Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
"I love you... Francis," Elizabeth panted.
"And I you, Elizabeth."
They made love for what seemed like years, each not wanting the night to end. As Francis grew weary, Elizabeth took her turn to straddle him, playfully running her fingers along his strong chest all the while. She began her pace slowly, just as he had with her, but soon found that she was unable to hold back her passions, and allowed them to break free. Elizabeth rode him like a woman possessed, for she knew not when they would be together again.
As her unbridled passions increased, Elizabeth removed herself from on top of Francis and began begging her husband to take her from behind. Francis had occasionally seen this side of his wife, but it never got old. She was a true lady for all the world to see, yet a complete temptress for his eyes only. Standing beside their bed, he bent her over and thrust his length back inside her slick tunnel. As he continued to love her, Francis had a perfect view of her magnificent backside, watching it jiggle every which way as his thrusting became more frenzied. Wrapping his hands around her slim waist, Francis began to pound her for everything he was worth, feeling his climax fast approaching. He plunged deep into her womanhood, his throbbing member near bursting, and finally thrust his last as he expelled his seed into her womb, their cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room.
Collapsing together on the bed, the couple lazily cuddled together throughout the night, dozing in and out of consciousness. Francis savored the warmth of Elizabeth's supple skin, and she the strength of his powerful body. As the sun finally began to rise in the distance, she laid her head on his chest, sighing contentedly.
"You will have to leave soon," she said softly.
"Yes," he said with slight resignation.
"When... will I see you again?"
Francis kissed his wife's forehead, replying, "Elizabeth... I do not believe we will see each other again. Though perhaps, you can expect some correspondence from our mutual friend, Mr. Francis James."
"So... you will do what you must, then?"
"Indeed. John is in agreement."
"Then see it through, until it be thoroughly completed, my love. That yields the true glory, after all."
Laughing, Francis replied, "You have been reading my writings again!"
"But of course! They are my greatest comfort while you are away."
Rolling out of bed, Francis began to dress for the day, retrieving his sailor's uniform from his wardrobe. The rest of his clothes were already onboard his new ship in the harbor.
"Francis, if we do not see each other again until we are beyond the gates of Heaven, I do wish you to know that I have but one regret. I... am so sorry that I was unable to give you any heirs," Elizabeth said from the bed.
Pausing, Francis gave her a warm smile. "Do not fret over it, my dear. After all, poor Mary was barren as well, God rest her soul. Perhaps it simply is not God's will for my line to continue." Sitting beside her, he continued, "Still, this does bring about an excellent point I wish to make. I wish for you to have no regrets from this day forward. If we are never reunited, my only desire for you is to find love once more, as I have with you. Promise me, Elizabeth."
Smiling into her husband's eyes, she replied, "I promise, Francis."
*****
The wind at his back, the spray of ocean water in his face; it was a true blessing for Sir Francis Drake to be back at sea. His new ship, the Pelican, was quite impressive, being named for the Golden Hind's original name. It was nothing compared to its predecessor in his mind, but truthfully, Drake loved the sea itself far more than any individual ship.
"How does she feel, Captain?"
"Quite right, John, quite right," Drake replied. "Even with our beloved Golden Hind moored, it is wonderful to be on the ocean once more."
"Could not agree with ye more, Sir Francis," John said, joining him at the bow of their galleon. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Are you certain of the plan? You believe it will work?"
"Without a doubt," Francis replied with a grin. "I have arranged for false news reports to circulate through Europe of a supposed bout of Dysentery that I am battling. This, combined with the fierce resistance we will endure at San Juan will make reports of my demise exceedingly believable. Finally, look here."
Francis showed John his favorite ring. Taking it in his hand, John now noticed that there were additional engravings next to Drake's motto. "What are these numbers?" he asked.
"Nautical coordinates, off the coast of Panama," Francis said. "Once my demise has been completed, those coordinates will be our hiding spot for anything we discover of value in our race against the Spaniards. Also, do you notice the remaining part of plain silver in the band?"
"I do."
"Once we complete the deception, we shall engrave that section with the date after my supposed death, the beginning of my life anew."
Shaking his head, John marveled at his friend's cunning. "You are certainly a crafty old devil."
"Am I? Then what does that make you?" Francis shot back in laughter.
"The devil's spawn, most likely," John conceded.
"You may well be right about that, my old friend." Lowering his voice, Francis asked, "Now as to our other matter of business... did you manage to procure it?"
Sighing, John replied, "It was quite a feat, and I had to go through much of my fortune to facilitate the necessary bribes, but... here it is." From within his jacket, he withdrew a small, leather journal, lifted from the secure archives of Queen Elizabeth herself.
"Excellent. Thank you very much, John," Francis replied, taking his journal in hand. "Once we disappear from Her Majesty's wandering eye, the treasure we find shall compensate you ten-fold, that I promise you."
As they sailed on, Francis turned about in every direction, inspecting the fleet he now commanded. Twenty-seven ships strong, it would surely be more than enough to lay siege to any Spanish fortress. Of course, Sir Francis Drake had other plans...
*****
"We're hit! Damage report!" John bellowed.
"A direct broadside, sir," a crewman responded. "Deck two, starboard side. I believe that... the captain was on that level."
"Oh, Christ! I'll go and fetch him, just stay on the guns!" John ordered as he bounded down the stairs.
Though Drake's fleet was an impressive show of English might, the Spanish had fought against the grizzled privateer for decades now, and were able to better anticipate his tactics. Thus, the siege at San Juan did not progress well for the English; most captains of the other ships believed that retreat was eminent.
"Captain?! Captain, are you here?!" John called out, reaching the lower deck.
"I am fine, John," Drake replied, picking himself up from the floor. "Our fair Pelican, however, is not so fine."
The pair immediately inspected the enormous hole now blown in the ship's hull. Thankfully, the hit had been high enough that the ship did not risk taking on water, provided it evaded further damage.
"What are your orders, sir?"
Sighing, Francis replied, "Signal retreat."
"Right." Shouting up the stairs to the crew, John said, "Send word to the helmsman: we retreat at once!"
"John, I believe this broadside provides us the prime opportunity to put our plan into action, do you agree?" Francis mused.
"Francis, you are a bloody genius! Ok, are you ready?"
"I am. Do you have what we require?"
"Kept it on my person, ready at a moment's notice," John replied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pouch full of animal blood of some sort. Moving Francis to sit on the floor, John began to apply the blood to his limbs, giving him the appearance of sustaining a grave injury from the broadside. "Alright, that should do it. Now, let us get you to your cabin."
Wrapping his arm around his shoulder, John drug Francis up the stairs and to the main deck. The crew were immediately worried for the captain, but they were waved off and instructed to continue with their duties. Along the way, Francis gave a few moans and groans of pain, further convincing the crew of his injuries. Finally arriving, John locked the door behind them and sat Francis in his desk chair.
"Well, well, you are one convincing actor, my friend!"
Chuckling, Francis replied, "It is necessary. As we retreat and pursue the small group of ships that escaped towards Panama, news will spread that the Pelican is heavily damaged and the legendary Sir Francis Drake may well be near death, battling his injuries and his worsening bout of Dysentery."
"Very good, sir. Rest up. I shall keep the crew engaged and set our bearings."
Returning to the deck, John informed the crew of the captain's temporary incapacitation, and instructed the helmsman to bear south, chasing after the fleeing Spanish ships. The remaining ten ships of the fleet followed suit, though they were heavily damaged and had difficulty keeping up. For nearly four weeks they pursued the Spaniards, though never managing to catch up completely. Finally, as they neared Panama, a dense fog blanketed the seas as the fleet sailed into the night. Most of the ships slowed and clustered together in waiting for conditions to change, but the Pelican pressed on, as John Hawkins knew that this was the opportunity they had been waiting for.
"All hands on deck!" Hawkins ordered. Addressing the assembled crew, he spoke with authority. "As you well know, our captain's condition has worsened in the days since the Battle of San Juan. I have just visited him in his chambers... he spoke to me of all of you, admiring your courage and resolve. With his final breath, he wished me to convey to you that sailing the seas with this fine group of men has been the greatest adventure he could have ever hoped for."
The crew immediately dropped to their knees, bowing their heads and reciting prayers for Sir Francis Drake and his immortal soul.
"Tomorrow morning we reach Panama," Hawkins continued. "There, we shall drop anchor and pay tribute to our fallen captain. He shall be buried beneath the waves, and become one with the seas he so loved."
The next day, the Pelican dropped anchor off the coast of Panama, just as John Hawkins instructed. The shrouded body was brought out, weighted down with large stones, and tossed into the seas. All the crew mourned their fallen captain, and prayed that his courage would remain with them.
"Weigh anchor. Set our course southward," Hawkins instructed.
"Sir? What of the fleet?" the helmsman asked.
"Weigh anchor. Set our course southward. Full sail."
"Aye... aye, sir."
Confused as to the instructions, the helmsman did as he was told and directed the ship southward, intentionally avoiding the multitude of Spanish ships along the way, as per John Hawkins' instructions. As they found themselves alone at sea once more, most of the crew began to wonder amongst themselves the reason for their change in course.
"Why indeed?" a voice asked jovially.
Looking up, the crew thought they were in the presence of a spirit, as it appeared that Sir Francis Drake now stood before them on the deck.
"Do not be alarmed, gentlemen, for I am no specter," Drake assured them. "I am very sorry to have deceived you, but it was necessary for the world to think me dead. We are no longer privateers, gentlemen, for we now sail on a mission unsanctioned by Her Majesty. We make way for the wilds of Brazil, whereupon we shall follow a map I acquired from the Spaniards. This map will lead us... to El Dorado."
The crew gasped in amazement at the mention of the mythical City of Gold.
"You now understand, gentlemen, why my deception was necessary. Such a treasure would truly tip the balance in the world, either for England or for Spain. We must endeavor that England finds the treasure first, lest your children and grandchildren fall under the thumb of King Philip. From this moment forward, the entire crew of the Pelican is to be considered dead, lost at sea. This will give us the element of surprise we need in order to best the Spaniards. Are you ready, men? We sail for Brazil!"
*****
For hours, Drake, Hawkins, and a team of five crewmen hacked their way through the dense jungles of Brazil. They had found nothing so far, despite everything the map said, and some of the men were beginning to grumble. However, Drake refused to give up. Clad in his best battle armor, he was prepared for anything that could be thrown at them, be it by the Spanish or the jungle itself. Just as the men were beginning to strongly protest and beg to head back to the ship to resupply, the group finally reached a clearing containing a cluster of ancient stone pillars and the entrance to a temple of some sort.
"Ye of little faith," Drake said jovially to his men, who immediately apologized for doubting him.
"Let us see what secrets are hidden here," John said with anticipation.
The crew entered the temple doors with swords at the ready, expecting to encounter heavy resistance. Instead, they found nothing but an empty room and some dead Spanish soldiers. Drake immediately began to inspect the bodies.
"John, look at this. These men were not killed by sword; they seem to have been mauled by an animal of some sort."
"The jungle is a dangerous place," John mused, his stomach turning from the gruesome sight before them.
"Indeed... let us keep moving," Francis agreed.
Continuing to explore the temple, the explorers found it to be incredibly advanced in technology, considering that it had to have been built centuries before. Each room they entered appeared to be a dead-end, yet a mechanism or puzzle of some sort always revealed a secret exit. In one such room, a large brazier had to be lit with a torch, revealing a false wall. In another, four strange symbols adorned the walls, and, when pushed in the correct order, opened a pathway in the floor. In every instance, Francis made detailed notes in his journal. Still, as impressive as the temple was, it was far from the golden city the English had envisioned.
"Francis, I do not know what you expected to find here, but we have yet to see any sign of treasure," John said as they entered another empty room.
"Ah ha! John, come look at this!" Francis called from the other side of the room. "Look here, this indention in the wall appeared to hold something quite large... until very recently."
"Amazing... oh my, look here, on the ground. This residue, it appears to be... gold!" John exclaimed.
Inspecting the carvings on the wall, Francis said, "It appears that this temple was built around a statue that stood here... but why?" Racking his brain, Francis finally remembered one of his Spanish translation studies. "Of course! 'El Dorado' is most commonly referred to as the City of Gold, but there are other translations as well. One of which is 'The Golden Man'. The statue that stood here, it must be El Dorado!"
"Based on this gold dust, I believe you may be right, my friend," John agreed.
"Sir! We found tracks, and an exit!" one of the crewmen said.
Inspecting the area his crew had found, Francis immediately saw what the Spaniards had done. "It seems they removed the El Dorado statue from this place, drug it out on logs. They must have another ship moored through here. Gentlemen, follow me!"
The team followed the tracks, ending back up in the jungle. Passing by a magnificent waterfall, they soon found themselves traveling downhill, back towards the shoreline. Finally, they reached a beach, still littered with Spanish supplies, along with an entire crew of dead bodies.
"My God... what the bloody hell happened here?" John wondered.
"A massacre," Francis replied.
The group inspected the area, looking for any clue as to the whereabouts of El Dorado, yet seemed to find none. The bodies of the Spanish soldiers were, like the ones found in the temple, mauled and torn, apparently by a wild beast.
"I can understand the men in the temple being ripped apart, for they may have accidentally stumbled upon an animal's lair," John observed. "This, however, defies explanation. These men were elite Spanish soldiers, and would certainly have been able to defend themselves from wild animals when out in the open like this. Do you think they were attacked by a pack?"
"Doubtful," Francis replied. "No tracks save for the human footprints left by us and the Spaniards. Perhaps their commander will be able to lend us some aid."
Approaching the most heavily decorated body, Francis began to inspect his pockets, finally procuring a folded piece of paper from within the breast of his jacket. Opening it, Francis was amazed to see that it was a map of an island, perhaps a secret colony completely unknown to the English.
"John, I know where it is. I know where they have taken El Dorado."
"Where?!"
"Here, to this island," Francis said excitedly, showing him the map. "There appear to be coordinates at the top of the page. Can you decipher them?"
"Absolutely, once we are back on the Pelican," John replied.
"Then we've not a moment to lose," Francis said with a smile.
*****
February 15th, 1597
My Dear Elizabeth,
News recently reached me, however belated, of the death of your husband, Sir Francis Drake. I wish to express my deepest sorrow for your loss. I have met your husband on a few occasions, as you are well aware. We spoke at length about his past adventures and his hopes for the future. He once told me of a wonderful dream he had of exploring the wilds of Brazil and finding a map leading to a legendary treasure. From there, he would circle around the tip of South America and travel up the coast, whereupon he would send word to you of his journey before sailing into the Pacific Ocean, bound for an uncharted island containing immeasurable wealth. But alas, it was merely a dream. He had many wonderful adventures in his years on Earth, but it seems that the one he described to me is meant for another life. I do hope you will take great care of yourself, my dear lady, and that you find support in the arms of your friends and family in these trying times.
Most sincerely yours, F. James.
*****
"Are we ready to depart?" Francis asked.
"Very nearly," John replied. "One boat is returning from town as we speak."
"They did take my letter to be mailed, yes?"
"Of course. It will take some time to reach even our colonies on the other side of the continent, but it shall be delivered."
Once the final lifeboat had returned from shore, the Pelican shoved off from the western coast of the New World, making way for the Pacific Ocean. Their journey was extremely perilous, as they were sailing for an uncharted island, relying only on the coordinates from the map Drake had found in Brazil. In addition, none of the known islands along their route were near enough to the coordinates to be of any help, forcing the explorers to rely primarily on the stars to keep their bearings. Though their progress was slow and methodical, as would be the case for any ship attempting to cross the Pacific Ocean on its own, they finally began to near the location indicated on the map.
"How close would you say we are, John?" Francis asked.
"We should be in the area within a day or two, I would wager."
"CAPTAIN! SMOKE ON THE WATER, STARBOARD BOW!" came a yell from the crow's nest.
Rushing to the front of the ship, Francis drew his spyglass and peered out over the waters. Confirming a cloud of smoke in the distance, he indicated for his helmsman to approach the area. As they drew close, it became clear from the markings on the vessel that the smoke was billowing from the wreckage of a recently attacked English ship.
