HF - 01 - Caribee (3 page)

He walked the brief area of ba
tt
lement, every day after his lessons, and brooded at the city. But the city had lost its charm. When he looked out there he saw less of the great lords and their fine ladies, their magnificent horses and their long Spanish blades, now, than of the grinning, odorous mob which had followed Mr Walkden to the end. If he had been relieved to discover that his father felt much as himself, he was none the less frightened. His feeling had been a weakness. Was not Father's also a weakness? The more so, in a man. Father had been a soldier. And indeed, when they had visited Uncle Edward last Christmas, there had been enough contempt in Father's voice and manner, at least on the journey there, for farmers and their pigs. Yet at the same time he quarrelled with the sentences for treason, and perhaps even the definition of the word. And at the same time preached discipline to his own son. It was a sorry world, confused and becoming more so. For if criticism of the King and his ministers was treason, then a deal of it was spoken. Again, after Christmas, when Mr Merrifield and Uncle John Winthrop had ridden over to finish off the roasted sow, and the men had gathered in the parlour afterwards to smoke their pipes and talk politics, the conversation had inevitably turned to the ruination the King had brought upon the country, and not even by unsuccessful wars, but by the extravagance of his court and his unseemly gifts to his many favourites, and by his high handed treatment of Parliament. There had been the most tremendous quarrel, Edward remembered, with Uncle John saying that he no longer considered England the country it had been in Queen Bess's time, but rather a conquered nation, quite overtaken by the rapacious Scots, and that for his money he'd as soon remove himself and se
tt
le in the Virginias or elsewhere in the Americas; and Mr Merrifield, to the horror of them all, declaring that the fault lay in the whole institution of kingship, and pointing out that in Holland they made do without a king at all, and could not be considered the worse for it.

Sentiments which had all but brought them to blows. Father had sprung to his feet in a rage. "The King is the King, and there's an end to it,' he had declared. 'There may be some kings who are be
tt
er than others, but without a king England would no longer be my country, nor could I contemplate living in any country where such a state of affairs obtains. I'll trouble you to speak no more treason in my brother's house.'

Mr Merrifield had apologized, and the ma
tt
er had been smoothed over. But whatever the truth of the ma
tt
er, Edward preferred the dreams of Uncle John, of lands across the sea, of great forests populated with
Indian
s with red skins, of acres of gold, of endless plantations of corn. Father scoffed, and pointed to the miserable fate of Mr. Baleigh's Virginia colony. Bur Mr Winthrop had maintained that there would be others, and that the Virginias had suffered by bad organization and careless selection of the colonists.

Endless quarrels. Endless differences. It was hard to believe, listening to the men talking, that England was not in a perilous state. But England would always be great, because of the sea. Even the solutions offered by Uncle John Winthrop depended upon the sea. By walking around a corner of the ba
tt
lements Edward could look down on the river, hurrying under London Bridge, racing for the estuary and the North Sea, and beyond, the world. He was going to be a sea captain. He had long decided this, privately. Father might grumble that there were no men nowadays like Drake and Frobisher and Hawkins of his own youth, that indeed, there were no opportunities for men like those. But the opportunities would come again, and meanwhile there was the sea itself, and its highways.

Even the river was a highway. He looked towards the upper reaches, where lay Hampton Court, and watched the barge coming downstream. No ducal barge, this, but a plain affair, although it contained soldiers; he could see the June sunlight glinting on their helmets and from their halberds. A prison barge, bringing someone to take up residence in the Tower. Then there might well be a noble lord or lady aboard, having fallen foul of His Majesty or my lord Villiers.

Edward leaned through the embrasure to watch the boat as it came alongside the steps below. Traitors' Gate, for those the King would condemn without the knowledge of the citizens of London Town. Father was down there, dressed in his best, with a guard of honour to receive the new arrival.

The prisoner stood in the stem. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, and beneath it a dark blue velvet cloak over a similarly blue doublet and breeches. And boots. But no sword, and Edward realized that his dress was quite lacking in jewellery as his fingers lacked rings. And now he removed his hat, as he stepped ashore, and filled his lungs, and looked up at the forbidding grey walls, and seemed to smile. His face was long and a trifle thin, and his beard had speckles of grey, although it remained carefully trimmed into a fashionable point. His skin was burned by tropical sun and endless wind, and lined with years of misfortune and endeavour. And yet he smiled, and with his smile the morning came alive.

Edward left the embrasure and raced towards the staircase leading down to the family's apartments. He panted, missed a step, and landed on his hands and knees, regained his feet and burst open the door to his mother's withdrawing room. 'Mama,' he shouted. 'Mama. Mr Raleigh is back.'

The door to the huge, vaulted chamber stood open; Tom Warner and Walter Raleigh had been friends for many years. And the chamber gave an echo. Thus by kneeling at the nearest corner in the passageway, hard by the stone staircase, Edward could hear every word that was spoken, and more, he could watch Raleigh himself, standing by the barred window as he lit his pipe, although his father was out of sight around the bu
tt
ress.

‘I
should say welcome back,' Tom said. 'But I doubt it would be well received.'

Raleigh sucked on the stem. 'There are worse places than this tower, Tom, although you may not believe it.'

'We had heard, of course, that you were sighted off the Lizard. After Whitney's calumnies, and the rumour that the court believed much of them, we had expected you'd stay at sea.'

'And become a pirate? Not my way, Tom. In any event, if Whitney is to be faulted for deserting me, I doubt he related much save the truth. Tis my fortune to a
tt
ract an evil fame.'

'And yet, as I remember, you sought no fame at all. Was it not a city you looked for, and not even Spanish, but inhabited by
Indian
s of such ignorance they use gold for their every need because they lack any other metal, and yet are quite unaware of the wealth they squander?'

Raleigh smiled, a humourless widening of his lips. The story-tellers have been at it again, I see, Tom. No, no, nothing so fabulous. But there is a people beyond the Orinoco, who indeed know the value of gold, and possess it in abundance. Thus they suppose it is a gift from the gods, and who knows, they may well be right.'

'No blasphemy, Wat. I beg of you.'

'No blasphemy, Tom. I had forgot I was home. These people, then, in honour of their heathen god, make a sacrifice to him once in every year. The sacrifice is at once human and rich. For they take a sacred youth, and after paying him due ceremony throughout the year, they gild him from head to foot in the marvellous metal, and on the appointed day they row out into the centre of the lake which is near their city, and cast this man of gold, El Dorado, into the waters, where the weight of his metal suit very rapidly takes him to the bo
tt
om, and the god is made happy, and so their harvests are made good.'

'Fanciful, Wat.'

'Oh, indeed. But it is their belief. And has been their belief for untold ages. So, once in every year, some unfortunate boy has been cast into the waters of that lake, clad from head to toe in gold. Now imagine, if you can, dear Tom, what the bo
tt
om of that lake must be like. A solid carpet of gold clad skeletons. An expanse of wealth to pay the debts of even Scotch Jim and his friends. And their friends as well.'

‘If
this wealth can be recovered.'

'A simple ma
tt
er, I do assure you. This is a lake, not a Sco
tt
ish loch. It is not deep. Indeed, on a fine day, with the sun high at noon—and on what days in that magnificent climate are there not blue skies and a hot sun?—it is said you can see the metal, gleaming twenty feet beneath the surface. Now it is probable that these people will resist the removal of their offerings, but if Cortez and a few Dons could take Mexico, are Englislunen to be stopped by a handful of naked savages?"

If the place and the people do exist.'

'They do, Tom. I have heard this tale corroborated by too many men, Spaniards and Dutchmen, priests and soldiers, even the coastal
Indian
s of the Guyanas themselves. Why, this city of golden people is even named on the maps. Manaos. It is there all right, Tom.'

Edward listened to his father knocking out his pipe on the wall of the chamber. 'But you did not find it.'

‘I
did not get within a measurable distance of it, Tom. I will not bore you with my misfortunes. Suffice it to say that I must be the most unfortunate of human beings. No sooner had we reached the Orinoco than I was laid low with fever, of a virulence I had never known. Indeed, I thought that I would die. And surely it would have been be
tt
er so. I placed Keymis in command. You remember Lawrence Keymis, Tom?'

'Very well. You could hardly have made a be
tt
er choice.'

‘I
had forgot his impulsiveness. I sent him up the Orinoco with five ships, while I stayed and suffered with the other. He was to find Manaos, Tom. Nothing more. Tins I swear to you as Lieutenant of this Tower. But he came across a Spanish se
tt
lement, was challenged, and a
tt
acked them. Men were killed, Tom. My promise to the King was broken. When Keymis returned, I was finished.'

'You, Wat? It seems but a slight misfortune, so to affect a character like yours.'

'Slight? You have not asked me what sort of a lad young Walter has become?"

‘I
had heard a rumour, which I do not believe ...'

'He is sunk deep in the Orinoco mud, Tom.'

The chair scraped as Tom Warner got up. 'Walter?'

'He died with Keymis. No doubt I was more ill than I had supposed. God knows he was hardly less impulsive and hot blooded. But when I heard he was killed, I lost my head for a while, and said things I do heartily regret. And thus I lack the assistance of Lawrence as well.'

'But you said he came back to you?"

'And went again, when I railed at him, and took his own life. There was nothing left for me there, Tom. Whitney had already left. I followed
his
example and sailed home.'

'Knowing that you would be returned here?'

Raleigh shrugged.
‘It
seemed likely. After all, there was a fight with the Spaniards. Depend upon it, Gondomar will complain. 'Tis another misfortune that his own brother was in the Spanish force on that occasion, and was killed. You'd not suppose
this
world small enough to admit such a coincidence. But it happened, and so Scotch James must keep me locked away for a spell. But God knows, and he must know, that I am past conspiring or antagonizing the court of Madrid. It will only be for a season.'

Tom Warner strode the room, to and fro, pulling at his lip. 'And your wife, and other son?"

‘I
have seen neither Lizzie nor Carew since my return to town. I was whisked down here with some speed. And to say truth, I wish a day or two to compose myself. I have spent the entire voyage home endeavouring to compose myself, and yet I find it hard. Wat was ever her favourite.'

'Aye,' Tom said. 'Well, be sure that you have but to ask and it shall be yours. And when you wish a message conveyed to Lizzie you have but to say that too. And I will endeavour to discover what is the mood at court concerning you.'

'You worry yourself needlessly, but as a good friend, Tom. I do not know what I should do without you. It seems to me
that
in these days I have too few friends.'

'Now, that is a consideration you should bear always in mind,' Tom recommended, and turned towards the door, so sharply that Edward had no time to withdraw. 'Holloa,' he shouted. 'A spy, by God.' He ran down the corridor, whipping his sword from its scabbard.

Raleigh came at this heels. 'From the court, you think? Villiers?'

Edward stood his ground, but his knees trembled against each other.

Tom put up his sword. 'No,' he said. 'Our local vagabond.'

Raleigh stooped before the boy. 'Can this be Edward? When I left...'

'He was a babe of seven. Now he is a boy of nine and considers himself a man. Did I not confine you to the lieutenant's quarters, boy?"

'Yes, sir.' Edward licked his lips. 'But to see Sir Walter again ...'

Raleigh burst into laughter. 'He fla
tt
ers like any courtier.'