The Beauty of the Mist Read Free

acquaintance. Nothing more.
    “Well, navigator,” the stocky man queried, “how far to the south do you think those guns were this morning?”
    “Hard to tell, Sir Thomas,” David responded carefully. “As any sailor can tell you, the fog can do tricky things to the sound. That fighting could have been ten leagues south of us, or two. I wouldn’t want to wager my share on a guess about it.”
    “I should have hoped for a better report than that, lad. But perhaps you’re lacking in experience.” Sir Thomas Maule turned in the direction of the ship’s commander. “And you, Sir John? Would you care to wager on the distance?”
    “Nay, I agree with David.” John responded. “We’d be fools to let down our guard completely, assuming them far away. Whoever they were, the chances are that one of them tasted blood and may be hungry for more. And we’d be fools to assume them too close, losing all sense and exhausting our men with extra watches for no purpose. The fog will shield us from them for now. And when the mists lift, and we get some wind in our sails, we’ll have time enough to decide whether we need to fight. In any case, we’re prepared for whatever action is needed.”
    “If this were any other mission, Sir John” –Thomas Maule nodded seriously, patting the long sword at his side— “I wouldn’t mind a little action.”
    “But on the sea, Sir Thomas, battles differ greatly from those on the land,” David cautioned pointedly. “A strong arm and a mighty sword are all for naught when there is no solid ground for your footing.”
    John held back his smile. The voyage from Edinburgh’s seaport at Leith had taken too long for his men’s liking. Most of them, as pleased as they were to look upon the pleasing faces of noblemen’s wives and daughters, had little respect for the shallow shows of courtly behavior by the husbands and fathers. Having a group of land dwelling nobles onboard had already presented a number of problems with the rough and plain speaking sailors of the Great Michael , though nothing had, as yet, gotten out of hand. But John could only guess at the problems of discipline that would accompany their trip back to Scotland. After all, they would have a queen and her entourage to contend with.
    “For us who fought in the muck at Flodden, laddie,” the squat warrior retorted, squaring off with the young navigator, “no deck made of wood will ever be cause for alarm.”
    “Aye, Sir Thomas,” John broke in, trying to head off what he knew could quickly develop into a full-fledged brawl. “As you say, were this any other mission. But for now, you might make yourself comfortable. We could be in for quite a long wait. Thank you, navigator.”
    David Maxwell, perceiving the hint from his master, bowed slightly to the two noblemen and detached himself from them. John watched the navigator as he worked his way forward, the white feather in the young man’s bright blue cap bobbing cheerfully as he stopped and talked with each sailor that he passed.
    “That lad,” Sir Thomas began, “he’s lacking all sense of rank and position, wouldn’t you say?”
    John continued to watch his man.
    “We all have our flaws. But David Maxwell is as sharp as the blade of your dirk, and he fears no man. David’s as loyal to Scotland as any man alive, though he may be, perhaps, just a wee bit proud of his seagoing mates.” He turned and looked at the stocky fighter beside him. “These folk who sail the high seas have as much right to be called warriors and heroes as those that fight on land. But most have not been credited, as such.”
    Sir Thomas rubbed his sausage-like fingers thoughtfully over his chin.
    “And being a man who has spent his whole life in the service of his country,” John continued, “you know, perhaps better than most, the reasons that drive a young man like him.”
    The elder man nodded slightly.
    “He is the best navigator I’ve ever seen.” John turned his gaze back