, jerked
him into the air; the deck of the _San Antonio_ rose up and receded like
a thing alive. It was near--not a dozen feet beneath him--and loosing
his hold he fell upon the forward tower without being hurt then, gaining
his feet, ran to the broken mast and flinging his left arm about it,
with the other drew his sword.
Next instant--how, he never knew--Castell was at his side, and after him
came two more men, but one of these rolled from the deck into the sea
and was lost. As he vanished, the chain of the grappling iron parted,
and the _Margaret_ swung away from them, leaving those three alone in
the power of their foes, nor, do what she would, could she make fast
again. As yet, however, there were no Spaniards to be seen, for the
reason that none had dared to stand upon this high tower whereof the
bulwarks were all gone, while the bowsprit of the _Margaret_ crashed
down upon it like a giant's club, and, as she rolled, swept it with
its point.
So there they stood, clinging to the mast and waiting for the end, for
now their friends were a hundred yards away, and they knew that their
case was desperate. A shower of arrows came, loosed from other parts of
the ship, and one of these struck the man with them through the throat,
so that he fell to the deck clasping at it, and presently rolled into
the sea also. Another pierced Castell through his right forearm, causing
his sword to drop and slide away from him. Peter seized the arrow,
snapped it in two, and drew it out; but Castell's right arm was now
helpless, and with his left he could do no more than cling to the
broken mast.
"We have done our best, son," he said, "and failed. Margaret will learn
that we would have saved her if we could, but we shall not meet
her here."
Peter ground his teeth, and looked about him desperately, for he had no
words to say. What should he do? Leave Castell and rush for the waist of
the ship and so perish, or stay and die there? Nay, he would not be
butchered like a bird on a bough, he would fall fighting.
"Farewell," he called through the gale. "God rest our souls!" Then,
waiting till the ship steadied herself, he ran aft, and reaching the
ladder that led to her tower, staggered down it to the waist of the
vessel, and at its foot halted, holding to the rail.
The scene before him was strange enough, for there, ranged round the
bulwarks, were the Spanish men, who watched him curiously, whilst a few
paces away, resting against the mast, stood d'Aguilar, who lifted his
hand, in which there was no weapon, and addressed him.
"Senor Brome," he shouted, "do not move another step or you are a dead
man. Listen to me first, and then do what you will. Am I safe from your
sword while I speak?"
Peter nodded his head in assent, and d'Aguilar drew nearer, for even in
that more sheltered place it was hard to hear because of the howling of
the tempest.
"Senor," he said to Peter, "you are a very brave man, and have done a
deed such as none of us have seen before; therefore, I wish to spare you
if I may. Also, I have worked you bitter wrong, driven to it by the
might of love and jealousy, for which reason also I wish to spare you.
To set upon you now would be but murder, and, whatever else I do, I will
not murder. First, let me ease your mind. Your lady and mine is aboard
here; but fear not, she has come and will come to no harm from me, or
from any man while I live. If for no other reason, I do not desire to
affront one who, I hope, will be my wife by her own free will, and whom
I have brought to Spain that she might not make this impossible by
becoming yours. Senor, believe me, I would no more force a woman's will
than I would do murder on her lover."
"What did you, then, when you snatched her from her home by some foul
trick?" asked Peter fiercely.
"Senor, I did wrong to her and all of you, for which I would make
amends."
"What amends? Will you give her back to me?"
"No, that I cannot do, even if she should wish it, of which I am not
sure; no--never while I live."
"Bring her forth, and let us hear whether she wishes it or no," shouted
Peter, hoping that his words would reach Margaret.
But d'Aguilar only smiled and shook his head, then went on:
"That I cannot either, for it would give her pain. Still, Senor, I will
repay the heavy debt that I owe to you, and to you also, Senor." And he
bowed towards Castell who, unseen by Peter, had crept down the ladder,
and now stood behind him staring at d'Aguilar with cold rage and
indignation. "You have wrought us much damage, have you not? hunting us
across the seas, and killing sundry of us with your arrows, and now you
have striven to board our ship and put us to the sword, a design in
which God has frustrated you. Therefore your lives are justly forfeit,
and none would blame us if we slew you. Yet I spare you both. If it is
possible I will put you back aboard the _Margaret_, and if it is not
possible you shall be set free ashore to go unmolested whither you will.
Thus I will wipe out my debt and be free of all reproach."
"Do you take me for such a man as yourself?" asked Peter, with a bitter
laugh. "I do not leave this ship alive unless my affianced wife,
Mistress Margaret, goes with me."
"Then, Senor Brome, I fear that you will leave it dead, as indeed we may
all of us, unless we make land soon, for the vessel is filling fast with
water. Still, knowing your metal, I looked for some such words from you,
and am prepared with another offer which I am sure you will not refuse.
Senor, our swords are much of the same length, shall we measure them
against each other? I am a grandee of Spain, the Marquis of Morella, and
it will, therefore, be no dishonour for you to fight with me."
"I am not so sure," said Peter, "for I am more than that--an honest man
of England, who never practised woman-stealing. Still, I will fight you
gladly, at sea or on shore, wherever and whenever we meet, till one or
both are dead. But what is the stake, and how do I know that some of
these," and he pointed to the crew, who were listening intently, "will
not stab me from behind?"
"Senor, I have told you that I do not murder, and that would be the
foulest murder. As for the stake, it is Margaret to the victor. If you
kill me, on behalf of all my company, I swear by our Saviour's Blood
that you shall depart with her and her father unharmed, and if I kill
you, then you both shall swear that she shall be left with me, and no
suit or question raised but to her woman I give liberty, who have seen
more than enough of her."
"Nay," broke in Castell, speaking for the first time "I demand the right
to fight with you also when my arm is healed."
"I refuse it," answered d'Aguilar haughtily. "I cannot lift my sword
against an old man who is the father of the maid who shall be my wife,
and, moreover, a merchant and a Jew. Nay, answer me not, lest all these
should remember your ill words. I will be generous, and leave you out of
the oath. Do your worst against me, Master Castell, and then leave me to
do my worst against you. Senor Brome, the light grows bad, and the water
gains upon us. Say, are you ready?"
Peter nodded his head, and they stepped forward.
"One more word," said d'Aguilar, dropping his sword-point. "My friends,
you have heard our compact. Do you swear to abide by it, and, if I fall,
to set these two men and the two ladies free on their own ship or on the
land, for the honour of chivalry and of Spain?"
The captain of the _San Antonio_ and his lieutenants answered that they
swore on behalf of all the crew.
"You hear, Senor Brome. Now these are the conditions--that we fight to
the death, but, if both of us should be hurt or wounded, so that we
cannot despatch each other, then no further harm shall be done to either
of us, who shall be tended till we recover or die by the will of God."
"You mean that we must die on each other's swords or not at all, and if
any foul chance should overtake either, other than by his adversary's
hand, that adversary shall not dispatch him?"
"Yes, Senor, for in our case such things may happen," and he pointed to
the huge seas that towered over them, threatening to engulf the
water-logged caravel. "We will take no advantage of each other, who wish
to fight this quarrel out with our own right arms."
"So be it," said Peter, "and Master Castell here is the witness to our
bargain."
D'Aguilar nodded, kissed the cross-hilt of his sword in confirmation of
the pact, bowed courteously, and put himself on his defence.
For a moment they stood facing each other, a well-matched pair--Peter,
lean, fierce-faced, long-armed, a terrible man to see in the fiery light
that broke upon him from beneath the edge of a black cloud; the Spaniard
tall also, and agile, but to all appearance as unconcerned as though
this were but a pleasure bout, and not a duel to the death with a
woman's fate hanging on the hazard. D'Aguilar wore a breastplate of
gold-inlaid black steel and a helmet, while Peter had but his tunic of
bull's hide and iron-lined cap, though his straight cut-and-thrust sword
was heavier and mayhap half an inch longer than that of his foe.
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