The little procession turned one corner, then another.  Sir Mortimer touched Nevil’s arm.  “There’s a shorter way—­down this narrow street we are passing.”

“Ay,” Nevil answered; “but let us go by the way of the market-place.”

His thought was that none too soon could occur general recognition that Sir Mortimer Ferne dwelt in the English camp and walked with English leaders.  The square, as it proved, was no desert.  The hour was one of some relaxation, relief from the sun, and from the iron discipline of Drake, who, for the most part of the day, created posts and kept men at them.  Carlisle was there seated in the shade of a giant palm, watching the drilling of a yet weak and staggering company whose very memory that burning calenture had enfeebled.  At one side of the place, which was not large, others were examining a great heap of booty, the grosser spoils of rich men’s houses, furniture of precious woods, gilt and inlaid cabinets, chests of costly apparel, armor, weapons, trappings of horses,—­all awaiting under guard assortment and division.  In the centre of the square a score or more of adventurers were gathered about the wide steps of a great stone market-cross, while from a point opposite to the street by which the party from the hospital must make entry advanced with some clanking of steel, talking, and sturdy laughter no lesser men than Francis Drake and some of his chiefest captains.  Carlisle left watching the drilling and walked over to them.  The adventurers lounging below the cross sprang up to greet their Admiral.  A sudden puff of evening wind lifted Drake’s red cap, and bearing it across to a small battery where a gunner and his mates examined a line of Spanish ordnance, placed it neatly over the muzzle of the smallest gun.  Frank laughter arose; the gunner, with the red cap pressed against his hairy breast, and grinning with pleasure at his service, came at a run to restore to the great Sir Francis his property.  Drake, whom the mere soldier and mariner idolized, found for the gunner both a peso of silver and jesting thanks; then, when he had donned the cap, turned and loudly called to the passing company.  “Come over to us, John Nevil,” cried the sea-king.  “No, no, let us have your companions also, and that sick youth we have heard of”

“You do not understand,” muttered Ferne, hastily, to Nevil.  “This place likes me not.  Go you and Arden—­”

Sir John shook his head.  Alone with Drake that morning, he had told in its completeness the story that in many details was strange to him who was seldom in England, seldomer at court, and who had heard the story in a form which left scant room for pity or any dream of absolution.  Once and again the great sea-captain had softly sworn to himself, and at the end Nevil had gone forth satisfied.  Now he saw that Drake must have timed this meeting in the square, and with a smile he ignored the entreaty in the eyes of the man who, if his friend, was also his captive.  He motioned to the bearers, and presently the company about the market-cross was enlarged.