Birds of Prey

Sir Francis returned long before the midnight watch from dining with Lord Cumbrae aboard S the Gull of Moray. As soon as he was in his cabin he sent Oliver to summon Hal.

"On the coming Sunday. Three days from now. In the forest," he told his son. "It is arranged. We will open the Lodge at moonrise, a little after two bells in the second dog watch."

"But the Buzzard," Hal protested. "You do not like or trust him. He let us down, -" "And yet Cumbrae was right. We might never have three knights gathered together again until we return to England. I must take this opportunity to see you safely ensconced within the Order. The good Lord knows there might not be another chance."

"We will leave ourselves at his mercy while we are ashore," Hal warned. "He might play us foul."

Sir Francis shook his head. "We will never leave ourselves at the mercy of the Buzzard, have no fear of that." He stood up and went to his sea-chest.

"I have prepared against the day of your initiation." He lifted the lid. "Here is your uniform." He came across the cabin with a bundle in his hands and dropped it on his bunk. "Put it on. We will make certain that it fits you." He raised his voice and shouted, "Oliver!"

His servant came at once with his housewife tucked under his arm.

Hal stripped off his old worn canvas jacket and petticoats and, with Oliver's help, began to don the ceremonial uniform of the Order. He had never dreamed of owning such splendid clothing.

The stockings were of white silk and his breeches and doublet of midnight-blue satin, the sleeves slashed with gold. His shoes had buckles of heavy silver and the polished black leather matched that of his cross belt. Oliver combed out his thick tangled locks, then placed the Cavalier officer's Hat on his head. He had picked the finest ostrich feathers in the market of Zanzibar to decorate the wide brim.

When he was dressed, Oliver circled Hal critically, his head on one side, "Tight on the shoulders, Sir Francis. Master Hal grows wider each day. But it will take only a blink of your eye to fix that."

Sir Francis nodded, and reached again into the chest. Hal's heart leaped as he saw the folded cloak in his father's hands. It was the symbol of the Knighthood he had studied so hard to attain. Sir Francis came to him and spread it over his shoulders, then fastened the clasp at his throat. The folds of white hung to his knees and the crimson cross bestrode his shoulders.

Sir Francis stood back and scrutinized Hal carefully. "It lacks but one detail, "he grunted, and returned to the chest. From it he brought out a sword, but no ordinary sword. Hal knew it well. It was a Courtney family heirloom, but still its magnificence awed him. As his father brought it to where he stood, he recited to Hal its history and provenance one more time. "This blade belonged to Charles Courtney, your great-grandfather. Eighty years ago, it was awarded to him by Sir Francis Drake himself for his part in the capture and sack of the port of Rancheria on the Spanish Main. This sword was surrendered to Drake by the Spanish governor, Don Francisco Manso."

He held out the scabbard of chased gold and silver for Hal to examine. It was decorated with crowns and dolphins and sea sprites gathered around the heroic figure of Neptune enthroned. Sir Francis reversed the weapon and offered Hal the hilt. A large star sapphire was set in the pommel. Hal drew the blade and saw at once that this was not just the ornament of some Spanish fop. The blade was of the finest Toledo steel inlaid with gold. He flexed it between his fingers, and rejoiced in its spring and temper.

"Have a care," his father warned him. "You can shave with that edge."

Hal returned it to its scabbard and his father slipped the sword into the leather bucket of Hal's cross belt, then stood back again to examine him critically. "What do you think of him? "he asked Oliver.

"Just the shoulders." Oliver ran his hands over the satin of the doublet. "It's all that wrestling and sword-play that changes his shape. I shall have to resew the seams."

"Then take him to his cabin and see to it." Sir Francis dismissed them both and turned back to his desk. He sat and opened his leather-bound log-book.

Hal paused in the doorway. "Thank you, Father. This sword-" He touched the sapphire pommel at his side, but could not find words to continue. Sir Francis grunted without looking up, dipped his quill and began to write on the parchment page. Hal lingered a little longer in the entrance until his father looked up again in irritation. He backed out and shut the door softly. As he turned into the passage, the door opposite opened and the Dutch Governor's wife came through it so swiftly, in a swirl of silks, that they almost collided.

Hal jumped aside and swept the plumed Hat from his head. "Forgive me, madam."

Katinka stopped and faced him. She examined him slowly, from the gleaming silver buckles of his new shoes upwards. When she reached his eyes she stared into them coolly and said softly, "A pirate whelp dressed like a great nobleman." Then, suddenly, she leaned towards him until her face almost touched his and whispered, "I have checked the panel. There is no opening. You have not performed the task I set you."

"My duties have kept me ashore. I have had no chance." He stammered as he found the Latin words.

"See to it this very night," she ordered, and swept by him. Her perfume lingered and the velvet doublet seemed too hot and constricting. He felt sweat break out on his chest.

Oliver fussed over the fit of his doublet for what seemed to Hal half the rest of the night. He unpicked and re sewed the shoulder seams twice before he was satisfied and Hal fumed with impatience.

When at last he left, taking all Hal's newly acquired finery with him, Hal could barely wait to set the locking bar across his door, and kneel at the bulkhead. He discovered that the panel was fixed to the oak framework by wooden dowels, driven flush with the woodwork.