King's Ransom. William Speir

they capture the man, Father?”

      “Not yet. I told them to search the countryside and to alert the Navy in case he heads for the coast.”

      “What about the papers?” his son asked.

      James II shook his head. “They’re still missing. They’d better not reach England or your brother-in-law will know what we’ve been planning,” James II said, referring to William III who now occupied the throne.

      “Don’t call him that, Father,” his son said angrily, pouting at the thought of another man sitting on his father’s throne.

      “Well I’d rather call him that than call him by the title he stole from me.”

      “He’ll get his comeuppance soon enough. You’ll regain your title and exile him back to Holland before long.”

      “I hope you’re right, but this spy changes things. If he has copies of our plans, it might force King Louis to withdraw his support for us in order to avoid war.”

      “But I thought war was the plan.”

      “It is, but on our terms, not on your brother-in-law’s. If William moves too quickly, King Louis will withdraw his support for our invasion plan in order to protect his own ambitions in Europe and the New World. Remember, Louis has his sights set on Spain and its colonies. He knows that William will oppose a unified French-Spanish crown, and he knows that he’ll have to fight England sooner or later. If he thinks William is ready for him, he won’t risk the ships and troops that he needs to secure Spain and her colonies in order to help us invade England.”

      “We need to capture that spy.”

      “Yes we do, son. On that, all our plans depend.”

      Sinclair raced along the French roads leading to the Normandy coast, grateful that the moon provided enough light for both horse and rider to see the roads clearly. Several times during the night, he slowed down to listen for sounds of pursuit. On more than one occasion, he had to pull off the road and hide from the soldiers of the garrison who had joined in the chase.

      Shortly before dawn, his horse went lame, so he abandoned the horse and made his way on foot. He had walked along a wooded path for a few hours when he heard horses approaching from behind him.

      He hid behind a nearby tree and soon saw a team of horses pulling a wagon filled with wine barrels. As the wagon passed by the tree, he ran out and climbed into the wagon, hiding between two of the barrels.

      The ride was bumpy, and he hit his head a number of times against the barrels, but he managed to travel unseen for several leagues. Sinclair felt the wagon make a sharp turn, and he peered over the barrels to see what was happening. He saw the wagon turning onto a road that wouldn’t lead to the coast, so he quickly jumped out and scurried off the road so no one would see him. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, so he made his way back to the crossroads to see if there were any road markers.

      After several minutes of searching, he found the marker. He was right to have abandoned the wagon when he did, as it would have carried him directly to one of the larger garrisons in the area. He looked around to make sure that he was alone and then started walking toward the coast.

      Just after sundown a week later, he approached a village. During his attempt to escape from France, he had taken back roads and footpaths to avoid the soldiers, but several times he had to hide from patrols that would suddenly appear. He wasn’t surprised that the French considered the information he carried important enough to send so many soldiers after him, and he also knew that he had a long way to go before reaching the coast.

      He crept along the streets, making sure there were no soldiers nearby. In the center of the village was a large tavern surrounded by horses. Evidently, one of the garrison squads pursuing him had stopped there for the evening. There was one guard with the horses, many of which were tethered to a rope line because the hitching posts were filled. Sinclair observed that the guard was more interested in what was going on inside the tavern than he was with the welfare of the horses.

      He tiptoed quietly toward the guard, hoping none of the horses would make a sound that would give his presence away. When he reached a point just behind the guard, he reached forward and put his hand over the guard’s mouth while pulling the guard over and onto the ground. The guard struggled, but Sinclair punched the guard behind the ears until he stopped moving.

      Sinclair looked around to see if anyone had heard the struggle, but there was no indication that the soldiers inside the tavern knew what had happened. He untethered one of the horses from the rope line and led it away from the tavern.

      He had just mounted the horse to ride for the coast when two soldiers came out of the tavern to answer the call of nature. It took them a moment to realize someone was stealing one of their horses, but as Sinclair kicked the horse to make it gallop away, the soldiers shouted to their companions and ran for their own mounts. Sinclair heard soldiers following him, and he hoped that the darkness would help him get away.

      He knew he could reach the coast in just a couple of days if he could escape from the soldiers. However, after almost twenty minutes of being chased at full gallop, he knew that his horse was tiring and wouldn’t be able to maintain its lead on the soldiers following him much longer.

      As he thought about what to do, he noticed that several of the tree branches were lower than usual for such a well-traveled road. In the dim light from the sliver of the moon above, he saw a large branch in front of him. Without hesitation, he pulled up his legs, stood up in the saddle, and jumped. He caught the branch, swung up, and then moved quickly to the tree trunk to get out of sight. The horse, terrified at suddenly being riderless, ran even faster and soon disappeared in the darkness.

      A moment later, he heard the soldiers approaching. He listened as they passed by unaware that he was hiding in the tree above them. Once they were gone, he climbed down and walked toward the coast again.

      He felt tired and had taken only short naps since his escape from the palace, but he knew he couldn’t stop without risking being caught. He walked all night, and by morning, he was several miles closer to the coast.

      The next morning he hid in the back of another wagon for several hours. He saw the soldiers riding by along the road, but no one ever saw him. He spent most of the afternoon walking along footpaths well away from the roads, and by evening, he stood on a bluff overlooking a small fishing village on the English Channel. It wasn’t the village where he had a boat waiting to take him to his rendezvous with an English warship, but he didn’t care. He knew he needed to steal a boat and get away from France as quickly as possible before soldiers found him again.

      Small fishing boats filled the wharf, and the spy waited until after midnight before untying one from the dock and sailing it out of the inlet into the Channel. He wasn’t an experienced sailor, but he knew enough to begin making his way toward the rendezvous point.

      In the moonlight, he saw the Channel clearly. He thought he saw the lanterns and lights of warships on the water and wondered if they were from a French squadron sent to intercept him. He adjusted the sails to increase speed, hoping that he could reach the English warship before being spotted. He struggled to stay awake, but the fear of capture gave him just enough energy to stay focused on sailing the boat.

      “It has been two weeks, captain. How much longer do we wait for him?” Hardcastle asked in the chilly night air as he approached Harry, who was standing next to the rails on the ship’s forecastle.

      “Our orders are to wait at least two weeks – three if possible. If he’s not here in the next seven days, he’s either been captured or he’ll have to find another way across the Channel,” Harry replied.

      “It’s a long way to swim,” Hardcastle commented, standing next to his captain as the moonlight reflected off the icy waters of the English Channel.

      “It is indeed, Mr. Hardcastle. That’s why it’s important for us to be here to meet him when he arrives.”

      “And if a French patrol interferes?”