Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (2 page)

The years passed in contentment for Magdalena. Never once had she regretted her decision to marry a man of a different faith and nationality from her own, even though it had resulted in a painful, inexorable rift with her family.

Although Geoffrey Christian was often away for long periods of time during his voyages, Magdalena’s life at Highcross Court was full of happiness. The house of gray-brown Kentish stone had been in the Christian family for over two centuries and was surrounded by meadowland grazed by sheep and cattle, deep woods thick with pheasant and partridge, clearwater streams full of trout, orchards of sweet cherry and purple plum flowering in spring, and golden wheat and hops ripening in late summer. It was a haven found appropriately close to the banks of the River Eden, which meandered through the fertile countryside southeast of London.

The fulfillment of Magdalena’s happiness had come with the birth of her first child. As Geoffrey Christian came to know his firstborn, he proudly declared to all the babe had been born laughing. Never had there been such a happy, healthy little girl who brought such great joy to all who knew and loved her. Lily Francisca had inherited her mother’s dark Venetian red hair and cheerful disposition and her father’s pale green eyes and love of adventure. She could never be found where she was supposed to be. An open window having beckoned her outside to explore, and apple on a branch having been just out of reach of her small hand until she climbed higher, a duck having paddled to the far side of the pond, his quacking a challenge to follow—all of these temptations and many more had resulted in misadventures that left her nursemaid, Maire Lester, feeling far older than her years.

The quince apples had been harvested and made into jams and preserves, when Doña Magdalena, marking her seventh Michaelmas at Highcross Court, received a message from her father that her mother was dying. It was the first time her father had broken his silence since their bit
t
er parting.

Don Rodrigo could no longer remain deaf to his wife’s anguished pleadings to see her youngest daughter once again. Not even certain that Magdalena would respond to his entreaty, for he had greatly abused her character when she had defied him and he had banished her forever from his sight over seven years earlier, he sent her word of her mother’s failing health. He asked, in as humble a manner as his pride would allow, if she would agree to come home.

Fortunately for Magdalena, Geoffrey Christian was at Highcross court, having returned in early summer from a voyage to Egypt and Africa, and soon the
Arion
was being refitted and provisioned for a voyage to the Indies. It had been over two months since the
Arion
had set sail from England. Running swiftly before the winds, their first landfall on the far side of the Atlantic had been the green hills of San Salvador Island rising up before them and looking little different than they had when sighted by Columbus seventy-nine years earlier. They had slowly threaded their way through the Bahamas, finding a port of refuge on the lee side of a small island, just northeast of the Windward Passage, when storm clouds had darkened the noonday sky. By evening the squall had blown itself out without causing any damage to the
Arion
, riding safe at anchor. By dawn the sea would be calm and the skies clear, and the
Arion
would continue her journey. Above the rain-washed deck, the blackness of the night sky was already brilliant with stars.

“How many stars are there in the sky, Father?”

“ ‘Sdeath, but you’re up early, child!” Geoffrey Christian exclaimed, thinking he alone walked the quarterdeck of his ship just before first light.

“At least a hundred, Father?”

“A hund—“ Geoffrey Christian repeated absentmindedly as he measured the angle between the horizon and the North Star with a cross-staff. “By my faith, child, but ‘twould take us till the crack of doom just to count all of these above our heads alone, and then we would still have all of those we can’t even see,” he said with a deep chuckle of appreciation, for it was an inquiring mind that pondered such thoughts. And in a child of six, and a female at that, it was truly amazing, he mused with fatherly pride.

Lily Christian continued to stare up into the early morning sky. Above her, beyond the tall, swaying and creaking masts that stretched into the heavens, the sky was black with myriad shimmering light. The east, whence they had come at noon of the day before and anchored in the cove to escape the storm, was faintly illumined by a sun that still hid just beyond the horizon. The sea and sky to the west were dark and silent and seemed to converge mysteriously before the bow of the
Arion
. Her captain now charted a course toward the channel that offered safe passage out of the dangerous waters of the sunken coral reefs and hidden sand bars surrounding the Bahama Islands.

“How can there be stars in the sky that we can’t see? And how can we count them if we can’t even see them? And what happens to the stars when the sun rises? Why do they disappear? Where do they go? Do they fall into the sea?” Lily demanded, her small brow knit with puzzlement as she stared up at her father, certain he would be able to answer her questions.

Geoffrey Christian’s teeth gleamed whitely in his sun-darkened face as he grinned. “Ho! What devilment have ye got planned, my sweet Lily, with all of these questions to plague a man while he’s about his measuring” Would ye have us run aground, then, on some heathen shore?” he exploded with a laugh that rumbled across the deck like thunder.

Lily’s squeal of pleased fright filled the air as her father swung her up and tossed her high above his head. He caught her tumbling figure easily against his chest as she fell back into the safety of his arms.

“Well, fondling? Want to touch the stars?” he asked her with a gleam in his eye. “They’re fading fast.” He warned her as she giggled and hid her face against his shoulder.

“Yes, Father! Please! Let me touch them, please!” Lily said quickly, raising her face to gaze longingly at the few sparkling jewels that beckoned still from a sky streaked with the first glowing light of dawn.

“Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on tight, Lily Francisca. We’re going to climb high into the heaven,” Geoffrey Christian declared loudly, defiantly, before he placed a reassuring kiss against his daughter’s flushed cheek. “Just for luck, sweeting,” he added softly this time.

“You do not need luck, Father,” Lily corrected him. “You have always said that a man makes his own. And its only a fool or a weakling who awaits for good fortune to come to him or sits idly by while his fate is sealed,” Lily solemnly repeated her father’s philosophy of life.

“A mocking child, as I live!” Geoffrey Christian said with a hearty laugh that threatened to shake the very timber of this ship. “Do you never forget anything? I see I shall have to take great care in future, lest I look the pickle-herring should you repeat my most ribald comment as if quoting scripture. No, up we go!” he said, his laugh fading as he set his mind to the task.

Sir Basil Whitelaw, a gentleman of unusual equanimity, which was why he was one of his queen’s most trusted advisers, had come up on deck and was carefully straightening the elegant lace edging the high ruff about his neck, when he glance upward past the tangle of rigging overhead. He was thinking that it most likely would be another uncommonly warm day as he took note of the incredible color of the sky. Never had he imagined such colors, even in his wildest dreams. To an Englishman, especially one whose memory of rain-heavy ray clouds hanging low over the barren hills of a winter landscape were to be cherished, these colors were not natural; a plum-colored sky slashed with the brightest scarlet, molten copper, and aquamarine, which when it faded under the full light of day would still be the brightest blue of his recollection, seemed incredibly barbarous. Even the waters of this sea they sailed were unusually clear and bright, and warm, compared with the somber, unfriendly seas surrounding England.
Ah, England,
he sighed, and not for the first time since leaving those mist-enshrouded shores.

It was during most nostalgic part of Sir Basil’s melancholy reflections of home that a high-pitched giggle intruded along with a small velvet shoe that struck Sir Basil upon the shoulder, causing him more amazement than pain. “What the—“ he cried out, momentarily thinking the ship under attack by cannon fire from a Spanish galleon or a French corsair. “The devil!” he exclaimed in growing concern, for he suddenly realized that there had been no accompanying roar and flash of gunpowder; there had, however, been a giggle, and that he now remembered only too clearly.

Picking up the offending object from the deck, Sir Basil examined it, then glanced up into the rigging again, this time s
earching out with a keen eye wh
at he disbelievingly sought.

“Oh, ho! We’ve been spied!” Geoffrey Christian called out, his devil-may-care laugh having become only too familiar to Sir Basil during this voyage.

Although suspecting the worst, Sir Basil could scarcely believe his eyes. Far above him, in what seemed to be an endless crisscross of ropes, was the captain of the
Arion
, his nightdress-clad daughter clinging like a monkey to his shoulder as Geoffrey Christian sat astride a yardarm.

Sir Basil felt sick, which wasn’t unusual since he was not a good sailor, but this time it wasn’t because of the motion of the ship. Should Geoffrey Christian have lost his balance, Sir Basil did not even want to think of the tragic consequences of such a mishap. He prayed now that Lily Christian’s mother still slept peacefully below.

“Ah, Sir Basil, ‘tis a gloomy face you show to the world this fine day.” Geoffrey Christian called to the finely dressed gentleman standing in silent disapproval on the deck below. “Cheer up, then! All is not lost, for soon you will once again feel solid ground beneath your feet, Sir Basil. Hispaniola lies not too many leagues distant.”

Had England been the
Arion’s
next landfall, Sir Basil would have rejoiced of the sighting but the Spanish island of Hispaniola promised little pleasure for him. He feared that he was not the adventuring kind. Privately, he had to admit that he found it difficult to understand the desire to travel to far-away places, much less to venture into uncharted seas. In future, despite even the direst threats from his queen, he would leave the adventuring to the likes of Geoffrey Christian and to his own dear brother, Valentine, who actually seemed to enjoy the dangers of sea-roving.

“Ah! The sun comes, Sir Basil, and, unless I miss my guess, Mr. Saunders has prepared a most splendid feast for his captain and the stouthearted crew of this good ship,” Geoffrey Christian declared with a wide grin. Then, spying a figure moving quickly along the port rail below, he called out in his sternest voice, “And God pity the fool who has yet to finish his ale and biscuit and get on deck.”

“Aye, Cap’n, sir,” Master Randall, the bos’n, answered without hesitation as he hurried below, determined to light a fire beneath the sluggards before his captain found need to repeat his command.

“Do I get stewed apples and buttered eggs, Father?” Lily asked hopefully.

“At the very least, my child. And, perhaps, poached chicken and sweet potato pie. We might even be able to
find some sherry for Sir Basil,
“
Geoffrey Christian added, thinking Sir Basil was looking a bit green.

Sir Basil inclined his head in acknowledgment of Geoffrey Christian’s kind offer. He even managed a slight smile, for he was not completely humorless, and despite their disparate views on life, he had been a good friend of the
Arion’s
captain for many years. He had even stood witness to the marriage of Geoffrey Christian and
Doña Magdalena. And what a surprise that had been to the captain’s friends and family, although, now Basil thought about it, it shouldn’t have surprised any of Geoffrey Christian’s acquaintances, for he was a man who did as he damn well pleased.

Actually, it had been the taking of a bride at all that had been the surprising part of the affair, for they had all come to accept the fact that Geoffrey Christian would remain a bachelor until his dying day. Harwell Barclay, Geoffrey’s cousin, and next in line to inherit Highcross Court, had not taken the news of his cousin’s marriage at all well. It had been rumored at the time that he had taken to his bed for a week and had yet to forgive his cousin for his treachery in marrying—and a Spanish Papist at that.

Despite such stigma, Magdalena had managed to become a favorite at court and had a large circle of friends and admirers. The fact that Geoffrey Christian had always been a favorite of his queen, and had even managed to remain so after his marriage, had helped in Magdalena’s complete acceptance at court. She had often accompanied Sir Basil and his wife, Elspeth, to London, staying with them in their house in Canon Row, when Geoffrey was at sea. Magdalena and her daughter had even stayed with them at Whitewood for months at a time until his safe return.

At the thought of London and the court at Westminster and his queen, Sir Basil sighed again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he wondered with
y
et another sigh how it was he had ended up a passenger on board the
Arion
when she had set sail from Plymouth. After presenting his gifts to Her Majesty and enjoying the merrymaking and festivities so abundant in town, he had had every intention of spending Christmas through Twelfth Day in his own home, his feet stretched out before a roaring fire in the hearth of the great hall at Whiteswood, his wife and young son at his side.

However, it had been his incredible misfortune to have been in attendance to his queen the day that Geoffrey Christian had sought an audience with her. Sir Basil had always experienced a certain feeling of nervous trepidation when conversing with Her Grace, for Elizabeth was of a volatile nature, and one never know exactly what mood she might be in.

Her regal appearance humbled the most arrogant courtier and silenced the most glib-tongued. With red-gold hair elegantly coiffed in curls and draped with pearls and diamond, her dark eyes missing nothing, she swept into a room in a swirl of silk embroidered with gold and precious stones, her imperious commands ringing forth for all to hear and obey. She was quick-witted and short-tempered and spared none who displeased her, but with a simile of genuine warmth and affection she could just as quickly win the undying devotion of a recently admonished subject.

Geoffrey Christian’s request for permission to travel to the Indies, along with his wife and daughter, had been given careful consideration by Her Grace and by Sir William Cecil, secretary of state and Her Grace’s most trusted counselor. Francis Walsingham, one of Cecil’s proficient young protégés, had been summoned to join the discussion. It was a disquieting circumstance for Sir Basil. Walsingham, now ambassador to France, had set up an intricate spy system on the Continent. He was personally involved in the apprehension and subsequent question of plotters against the Crown. Sir Basil hadn’t even known Walsingham was in London, which, he supposed, gave indisputable evidence of the man’s capabilities of espionage.

Up until the moment it had actually happened, Sir Basil continued to hope that Walsingham had been called in solely to advise Her Grace on Geoffrey Christian’s voyage to the Indies. Walsingham was an avid supporter of such daring enterprises, having contributed heavily to many of the voyages of exploration into the Spanish Main—Francis Drake, Gilbert, and Frobisher, as well as Geoffrey Christian, having benefited from Walsingham’s sponsorship. Her Grace had previously invested in several of John Hawkin’s slave-trading voyages to the Spanish West Indies from Sierra Leone and had enjoyed a 60 percent share of the profits.

Sir Basil wished to heaven that he’d had the foresight to excuse himself before he heard
Willingham’s
extraordinary proposal of sending someone along on Geoffrey Christian’s next voyage. He must be one in whom Her Grace and Sir William had the greatest confidence, and one whom they could trust implicitly. He must be completely objective in his impressions and observations of the Spanish Main, and, of course, whatever information he might accidentally overhear concerning the treasure fleet, future expeditions in the lands north of the Indies, the location of gold and silver mines, and anything else which might be of interest to the Crown would be most appreciated.

“I believe that your wife’s brother-in-law, Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, is quite often seen leaving the Alcazar in Madrid,” Walsingham murmured thoughtfully, his eyes meeting Geoffrey Christian’s for a meaningful moment, and if Geoffrey Christian’s was surprised by Walsingham’s knowledge of his wife’s family, then he didn’t show it. “It might be worthwhile to learn what your Spanish brother-in-law is about. He may have spoken boastfully, perhaps indiscreetly, to your wife’s father. We must never lose an opportunity to learn. The information may prove useful on
e
day,” Walsingham said. “Sir Basil, you are fluent in many languages, including Spanish, I believe. And you and the captain are also longtime friends. Yes, that will serve quite nicely. And
Doña
Magdalena is a favorite of—“

“—of mine, Master Spy, and I know where your mind leads you and I want to hear none of it. Enough of treachery and deceit! They plague my very footsteps in my own palace,” Elizabeth raged. “I am giving Geoffrey Christian license to journey to the Indies because I do not wish to have anyone’s death on my conscience. Whatever else may come of this voyage is incidental,” she proclaimed with a reproachful look at Walsingham. “However, if Sir Basil is determined to travel with his good friend, which is most commendable, then he might as well carry my personal good wishes to
Doña Magdalena’s family. And I certainly shall not turn a deaf ear to Sir Basil’s report when he returns,” she assured a stunned Sir Basil.

When all eyes turned to him, Sir Basil felt himself growing pale, especially when Geoffrey Christian’s laugh rang out when he fully understood his Queen’s tactics.

“ ‘Sdeath! ‘Tis about time you saw some of the world you’ve only been reading about until now, Sir Basil,” Geoffrey Christian declared much to Her Grace’s amusement, for Sir Basil Whitelaw was considered to be quite the scholarly gentleman, having taken a degree at Cambridge and studied law at Gray’s Inn.

“Well, I—“ Sir Basil began, a blush of painful embarrassment appearing on his pale cheeks as he sought the proper words of refusal. He was slow to realize that he had been expertly outmaneuvered by Walsingham and the queen, who knew exactly what she was about.

“We cannot always choose how we would wish to spend out time, Sir Basil. God knows I fear the truth of that, but too often the best purpose is served when we put our personal wants aside,” Elizabeth said quietly, earnestly, as if talking to a child.

Sir Basil felt shamed and quickly spoke to reassure his queen of his loyalty, and unthinkingly so in his haste. “I would serve Your Grace through an eternity in Hell.”

“By my faith! ‘Tis where my enemies, especially His Most Catholic Majesty, would see me soon enough. Daughter of the Devil indeed!” she laughed, apparently finding more humor in Sir Basil’s unfortunate remark then had either Cecil or Walsingham, both of whom remained unsmiling.

“Good sir. You need not go that far on my behalf, only as far as the Indies,” shed added,
her black eyes twinkling with mirth
, and this time even Walsingham had to smile slightly.

Geoffrey Christian, his laughter abating, couldn’t help but feel sorry for poor Basil. He was such a sincere yet serious fellow that he never quite knew how to react to Her Grace’s jesting.