Authors: Karen Harper
Tags: #Fiction - Historical, #16th Century, #Mystery, #England/Great Britain, #Tudors, #Royalty
The Hooded Hawke (10 page)
As he rode up to her side, he recalled again how strong she’d been in battle, his first ship, even with her powder-blackened guns glowing hot and her sails and tidy trim riddled by shot and bolts. He’d saved her from more than one fire ship that day, and just in time to avoid flaming arrows, too—those damned Spanish flaming arrows. They’d pay, the bastard Spanish. If he had to spend a hundred other ships, spend all the years of his life—if it cost him his life—the Spanish would pay.
Could they know of his wish for vengeance, and so were still shooting at him, and before the queen’s very face to shame him or make her think he was dangerous or cursed?
“Keep an eye on the horses, Giles,” he said, and gestured to Hugh to board with him. Of the two, it was Hugh he mistrusted more, so he’d take a page from the queen’s book and keep him under close watch.
He didn’t see the man who sang out from the shrouds above, but he heard him: “Cap’n’board! Cap’n’board!” It thrilled his soul.
Jeremy Haverhill, his first mate, stocky and sturdy, appeared from the captain’s cabin, and Drake wondered if he’d made himself at home there in his absence.
“Cap’n Drake!” he clipped out with a stiff half bow. “I’ll call up the crew.”
“It’s you I needed to see, man. I want this entire vessel made shipshape—immaculate for an inspection on the morrow, and by midmorn. Decks sanded, scrubbed to the scuppers—and a fine meal with fine wine laid out in my cabin, too.”
“Yes, Cap’n. And, pardon my askin’, but you seen the queen herself?”
“It’s the queen herself who is coming, Mr. Haverhill, with how many I’m not sure. I’ll give you coin from the lockbox to lay in victuals—the finest this little town of Fareham has to offer.”
“Don’t know a fig’bout what’s good wine, Cap’n Drake.”
“Nor do I, but buy what’s expensive. Besides, Her Majesty seems taken by—enamored of the sea. She may want grog or beer for all I know, but lay in the wine. Get going now. With Her Majesty, it is best to be prepared for all possibilities. I’m relying
on you, for I can only stay a little while and must head back.”
on you, for I can only stay a little while and must head back.”
“Oh, Cap’n, near forgot. A letter come from your cousin Cap’n Hawkins’bout two days ago. It’s in your cabin, and I can fetch it.”
“I’ll see to it now. And Mr. Haverhill, do not tell the men who’s coming. I don’t want—well, I don’t want a crowd gawking at her.”
Or the possibility, he almost added, that someone would take a shot at her, however joyously the crowds had welcomed her upon their arrival. He climbed the stairs to the halfdeck but hesitated before going into his cabin. Scanning the shore, he was relieved to see that there were no deep forests near this quay but rather fields and marshes. Still, he planned to send men up into the crow’s nest and along the yardarms tomorrow, partly for the impact of the scene with their skyblue shirts, but also to keep his queen as safe as he had vowed to keep the
Judith.
Judith.
He went inside with Haverhill and doled out thirty shillings to him, a fortune equal to nearly a gold sovereign, a month’s wages for a good craftsman. As the man put them in his purse, Drake noted they were new-minted, very much like the coins Her Majesty had found in Barnstable’s cellar—no doubt, like the one she’d said Secretary Cecil’s courier had retrieved later from the former sheriff’s house.
Suddenly sapped of strength, he leaned back against the dark wood wall. His cousin never sent payment for the
Judith
’s crew in such new coins; Drake had known the money was coming but had left before it arrived this time. The queen had said such coins must have come from London, and he’d thought Hawkins was in the west country. Was this all sheer coincidence, or should he show this to Her Majesty? If he fingered Hawkins and his cousin turned out to be guiltless, he’d harm a man England admired and needed—and he might need, too.
Judith
’s crew in such new coins; Drake had known the money was coming but had left before it arrived this time. The queen had said such coins must have come from London, and he’d thought Hawkins was in the west country. Was this all sheer coincidence, or should he show this to Her Majesty? If he fingered Hawkins and his cousin turned out to be guiltless, he’d harm a man England admired and needed—and he might need, too.
He dismissed Haverhill and grabbed the letter that lay on his small table. Yes, sealed with wax impressed with his cousin’s signet ring of a merchantman under full sail with a hawk swooping in the sky overhead.
Drake—
I command you back to port in Plymouth. Stop playing courtier immed.—If the queen wishes a report, I, sr. cap’n of the fateful battle, shall give it to her. Take care of your new wife and let me take care of the queen—or I will take care of you—
Yrs., J. Hawkins, London
John Hawkins was in London? That aside, the last cryptic line of this order sounded like a threat, a double-headed threat against not only him but the queen, and that could be treasonous to boot.
A
gain, the seemingly solicitous young Earl of Southampton was the queen’s host as he escorted her out to observe and partake in the sporting events of the afternoon, held at the edge of the formal gardens nearest the house. Some of her ladies trailed after them; other courtiers were already outside at play. A fountain splashed merrily, and she recalled the amusement she’d had at Whitehall Palace spraying Robin years ago when they were both younger—when she still foolishly believed she might marry him.
gain, the seemingly solicitous young Earl of Southampton was the queen’s host as he escorted her out to observe and partake in the sporting events of the afternoon, held at the edge of the formal gardens nearest the house. Some of her ladies trailed after them; other courtiers were already outside at play. A fountain splashed merrily, and she recalled the amusement she’d had at Whitehall Palace spraying Robin years ago when they were both younger—when she still foolishly believed she might marry him.
“Watch your step here, Your Grace,” Southampton said.
“I always do so, my lord, for I am ever vigilant and canny, to use a Scots word. Remember that well, even as we oversee the sporting. Which reminds me, my herb mistress mentioned you were playing a game she did not recognize in the gardens this morning.” She smiled sweetly at him, for she felt herself well armed with that bit of knowledge.
He looked like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the Yuletide comfit box. “Ah, yes, Your Grace.”
“What was that particular game you played?”
“A game from the north, I take it. I know not much of it.”
“You are in communication with someone in the north? How far north?”
“I’m not sure—how far north, I mean.”
“I repeat in different words, lest you did not grasp my first question, my lord. What is this northern sport called?”
“I believe it is named golf, Your Grace.”
“Named so by whom?”
He still did not look her in the eye. He had much to learn, she thought, from his wily guest Norfolk. Meg supposed, and no doubt rightly so, that the two men had met privily in the wilderness area of his extensive gardens this morning. The queen rued the fact Meg had not hung about to eavesdrop on the two of them, but if Meg had not returned to salve Norfolk’s nettle rash, then hied herself away, he would have been more nettled yet.
She smiled again, not at her own private pun but at how very discomfited Southampton obviously was. She was almost enjoying herself. He kept looking away, as if gazing deep into the splash of the silver fountain.
“Called golf by whom, Your Majesty?” he echoed her question. “I—I wouldn’t know who named it. The word means naught to me.”
“You see, my lord,” she said, tapping his arm with her folded fan until he was forced to face her, “I have had a letter from my Scottish cousin, Mary Stuart, now my guest
in the north
of England. She asks that she might be permitted to play a Scottish game called golf. She’s always writing to beg some favor or other. Anyway, no one truly English seemed to know one whit about golf, so how interesting that you want to learn. Perhaps when you have mastered it, you could give the Duke of Norfolk lessons.”
in the north
of England. She asks that she might be permitted to play a Scottish game called golf. She’s always writing to beg some favor or other. Anyway, no one truly English seemed to know one whit about golf, so how interesting that you want to learn. Perhaps when you have mastered it, you could give the Duke of Norfolk lessons.”
The poor man’s eyes darted wildly toward the courtiers playing various games beyond the fountain.
“But,” she plunged on, “I asked Cecil’s messenger, Keenan, who brought the letter I just mentioned, if he had heard aught of this foreign game of golf when he was in the north. He knew little but that it takes much practice. I am certain you will soon be very adept at it, playing in private first thing in the morning, as if the sport were a jealous mistress you must please.”
She could tell he was uncertain if she goaded him or not. How different he was from clever Norfolk, who usually behaved
as if the best defense was to be offensive. All this answered her question about who had planned the pageant yesterday, for this young whelp and his pretty little wife could not have concocted it. Rather, Norfolk’s double-dealing hand was in it somewhere, just as it was in planning the unrest to the north, which could explode to full-blown treason.
as if the best defense was to be offensive. All this answered her question about who had planned the pageant yesterday, for this young whelp and his pretty little wife could not have concocted it. Rather, Norfolk’s double-dealing hand was in it somewhere, just as it was in planning the unrest to the north, which could explode to full-blown treason.
She was tempted also to demand why and from whence Southampton had such a finely tooled leather bag for his golf equipment, but she kept that to herself for now.
“Shall I have you teach the Scottish rules of golf to my courtiers today, my lord? No, perhaps not,” she mused aloud, now tapping the fan against her chin. “I much prefer for them to concentrate on good English games with English rules—but for Norfolk, of course, who dangerously does as he wishes.”
Though the breeze was delightful, Southampton looked as if he needed air, and his sallow skin hue had gone grayish; she feared he might pass out. She hoped his tat-taling of all this to Norfolk, who had taken to glancing at her and the young earl from across the crowd of courtiers, might settle them both down.
“I—of course—I favor good English games, too, Your Majesty,” Southampton stammered. “I am praying you will d-deign to observe matches of fives today, for I have not yet built a court for tens, nor purchased the racquets or a long net.”
At least she could give him credit for attempting a sudden change of topic, she thought. “I believe you mean ten-
nis,
my lord. That’s the way we always say it in London, but perhaps tens is the northern—or Scots—way to say it.”
nis,
my lord. That’s the way we always say it in London, but perhaps tens is the northern—or Scots—way to say it.”
She smacked his arm with her fan and left him as she joined the others.
W
ould it please Your Majesty to go hunting with us on the morrow?” Elizabeth’s hostess, Lady Mary, asked, as the two women walked down the great staircase to join more sporting and gaming in the courtyard after a noontide respite. Evidently, Southampton himself had not wanted to face her again so soon.
ould it please Your Majesty to go hunting with us on the morrow?” Elizabeth’s hostess, Lady Mary, asked, as the two women walked down the great staircase to join more sporting and gaming in the courtyard after a noontide respite. Evidently, Southampton himself had not wanted to face her again so soon.
Elizabeth had been waiting for an invitation to the hunt, especially
since the fine local deer park had been touted in the pageant. No chance she was hazarding a trip into a forest hunting, however much she excelled at the sport, but she had been surprised Southampton had not invited her this morning. Did he think that letting the invitation come from his lovely wife would make his queen more likely to accept?
since the fine local deer park had been touted in the pageant. No chance she was hazarding a trip into a forest hunting, however much she excelled at the sport, but she had been surprised Southampton had not invited her this morning. Did he think that letting the invitation come from his lovely wife would make his queen more likely to accept?
“I’m still too tired from my journey for a great deal of fast riding,” Elizabeth told Lady Mary. “Best I just send my courtiers. They will be avid to take advantage of your park and its game. And on the morrow, I’m going the short distance to the River Meon to see Captain Drake’s ship.”
“Oh, how exciting. But—Your Grace,” she said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, “I pray it is not because bows and arrows would be involved in the hunting.”
At the banquet last night, the queen had explained to her hosts her misfortune to be near two bolts from the blue, as Ned Topside termed them. As she had recounted those events to them, she had watched their faces for signs of guilt or unease, neither of which they’d displayed. Though when Cecil had mentioned that a far worse fate awaited whoever was responsible than that which had befallen poor Actaeon, the hunter in their pageant, Elizabeth was certain she had read sudden alarm on Lady Southampton’s pretty face.
“But who,” the queen asked, “is the man called Hern the Hunter whom your husband mentioned? Is he the former master of your lord’s hounds or deer keeper?”
“Old Hern?” she said, with a shake of her head. “Oh, no one that is worthy of your concern. Just a recluse in the forest to the east, a demented old man, I hear.”
The queen noted well that both her hosts had seemed eager to dismiss the man’s importance. Then, too, Southampton had looked angry with himself when he’d let Hern’s name slip. Perhaps the “demented” old soul was worth a visit.
M
uch as during their stay at Farnham Castle, the courtyard that afternoon echoed continually with the queen’s courtiers playing and wagering at their
games. Two exquisite, inlaid shovelboard tables had been brought outside from their usual place in the great hall. Standing on sturdy legs, the boards were some thirty feet long and three feet wide. With little shovels, players pushed round, weighted pieces toward lines that were worth points. Women were as skilled as the men at this game, for oft the men shoved too hard and their pieces flew off the end of the board.
uch as during their stay at Farnham Castle, the courtyard that afternoon echoed continually with the queen’s courtiers playing and wagering at their
games. Two exquisite, inlaid shovelboard tables had been brought outside from their usual place in the great hall. Standing on sturdy legs, the boards were some thirty feet long and three feet wide. With little shovels, players pushed round, weighted pieces toward lines that were worth points. Women were as skilled as the men at this game, for oft the men shoved too hard and their pieces flew off the end of the board.
On green baize tables, others cast dice in a popular court game called hazard. The rest, including Norfolk, Leicester, and Southampton, bent over a card game called primero; Elizabeth had turned down the offer to join them. By peering over shoulders, she noted that the queen cards were emblazoned with her own face, a very young, pretty face, too.
She felt smug about that until she noted that the king card was not her father or brother or any Tudor ruler. It was her sworn enemy, the Spanish King Philip. She would have ripped that card from Norfolk’s hand and stamped on it, but she did not want to show her Tudor temper, which she knew they all joked about. Besides, when Philip of Spain had been wed to her sister, he had indeed been King of England as well as Spain. Worse, after her sister’s death, he had dared to propose marriage to Elizabeth, so dead set was he to control England again. Even worse than that, she fumed, that deck of cards must be at least ten years old, and that was perhaps why she had been rendered so young and fair. Suddenly she liked this pretty and young Lady Mary who squired her about less than ever.
“Oh, let’s see how the men playing at fives are doing, Your Majesty,” Mary said for at least the fourth time, and Elizabeth let herself be led back into the courtyard.
As the earl had mentioned earlier, the game of fives was played by both courtiers and local men. It took five men at once, flinging a ball against a courtyard wall divided by chalk markings into four areas. In this sport the French called palm play, each man wore a white glove on his right hand with white cords bound around that hand to make the ball fly faster when it was bounced back against the wall. She supposed those cords had inspired the racquets used in the more refined version of the sport.
The brick court on which the players stood, like the areas on the wall, was square with four marked sections, each assigned to a particular man, with one floating player. Yes, it must indeed be the rustic game that had become tennis, played on an open, double-sized court with a net between two teams of five men each. As women never played, it hardly interested the queen. She always liked to be at the center of the action, not merely observing it.
Amazingly, Lady Mary, looked entranced by the heated game. The players sweated through their white, half-laced shirts as they lunged and flung the ball, their powerful thighs straining against their breeks and hose. At the break, Lady Mary and several other ladies applauded; Mary even bent to retrieve a ball and press it into the hand of one of the players.
Elizabeth recognized the man: the handsome youth who had played the part of Actaeon in the pageant yesterday. She was going to jest that she was glad to see he had managed to escape the hounds at his heels, when she realized the obvious. So obvious she’d almost missed it, and no one else seemed the slightest bit aware.
Mary Wriothesley, Lady Southampton, had not only returned the ball to the man but slipped him a note she’d hastily wrapped around it, one he now stuffed quickly up his sleeve.
Elizabeth remembered that Mary had called her attention to his entrance in the play yesterday, not to mention that she’d nearly fainted. And, when Cecil last night had remarked that anyone who tried to harm the queen would meet a fate worse than Actaeon’s, Mary had actually looked alarmed. The queen could only hope that the message was a
billet doux
and not some treasonous correspondence. Still, it did give her a good bargaining card if she interrogated the woman later.
billet doux
and not some treasonous correspondence. Still, it did give her a good bargaining card if she interrogated the woman later.
I
f we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss evening meal, and I don’t want little Piers going hungry to bed tonight,” Meg groused, as she and Ned, with the boy between them holding their hands, headed into Fareham in the late afternoon. “And all to find out where some old man named Hern the
Hunter lives in the forest, when Her Grace said she wasn’t going into any forest again, except in her closed and guarded coach.”
f we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss evening meal, and I don’t want little Piers going hungry to bed tonight,” Meg groused, as she and Ned, with the boy between them holding their hands, headed into Fareham in the late afternoon. “And all to find out where some old man named Hern the
Hunter lives in the forest, when Her Grace said she wasn’t going into any forest again, except in her closed and guarded coach.”
“Not the first time she’s changed her mind, my sweet,” Ned said. “Besides, Piers is glad for the adventure, yes, my boy?”
“Yes, Ned. We can practice our lines on the way.”
“What lines?” Meg asked. “Something to present to the queen?”
“Perhaps,” Ned said, and winked at the boy.
“Real lines from a play about Robin Hood,” Piers blurted, giving a little skip between them. “From
Robin Hood Returns
.” He began in a singsong voice. “A ghostly fantasy by Ned Topside.
An outlaw bold was Robin Hood,/ Clad in Lincoln green,/’Mong Sherwood Forest’s leafy boughs,/ He scarcely could be seen.
That’s all I know real good so far.”
Robin Hood Returns
.” He began in a singsong voice. “A ghostly fantasy by Ned Topside.
An outlaw bold was Robin Hood,/ Clad in Lincoln green,/’Mong Sherwood Forest’s leafy boughs,/ He scarcely could be seen.
That’s all I know real good so far.”
“I know
well,
” Ned corrected.
well,
” Ned corrected.
“Sure you know it better than me,” the boy insisted.
Meg laughed.
“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” Ned told her. “Especially when it just hit me that Robin’s
scarcely could be seen
does make him sound a bit like that Hooded Hawk the queen described.”
scarcely could be seen
does make him sound a bit like that Hooded Hawk the queen described.”
“And Woden,” she said, “is supposedly invisible in the forest, too, in his black cloak.”
“It’s all fairies and phantoms in the forest what does the mischief,” Piers piped up. “With cobwebs for reins, they could ride the backs of hawks, I know they could.”
Over the top of the boy’s head, Ned rolled his eyes, but tears stung Meg’s. Would their own lad have been so taken by flights of fancy and clever with words, so eager to please Ned by learning lines? For one moment, she almost burst into tears, but she kept taking one step and then another. For Ned, for this boy—for her dear queen—she could now go on.
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