“Ay, that’s it. In the hold. Down in the dark hold—oh, ’tis most uncomfortable in the hold—what a mad boat—rocking so—always rocking. ’Sdein! Where’s the tankard?” Rising unsteadily, he looked about on the table in stupid surprise, then, sinking back again, missed his chair and fell heavily to the floor. “Ah, ’tis here, the wine—such brave wine!” and, crawling forward on his hands and knees, he sat down half under the table, holding the tankard to his lips. “Such courageous wine!”
Vytal went to the cabin door. “Heaven guard her,” he prayed, and hastened to the stern. Here he found the pilot and Marlowe. With a gesture, he drew the poet aside, and in a few words made known the truth.
“’Tis against great odds,” observed Marlowe, his eyes lighting up, “that we fight again together.”
“Nay,” declared Vytal, “there shall be no fight. Wherefore desecrate a rapier with so niggardly a foe?”
Marlowe smiled. “The bodkin would fain stitch only satin doublets,” he remarked. “How, then, will you defeat these hirelings?”
“Thus,” and leading the way to the forecastle, the soldier emitted a short, low whistle in one note. Soon Roger Prat stood before them.
“He comes like a devil from a stage-trap!” observed Marlowe, in astonishment.
Roger laughed proudly and bowed like a juggler after the performance of a cunning trick.
“Tell Hugh,” said Vytal, in a short whisper, “to overpower the pilot when again I whistle thus, and with a stout rope to make fast his arms; but first procure another helmsman you can trust. For your own part, go to the hatches above the hold. If the pilot gives outcry, and his crew strive to pass you, warn the first man whose head appears, and if he heed not the warning, run him through. They can come but singly. ’Tis within your power to withstand them all.”