Treachery. S. J. Parris
in the Netherlands. I understand now why some of the most prominent dignitaries at court have rushed to invest in this fleet; its success is a matter not only of personal profit but of national security. It is also clear to me that Sidney has effectively found an alternative means of going to war, and that he expects me to follow.
When the last mouthful is eaten, the captains excuse themselves and leave for their own ships. Only Thomas Drake and Knollys remain behind.
Sir Francis pushes his plate away and looks at Sidney. ‘I must be straight with you, Sir Philip. It would be best if you were to leave Plymouth as soon as possible with Dom Antonio when he arrives. He will no doubt wish to linger – he and I are old comrades, and he will be interested in discussing this voyage – but in the circumstances it is better you hasten to London. For his own safety.’
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.’