Easton Read Free

lead him around to a cabin entrance, their footsteps resounding in the eerie silence. The younger man opens the door without knocking. Then he steps out of the way and gestures for Richard to enter.
    Richard takes one step over the threshold.
    The first impression of the interior is of luscious, candle-lit warmth and opulence. A handsome, dark-haired man of perhaps forty immediately rises to meet him. The ruff around his neck, the fine embroidery of his tunic and the silver buckles of his shoes seem almost miraculous in the setting. Richard takes a step backward as though retreating from an impossible dream. It is as though he has been carried back into the royal court in London.
    “Admiral Whitbourne!” the stranger exclaims in a cultivated and rather gentle voice. He takes Richard’s hand as though they are old friends. The man’s dark, almost black, eyes reflect the candlelight, creating the impression of constant ever-changing thought and an ocean-like depth.
    “Sir?” Richard finds himself saying, rather stupidly. This cultured, noble character can surely not be Easton, he thinks. Richard’s gaze scans his smooth face, shaved but for a moustache and chin beard. No scars or blemishes of any kind.
    “Don’t tell me, sir.” the stranger says. “You were expecting a rogue and a pirate!” The candlelight dances in his eyes and he smiles more broadly. “Politics has made such a figure of me, alas,” he adds, with a weary shrug. “Yes, sir. I am indeed Easton. Welcome to my ship and leave some of the happiness you bring.”
    He grasps Richard’s shoulder with his free hand. His touch is at once soft yet holds the subtlety of great power and Richard feels himself turned a half circle to the right under its influence. “This is more than I hoped,” Easton says warmly. Richard finds himself staring down at the occupant of a chair upholstered in black and gold silk. Gazing up at him with a combination of shock and pitiful embarrassment is the young face of Captain Dawson.

Chapter Two
    “ Captain Dawson has just arrived. I sent a little party aboard that charming little ship, the
Mary Rose
. I hadn’t dared to hope two such busy men would both answer my humble call. But this is splendid.”
    Easton stands motionless in front of Richard for another moment, the same ingenuous smile on his face. “Please. Please be seated,” he says almost gently.
    Richard obeys, for a moment locking eyes with Dawson, who attempts some muted gesture of helplessness. Richard casts his eyes to the ceiling for a second to convey, he hopes, that patience is their only option, then finds himself taking in the cabin properly while Easton rings a little golden bell on a side table.
    Richard has never seen such opulence in a ship’s cabin before, even in ones known to have housed royalty. All the walls are panelled. Bunches of grapes are carved into the mahogany uprights which support the white ceiling; they glisten under candlelight like living fruit fresh cut from the bough. Along one wall is a library under glass. The gold leaf designs of the titles likewise catch the flames bobbing steadily from the various ornate candle holders. Hanging from the panels are silks and woven fabrics of colours and designs unfamiliar to Richard—combinations of turquoise and gold, scarlet and black, and patterns of exquisite delicacy.
    Suddenly Easton catches his eye. The pirate captain has been staring at Richard complacently, measuring his thoughts by studying his changing expression.
    “You are admiring my silks. They are from Tunisia and Morocco.”
    “Indeed,” Richard says. “They are most becoming.”
    From the corner of his eye Richard senses Dawson shifting on his seat.
    “You are most kind,” replies Easton with a bow.
    “I wonder, sir,” Dawson breaks in with the subtlety of musket fire, “whether it would not be more tasteful to ornament your cabin with the emblems of your homeland?”
    Richard holds his breath. The boards creak