‘I do not see the significance of this dead man being from Scilly; why did Hawkins link any of this to Frobisher?’
‘Ah, well, he recognised the murdered man’s name, you see. He’d been the Master of theNicholas.’
‘I find that highly unlikely. Names were very common in—’
‘Praise-God Barebone. The dead Scilly fisherman was called Praise-God Barebone.’
‘Oh.’
‘Now, Barebone turns out to be a rather interesting character. He was born on St Mary’s, and the first few years of his life go entirely unrecorded, as was the way then. But when he was eight, he was struck blind. It’s entirely possible that he had small pox; it was rife in England at the time, as you know. Even Elizabeth was struck down with it a few decades later. However, it’s also possible the lad sufferedpsychosomaticloss of sight—blindness with no physical cause but as a response to trauma. All in the mind, as it were.’
Aleksey, yet again struggling to understand some of this, glanced to Ben, and catching the look, Harry explained abruptly, ‘You see, he was subsequentlycured. His sight was restored—two years later. Of course, this was attributed to a miracle at the time, and the boy became something of a local magnet for those seeking healing and the like, which is why he’s in the records. But Barebone didn’t like the attention, apparently, and ran away to sea two years later, which is how we then have him listed as a cabin boy, aged approximately ten, on his first ship theGrimsby, and then, eventually, theNicholas. According to the family, they were shocked at his return to the flock sometime in early 1560—a changed man. The miracle child appeared haggard, which of course life at sea will do for you, but also haunted. That’s the word they used: haunted. He never spoke of what he’d seen or done during his years at sea, and he took up his Bible with a fervour unusual even for a fanatical sect such as the Lollards. He became, well, we might sayparanoidin modern parlance.’
Aleksey ignored the sense that three pairs of eyes had swivelled to him. ‘So you think he was—what? Hiding from Frobisher all that time? Afraid of Frobisher?’
‘Oh, not me, son,Hawkinsthought this. He questioned the family closely during the trial. Farrier, the accused, wasn’t speaking, as I said. And it was a difficult case to adjudicate. According to the family, this stranger, Farrier, had just turned up at their meeting house on St Mary’s one day; there had been some kind of confrontation between him and Praise-God, and then they had left together in Barebone’s boat, and nothing more was seen of either of them again on Scilly. But, strange as this may seem, some years later one of the Barebone daughters, Fight-the-good-fight Bare—’
‘Seriously?’
At Tim’s exasperated interjection, Harry only replied mildly, ‘Oh, I think we can safely say these people were serious about God, Timothy. So, many years later, Fight Barebone marries the steward of a big house in Cornwall—and guess who her husband’s wealthy employer is?’ He continued before anyone could give the obvious answer. ‘Farrier. She recognised him straight away, of course. And this whole tangle ended up in front of poor Hawkins. Now, if it had been another magistrate, I have no doubt the case would have been summarily dismissed—Farrier was a wealthy man; the Barebone clan was a despised family from a remote place of wild men and giants. And there was no body. But Hawkins saw the truth of their claims, because he too had recognised Farrier—as Frobisher, and he knew the history of Praise-God Barebone and the connection they all had to theNicholas. And, of course, he saw right away the connection to Scilly and why Frobisher and Barebone might have taken a small fishing boat together—one not returning, and one becoming very wealthy.’
Ben sighed. ‘Why do I have the feeling we’re back to lines?’
They all laughed, and Harry turned once more to his charts. ‘Do I need to point it out then? If you draw a line and sail from the Azores to the Thames, you end up passing—’
‘Yes, Cornwall.’ Tim appeared pleased with himself until his boyfriend mock-cuffed him.
‘Keep up, you daft little bugger. Scilly.’
Aleksey got up to examine the chart. Someone had indeed drawn a line and it did go right through the archipelago. Without his glasses, however, he couldn’t make out any detail. ‘What’s that?
Ben, who was examining the chart over his shoulder, suggested, ‘An ink blot?’
Harry heaved himself up as well and came over, using one old gnarled finger to trace the line to where, down on one side, there were a few dots.
‘Not at all. Those are The Western Rocks, one of the most notorious death traps for unwary shipping known in the world. Old friends, those rocks: Daisy, Hellweathers, Rosevean and Rosevear the twins. Terrible tragedy there in 1707 when Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell’s flagship HMSAssociationwas sunk. Nearly two thousand young sailors lost their lives that awful night. When rescuers eventually got there, all they found were a few floating trunks and a wooden spar thrusting up from the seabed, mocking them.’
Aleksey’s head slowly swivelled to the old man at these words. Something nagged him at that image. He pictured the trunks floating on the stormy waters, but before he could grasp what it was that had flicked across his memory, Squeezy laughed and muttered, ‘Hanged for insubordination?’
Harry shook his head fondly and muttered equally slyly, ‘Still could be, son. You still could be.’
Tim, looking between them as if watching a tennis match, poked his boyfriend. ‘What?
‘The young cabin boy on theAssociationwarned the admiral about the damn rocks, didn’t he—local lad from Tresco.’
‘Oh. But they still hit them?’
‘Well, yeah, they strung him up for insubordination, see.’ He smirked. ‘An’ that’s what that old fool used to threaten me with if I ever disobeyed one of his orders—and I was never sure if he was joking.’
Harry snorted. ‘Is that what they’re calling curbing a naughty little boy’s bad behaviour these days?’
Aleksey tried to summon the connection that eluded him, but, smiling at this image of the moron as a boy, his mind slid away to his own relationship with his father—and how much father and son love could be corrupted. They all returned to their seats. Aleksey glanced over at the couch. All four of its occupants appeared to have dozed off.
‘So you think this Farrier or Frobisher did murder Barebone?’
‘Again, not me who thinks that, sir, it was Hawkins. On the one side this wealthy man’s denials, Hawkins’s own faulty memory, and the time that had passed, but on the other? Well, he’d served with Frobisher for years, and that counts for a lot when it comes to knowing someone, and then there was the connection to theNicholas. So Hawkins condemned Farrier to death. And it was as much for his memories of those terrible few days with theSanta Mariaand what they all did as for—’
‘—wait.’ Aleksey put his palms flat on the table. ‘How do you know all this? These…thoughts…these motivations?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Donottell me that John Hawkins or Francis Frobisher were your grandfathers or great-grandfathers or something.’
