Текст книги "Lion Triumphant"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

He laughed. “Know this. I am letting Girling take the Lion. It’s a short voyage. And when he comes back I shall go away. I would take you with me, Cat. You and the boy. But he’d be too small, wouldn’t he? Who knows what we might meet on the seas? Here’s a problem. If I leave you I shall dream every night, and in the day too, of Spaniards raiding the coast. If I take you with me… How could I take you with me?”

I said: “You will have to go as other men go.”

“What a reunion it’ll be when I come back. You’ll be on the shore waiting for me. No games, my love, while I’m away.”

“Do you imagine everyone is like you? I wonder how many games you will play on your voyage?”

“You must not be jealous, Cat. I am a man who must needs game. But there will only be one for whom I truly care and for her I would cast aside all others.”

“Do not deprive yourself,” I said. “Game all you wish.”

“Nay, you would be jealous, but we have to part in time. I am a sailor. For the first time I almost wish I were not. See how I love you. I love you so much that I give Girling command of my ship that I may stay with you.”

I was silent being moved by such a declaration. For the first time I felt a certain tenderness toward him.

Girling had sailed away. Poor Jake, he stood watching until she was out of sight—his love, his ship, his Rampant Lion.

He said: “It is like seeing another man with your woman.” He was moody for a day or so, wondering why he had allowed Girling to go in his place. He busied himself with the comings and goings of others of his ships, but there was only one Lion.

He would follow the voyage in his mind, studying charts and working out where the ship would be. He would say: “If the winds have been favorable, if she has not been becalmed, if she has not met up with any with whom it has been necessary to do battle she will be here.”

At times he wished he were with her. At others he was clearly delighted to be at home. In the midst of some of our battles he would say: “To think I gave up a lion for a shrew.”

But there were the moments of deep satisfaction. I began to be satisfied with my life. Was this again the serenity of pregnancy? Perhaps it was. My mother sent a messenger to me fairly frequently with letters.

“If only you were not so far away,” she mourned. “How I long to be with you at this time.”

My grandmother sent recipes and even concoctions she had prepared. After having been so far away we seemed moderately close now in spite of the miles which separated us.

The months began to pass. My child was due in February.

Jake was beside himself with glee. He visualized the sturdy son we should have. He continued to despise Roberto, but Carlos and Jacko never ceased to delight him. They were growing wilder and more untamable every day. They rode, went hunting with Jake and studied archery and fencing. They played truant from the tutor whom I had engaged to teach them, which amused Jake.

He had done it all before. Anything they did which reminded him of his own exploits was applauded and they knew this. My Roberto was clever in the classroom, a fact which made me rejoice, for it gave him this advantage at least. I kept him away from Jake as much as possible and often arranged that they did not come into contact for weeks at a time, a fact which pleased them both so it was not very difficult to maneuver.

“The boy should be here when the Lion returns,” said Jake. “We’ll call him Lion.”

“There is no such name,” I said.

“We’ll make one.”

“Would you saddle the boy with such a name? He will be laughed at throughout his life.”

“Much he’ll care.”

“As a compromise we’ll call him Penn after your father.”

Christmas came and with it the messenger from the Abbey bringing gifts but most welcome of all letters. Honey was happy at the Abbey. Edwina was well. “How peaceful it all is, Catharine,” she wrote. “Tenerife seems far away.”

And Luis? I wondered. Did Honey ever think of the two husbands who had been murdered—one before her eyes? I myself could not forget the sight of Felipe lying in his blood, slain by the man who was my second husband. I missed his courtesy; sometimes I found myself comparing Jake with him.

We lived in violent times and life was cheap. Men such as Jake Pennlyon thought little of running a man through the heart. I trembled to think of the slaughter there would be when the Rampant Lion met a Spanish galleon on the sea.

This hatred of men for men, when would it end? I hoped that by the time my little Roberto was a man it would be over.

It was the end of January when the Rampant Lion came home. It had been a bleak month with cold winds blowing in from the east. Then it had turned warm and with the warmth came the inevitable rain. There was a heavy mist and out of this suddenly there loomed the ship. She was dangerously near the shore and the mist clung eerily to her masts; Jake at the window saw her first.

“God’s Death!” he cried and stared at her.

I looked at him and saw that his deep color had faded.

“What’s wrong?” I cried.

“God’s Death!” he cried. “What have they done to the Lion?”

Then he was out of the house. He was running down to the Hoe. I followed him. I stood on the shore watching the small boat row out to the shattered ship.

What a day that was! I shall never forget the dampness of the mist and that still, almost lakelike sea. And there she was, his beloved ship, with one of her masts shot off and a hole in her side.

It was a mercy she had managed to limp back to the Hoe.

I saw the faces of men, blackened by sun, gaunt from near starvation and many of them wounded.

There was little I could do.

I felt tender toward Jake as I saw the bleak horror in his face. He loved this ship and she had been ill-treated.

I knew then how he must have looked when he came back from his voyage to find that the Spaniards had taken me.

It was an old story. The ship had encountered a mightier one. There was no need to say that that ship had been a Spaniard.

She had sought to take her, but by mercy that had not happened. The Rampant Lion had suffered almost mortal wounds, but she had given a good account of herself. She had inflicted such deadly havoc on her enemy that the Spaniard had had to limp away, thus enabling the Lion to do likewise.

Captain Girling had been fatally wounded, but he had lived for four days after the attack. He had nobly directed his crew from the pallet which he had had brought on deck. He had known he was dying, but his great concern had been to bring the poor wounded Lion back to her master. Only when he knew that could be done did he die.

One of the sailors kept saying: “It were as though he keep his strength till then, Captain ’Lyon. It was though he clung to life till he knew she could make port.”

Jake was quieter than I had expected. I had imagined he would fly into recrimination; but he was seaman enough to understand exactly what had happened.

The Lion had not disgraced him or herself; she had stood up nobly against a more powerful adversary. She had given as good as she had taken. Perhaps better, he promised himself. He took satisfaction in picturing the sinking of the Spaniard. He was certain she had gone to the bottom of the sea.

He called curses on her and her crew. But his great concern was with the Lion. He stayed on her throughout the rest of the day and far into the night while he tried to satisfy himself that she could be made seaworthy again.

Then he came back.

“It shows what she can do, Cat,” Jake said to me. “I’d always known it. There’s not another of her class who wouldn’t have gone down, but here she is and in a matter of months she will be herself again. I’ll see to that.”

This was indeed a time of disaster. The day after the Lion had arrived home, my pains started. It was too early and my child was born dead.

What made the tragedy more hard to bear was that the child had been a little boy.

I was desperately ill. The fact that I had lost my longed-for child did nothing to help my recovery, and for two weeks it was believed I could not survive.

Jake came and sat by my bed. Poor Jake! I loved him then. His Rampant Lion all but a wreck, the son he had so desired was lost to him. And I, whom he loved in his fashion, was about to die.

I heard afterward that he was almost demented and threatened the doctors that if I died he would kill them, that he spent his time between my sickroom and his ship; it was not until the end of the second week when it became apparent that I had a good chance of recovery and that the Rampant Lion would sail again that he became his old self.

I was delirious often; I was not entirely sure where I was. Often during that period I believed I was in the Hacienda and that soon Don Felipe would come into the room. Once I thought I saw him standing by the bed, holding the candle high while he looked at me. At another I was holding my son in my arms and he was watching us.

One night I came out of my delirium and saw that it was Jake who stood by my bed. I saw his clenched fists and heard his muttered words.

“You are calling to him! Stop it. You gave him a son. Yet you cannot give me one.”

I was afraid suddenly, afraid for Roberto because I understood in that moment how violent Jake’s feelings could be. I knew the fact that I had borne Felipe a son would be like a canker in his mind, and that his fierce hatred of Felipe, of Spain and all things Spanish would be concentrated on my son.

I wanted to appeal to him. “Jake,” I said, “I am going to die…”

He knelt by the bed and took my hand; he kissed it fiercely, possessively. “You are going to live,” he said, and it was like a command. “You are going to live for me and the sons we shall have.”

I understood something of his feelings for me. He needed me in his life; he could not contemplate being without me. His lips were on my hand. “Be well,” he said. “Be strong. Love me, hate me, but stay with me.”

I felt secure then, but when I began to get better my anxieties about Roberto returned. What would have happened to him if I had died? I asked myself.

It was in this mood that I sent for Manuela.

Manuela had been unobtrusive since her arrival in England; if she was homesick for Spain she had never shown it; and she and Roberto had something in common because they were both of Spanish blood.

So while I lay weakly in my bed, I summoned her and bade her sit beside me and assure me that there was no one in earshot.

“Manuela,” I said, “tell me, are you happy in England?”

She answered: “It has become my home.”

“You have been good to Roberto. He trusts you more than he does the others.”

“We speak Spanish together. It is pleasant to speak as though one is at home.”

“I have thought a great deal about him while I have been lying here. He is young yet, Manuela, and not able to take care of himself.”

“The Captain hates him, Señora. It is because he is the son of Don Felipe and you are his mother.”

“I have come close to death, Manuela. I clung to life because I feared for Roberto.”

“Your passing would be in the hands of Almighty God, Señora,” she said reproachfully.

“I am still here, but weak. I want you to make me a promise. If I should die I wish you to leave here at once with Roberto. I wish you to take him to my mother. You will tell her that I asked that she should care for him. She must love him because he is my son.”

“And the Captain, Señora?”

“The Captain does not love Roberto, as you know.”

“He hates him because he is a Spaniard.”

“He is a little impatient with him,” I prevaricated. “Roberto is not like Carlos and Jacko. I know you once loved Carlos dearly. I remember when you came to the nursery at the Hacienda…”

My voice faltered and she said vehemently: “Carlos has become the Captain’s boy. He shouts. He boasts he will slit the throats of Spaniards. He is no longer of his mother’s faith.”

“He is his father’s boy now, Manuela.”

I saw angry tears in her eyes. I knew that she was fiercely true to her faith and that she practiced it regularly but in secrecy.

“And Roberto,” she said softly, “he is different. Roberto would stay true. He will never forget that his father was a gentleman of Spain.”

“You love the boy, don’t you, Manuela? Carlos can take care of himself now, but if anything should ever happen to me look to my little Roberto.”

“I will do anything to save him,” she said vehemently, and as she spoke I knew that she was sincere.

I awoke to find my mother sitting by my bed.

“Is it really you?” I asked.

“My dearest Cat. Jake sent for me. I came at once and I shall stay until you are well again. Your grandmother has sent you many remedies and you know her cures always work.”

I took her hand and would not release it. I wanted to be absolutely sure that I had not dreamed she was there.

From the moment she arrived my recovery was rapid. I felt that I must get well with her to nurse me. I had always felt this when she nursed me through my childish ailments. She used to say: “All’s well now. Mother is here.” And I believed it now as I had then.

She and my grandmother had made garments for my child. “We shall leave them with you for the next,” she told me.

I felt wonderfully optimistic then. The next! I thought. Of course! What had happened to me was a disaster which befell many women during the course of their childbearing years. I had had one son. I could have another.

She brought into the house a sense of peace. I liked to hear her talking to the servants.

I told her of my interview with Manuela.

“My darling Cat,” she soothed me, “you need have had no fear. If this terrible tragedy had befallen us I should have come here and taken Roberto away with me. But, God willing, his mother will live long into his manhood.”

She asked me earnestly whether I was happy in my marriage and I did not know how to answer her truthfully.

“I doubt there was ever a marriage like ours,” I told her.

“He sent another man out with his ship, I hear, because he could not leave you.”

I laughed. “Dearest Mother, do not attempt to understand what my marriage is. It could never happen to one as gentle as you are. There is a wildness in me which matches that in him. Yet there is a good deal of hate in us.”

“But you love each other?”

“I would not call it love. He was determined that I should bear his sons. He selected me for that purpose. I have failed him now … and at the time when he all but lost his ship! I can find it in my heart to be sorry for him, which surprises me. Mother dear, do not look so put about. You could not understand us. You are too good, too kind.”

“My dear daughter, I have lived and loved and life has seemed strange to me often.”

“But now you have Rupert and everything is as you always longed for it to be.”

“Yet I could have taken Rupert years ago and did not. You see nothing is simple for any of us.”

“I used to think it would have been wonderful for me,” I said, “if I could have married Carey.”

She was a little impatient with me. “You delude yourself,” she answered. “All that is past. You have one child and you will have others. You are still living with an obsession of Carey, when you have Jake. You love him. You know you do. Stop thinking of the past. You loved your Spaniard, too, but now you have Jake. Face reality, Cat.”

Was she right, this wise mother of mine?

Jake came in and sat with me.

“You will soon be well,” he said, “now you have the best possible nurse.”

“Thank you for sending for her.”

“Now she is here I am going away for a short time. I have been thinking a great deal about Girling’s family.”

“What family has he?”

“His wife died recently—the sweat, I think. He has children who may be in need. He served me well. I must not fail him.”

“You must make sure that they are not in want,” I said.

“So thought I. I shall go to St. Austell and see for myself what is happening there. I know I shall leave you in good hands.”

He left the next day.

The house seemed peaceful without him. I was able to get up. I sat at the window and looked out over the Hoe. I could see the Rampant Lion there. Men were working on her. Her canvases and rigging were being overhauled. The shipwrights were going back and forth in the little boats; they would be busy repairing her faulty timbers.

I wondered how long before she would sail again and when she did I knew Jake would go with her.

I drank the broth my mother prepared for me; I swallowed my grandmother’s special remedies and I was soon taking my first steps into the fresh air. It was the end of April and the daffodils were in bloom. My mother, who delighted in flowers and who was herself named after the damask rose, gathered them and arranged them in pots to fill my bedroom. We walked under the pleached alley together with the sun glinting through because there were only buds and tiny leaves on the entwined branches at this time; we sat in the pond garden and talked.

It was while we sat there that she gave me the news which must have lain heavily upon her. I knew that she had been awaiting the time when I should be well enough to receive it.

We had taken our seats near the pond when she said to me: “Cat, there is something I have to tell you. You must be brave. You must understand. You will have to know.”

“What is wrong, Mother?”’

“It’s Honey,” she said.

“Honey? She is ill?”

“Nay. You love her well, do you not, Cat?”

“You know I do. She is as my sister.”

“It is how I always wished you to be.”

I knew that she was even now delaying the moment of telling.

“Please, tell me quickly,” I begged. “What has happened to Honey?”

“She has married again.”

“But why should she not? She is so beautiful. Many men would wish to marry her. It is good news, is it not? Why should she not marry?”

My mother was again silent. I turned to her in astonishment. She seemed to steel herself. Then she said: “Honey has married Carey.”

I stared at the green grass, at the sun glinting on the pond. I pictured them together. Beautiful Honey and Carey, my Carey… Why should I feel this sudden anger? I could not have him and it was inevitable that he should marry one day. Had I not done so … twice? And if he was to have a wife, why should it not be Honey, who had long loved him?

My mother had reached for my hand and pressed it warmly. She said: “I asked Manuela to bring Roberto to us. I think I hear her coming now.”

I knew she was telling me: You have your son. Forget the impossible dream. That is the past. Here is the present. It is for you to make the future.

And Manuela came leading my son and when he saw me he ran to me.

“Madre, Madre,” he cried; and I knew that while I lay ill and cut off from him he had suffered deeply.

I said: “I am well again, Roberto. Here I am. Why, we have missed each other.”

And I was comforted.

My mother would talk of everything except Honey and her marriage, but I could not forget it. I pictured them in Remus Castle, laughing happily together, talking of the old days, making love. Did they ever mention me? I wondered. And how would Carey feel if they did?

Honey was both beautiful and lovable. There was a serenity in her beauty which I think made it doubly appealing to men. There was nothing of the wildcat about Honey; she was adaptable. She had been a good wife to Edward although she had loved Carey; she had appeared to forget Edward and had devoted herself to Luis; and now she would have forgotten them both for Carey. And I had to confess that she had always loved Carey.

My mother talked of what was happening at home. How her half brother twins were eager to go to sea and how my grandmother was trying to dissuade them, of the flowers my grandmother was growing and the many bottles that lined the shelves of her still room. “She is becoming quite an apothecary and people come to her for cures.”

My mother was a little easier in her mind because there was less fear of a Catholic rebellion. The marriage of the Queen of Scots to Lord Darnley had been a good thing for England. The young consort was such an overbearing, arrogant, dissolute and generally unsatisfactory man that he was causing a great deal of dissension above the Border.

“It is better for them to quarrel among themselves than to seek a conflict with us,” said my mother. “That is what everyone is saying.”

The turmoil up there had increased when the shocking murder of the Scottish Queen’s secretary had taken place at her supper table.

My mother shuddered. “People have been speaking of nothing else. Mary is with child and was supping privately at Holyrood when certain of her nobles burst in and dragged the young man from the table. Poor fellow, they say, he clung to the Queen’s skirts and begged her to save him. What an ordeal for a woman six months with child! It was said that Secretary Rizzio was her lover. This seems unlikely. Poor woman! Why, Cat, she is but your age.”

“Perhaps we should be thankful we are not born royal.”

My mother said soberly: “There are dangers enough for all folk, royal or not. But it seems that matters are less tense because of this conflict in Scotland. Our good Queen Elizabeth is highly thought of and surrounds herself with able statesmen, and what we need is a good stable monarch. There is of course the religious conflict. They say the Queen is Protestant because she could be no other and it is for expediency’s sake she is so. But I must whisper that, Cat. One must guard one’s tongue. We are fortunate in our Queen. But as long as the Queen of Scots lives there will be danger. It is wrong to hope for trouble for others, but it does appear that the more disasters which befall the Court of Scotland the more peacefully will English men and women sleep in their beds.”

It was a lovely May day when the fruit trees were in blossom and the hedges full of wild parsley and stitchwort and the birds everywhere were in full song. A glorious time of the year when nature renews herself and there is a song of thanksgiving from the blackbird and chaffinch, the swifts and the swallows.

And at this time Jake brought Romilly Girling into the house.

She was twelve years old—a sad little waif when he brought her, very thin with great green eyes too big for her small white face.

They arrived late at night after the journey from St. Austell and the girl was almost asleep when they came into the hall.

“This is Romilly,” said Jake. “Captain Girling’s daughter. She’ll live with us. This is her home now.”

I understood at once. The girl had lost both parents. She would be without a home and I was glad that Jake had brought her. I ordered that a room should be made ready for her and she was given hot food and sent to bed without delay.

Jake explained. “There was very little left. The two of them … she and her brother … were in the house alone. The servant had gone. They were almost starved to death. A distant cousin of the Captain’s took the boy. All I could do was bring the girl here. Her father served me well.”

“We will care for her,” I said warmly.

It was wonderful to see the girl react to good food and comfortable living. She filled out a little; but she was still rather waiflike—a dainty elflike creature with quiet manners. Her great beauty was her eyes, they were big and such a strange green color that they immediately attracted attention. Her hair was dark and thick and straight. She had short, stubby lashes even darker than her hair.

June came and my mother said she must return home. Rupert was the most patient of husbands, but naturally he missed her. We said farewell and I watched her for as long as I could ride off with her party for the first stage of the long journey home.

By August of that year the Rampant Lion was ready to put to sea. Jake had been ashore too long. News had at length reached us that in June the Queen of Scots had given birth to a son. He was called James and this boy would be said to have a right to the throne of England.

Jake said: “The plaguey Spaniards would put his mother on the throne. You know what that means. We’d have the Papists here in no time. It would be the Smithfield fires before we knew where we were. They’ve got to be driven off the seas and it’s up to English sailors to show them who are the masters.”

I knew what this meant.

He was longing to put to sea again; and this time the Rampant Lion would be trusted to none but himself.

I was once more pregnant.

And in September of that year Jake sailed out of Plymouth.