The Lion Triumphant (50 page)

“He did, but that was long ago. Others would have taken your inheritance by now.”

“But I would be of their family. They would receive me.”

“Roberto, how could we get you to Spain?”

“I must get away from England. I am wanted and Walsingham will never let me go free. I shall be taken as Babington was…”

There was stark horror in his face and reflected in his eyes I seemed to see that fearsome plot of land near Holborn with the scaffold and Ballard and Babington undergoing excruciating torture.

Not for Roberto, I thought. Not the little boy who had lain in my arms, who had given such joy to Felipe and brought us together.

What a cruel world, where men could do such things to men. Not my son. I would do anything but allow that to happen.

I must save him. I must find some means of getting him out of the country. Who would help me? Carlos? Jacko? Jake? How ironical. If I said: Roberto is here. He is involved in plots, he must escape, what would they do, these haters of Spaniards? At best they would draw their swords and run him through; more likely they would hand him over to those who sought him that he might die the dreaded traitor’s death.

I said: “I must have time to think. I must find some way. One thing is certain. You cannot stay here long. I must find another hiding place for you.”

“Madre, you must not be involved. They call those traitors who give aid to Catholics.”

“They can call me what they will. I shall guard my own son. I will leave you now. When I am gone you must lock the door and open it for no one but me. Eat the food I have brought. You must not grow weak and I see you are already.”

“I have walked far, Madre.”

“Eat and rest and I will come back.” I went to the door. “Lock it when I am gone and open for no one. Remember, it is most unsafe for you to remain here.”

I had opened the door and horror overwhelmed me.

Jake was standing there.

“Indeed it is most unsafe,” he said, “for traitors to hide on my lands.”

He came into the hut and shut the door. I felt as though I would faint and leaned against the stone wall for support.

“So,” said Jake, and never had I seen his eyes so brilliant, his mouth so cruel. “You are running from the law? You are a fool as well as a traitor to come here.”

He towered above Roberto. He seized him by the shoulder and shook him. His hand was on his sword.

I ran forward and gripped his arm; I hung onto it with all my strength. Jake looked down at me, his mouth hard as it could only be for Spaniards.

“Jake,” I pleaded. “For God’s sake. This is my son.”

“Your Spanish bastard,” he said.

His sword was out. I saw the gleaming steel. I tried to thrust myself between him and Roberto.

Jake pushed me aside. He put the point at Roberto’s throat.

“So you have come here, you dog.”

Roberto did not answer. He stood very still, his face white, his Spanish dignity never more apparent. I was praying incoherently, not to the God of the Protestants or the Catholics but to the God of love. Save my son. Let him live. Whatever happens to me now let him live. Let him escape to a good life. If I never see him again I care not, if he can live and be happy.

“Jake,” I cried. “Jake … I am begging you…”

Jake hesitated. It was miraculous that he should sheathe his sword.

“You left your lodging,” he said. “You are wanted. They will take you. It’s the traitor’s death for you. But you come down here. You would smear your traitorous slime on your mother. You would have her suspected of sharing in your evil crimes. If that were so even I could not save her. Do you know that, you coward?”

“I would not involve her. I would swear that she has never shared in my schemes. I would say she did not know I was here.”

“Be silent.” Jake was rocking on, his heels, thinking deeply.

He took the key from the hook.

“You will stay here,” he said.

And to me: “Come, Cat. Leave him.”

He pulled me out and locked the hut.

I said: “What are you going to do, Jake?”

“You will see,” he said.

I knew that he meant he would keep him a prisoner until he could hand him over to those who would bring him to trial and sentence him to the traitor’s death.

I do not know how I lived through that day. I could not think what I should do.

Jake was grim and silent, making plans, I knew. I asked myself whether Roberto would attempt to escape. If he did he could not get far. He was exhausted. Could he manage even to climb up to the small window, break it and jump through? He was not in the same condition that he had been in when Manuela and I had sheltered him before.

Jake was vengeful; he knew no gentle feelings. He would have killed him on the spot had I not been there. At least he had not wished to do so in my presence.

He went away and I stayed in my room. I dared not go to the hut for fear of what I would find there.

All day long I waited for something to happen. I kept thinking I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs—men come to take Roberto away. Five minutes was like an hour that day, one hour like twenty-four. I felt sick and ill; I could not get out of my mind the terrible picture of men’s suffering on the scaffold. This must not happen to Roberto … not to my son, the little boy of whom we had been so proud, Felipe and I.

Jake returned home in the late afternoon. He came to our bedroom.

“Jake,” I cried, “what are you doing?”

“What would you expect me to do?”

“You are giving him up?”

“He is still in the hut. He’s trussed up so that he can’t move and I have the key.”

“I beg of you Jake … I have never begged for anything from you yet but I do now … let him go. Please, Jake, if you will but do this…”

“What will you do?”

“I shall hate you forevermore if you harm my son.”

“You have talked so much of hating me over the years.”

“That was mock hatred. This will be real. If you harm Roberto…”

“You are dramatic. This is a traitor. Do you understand that, Cat? Very soon we shall be fighting for our lives against men such as your bastard Roberto. The Spaniards are preparing to come here … to force their evil doctrines on us, to set up the Inquisition in this land. Do you know what that means?”

“I do … I know that very well. I hate it. I would fight with all my strength and will against it.”

“Then you are with us, Cat, and those who are with us cannot allow those who are against us to escape … no matter who they are.”

“Let him go, Jake. Help him. You could. You could give him a horse. He could ride far into Cornwall. He could live there in peace.”

“Live in peace! Would he ever do that? He’d be trying to set up idols wherever he was.”

“Jake, Jake, I beg of you.”

There was silence.

He went out and left me. He went far, I knew, for when he came back his horse was exhausted.

Night came. I did not rest. I sat silent in my chair and wept.

Jake lay in bed, sleeping, or pretending to. He awoke and I was still sitting in the chair.

He came to me then and lifted me up and carried me to bed.

He held me in his arms.

“You’ll make yourself ill,” he said tenderly.

I did not reply. I knew words were useless now. He had made up his mind. I sensed the purpose in him.

I slept at last, worn out by my emotions.

It was daylight when I awoke and Jake had gone.

I thought I would go to the hut, but Jake had warned me so firmly not to that I did not go. I must wait in any case until I knew what I could do.

There must be something. “Please, God,” I prayed, “tell me what I can do. Help me to save my son.”

All morning I did not see Jake.

Jennet came. She was full of chatter.

“Look, Mistress, the
Golden Fleece
be ready to sail. They say she be going on the tide.”

I did not want to listen. I was thinking: Roberto, what can I do to save you?

I was afraid that Jennet was going to say that someone had been to the hut, but she did not mention it. She was full of the unexpected departure of the
Golden Fleece.
She had known a sailor who was one of the crew.

I sharply told her to be silent. I was in no mood to ponder on Jennet’s emotional entanglements. If she had lost her sailor on the
Golden Fleece
she would soon replace him.

Jake came in in the afternoon.

He said he wanted to speak with me and we went to our bedroom.

“They are on their way,” he said.

“You mean you have warned them?”

“No. I did not warn them. They were after him. All the suspected traitors are being hunted out. Your son is one of them. He is a fool. He should never have come here. The first place in which they will look for him is his old home.”

“Oh, God, they will find him here.”

“They will search the place.”

“They will go to the hut.” I covered my face with my hands. As I did so I heard the commotion in the courtyard.

Jake had raised me to my feet; he had taken me to the window.

“Look out,” he said. “Do you see the
Golden Fleece?
She has shipped her anchor. She is about to sail on the tide. There’s a fair wind. It will carry her far before nightfall.”

I did not look.

I shook my head wearying, seeing Roberto cowering in the hut, trussed by Jake ready for his captors.

“I am a good patriot,” he said. “All know it. I have helped to hound the Spaniards off the sea. Everyone knows I would not harbor a traitor in my household.”

“You will be safe,” I said fiercely.

“And I’ll vouch for my wife,” he answered.

“You taunt me … at such a time.”

“Nay,” he said. “You will not look at the
Fleece.
Shall I tell you what cargo she carries?”

“I am not interested in her cargo.”

“Not when it is your son, Roberto.”

I stared at him. “Jake! What means this? You…”

He lifted his arm and clenched his fist. “He’s a traitor. I never thought I’d help a traitor. But when my vixen of a wife commands me.

I lay against him.

Then I looked up into his face. “Oh, Jake, is it true? You are not tormenting me?”

“They’ll go to the hut. The bird has flown. Or been spirited away. I took him out to the
Fleece
early this morning.”

What could I say to this man? How could I ever show him what I felt?

I took his hand and kissed it. I think he was moved.

Then I heard the rapping at the door.

T
HE LAND WAS HEAVY
with foreboding. We knew that the Spaniards were coming. We knew that they had conquered a great part of the world; we knew, too, that they came, not only with fighting men and armament, but with the rack, the thumbscrews and the more deadly instruments of torture such as we had never heard of. They came not only as conquerors of our land but as religious fanatics. If ever they conquered us as they had other peoples, this would be the end to freedom as we knew it. We should be forced to accept not only them but their faith.

To men such as Jake, Carlos, Jacko, Penn, it was inconceivable that we should fail.
Their
faith was in England, the undefeatable land.

Men might talk of the Invincible Armada but we laughed that to scorn.
We
were the invincible, the unconquerable.

The memory of that Whitsunday will linger forever in the minds of those who went to church that morning. It was more than a Whitsunday service; it was a dedication; it was an exhortation; for in the Bay lay the great ships waiting. And never had the people of Plymouth seen such a glorious sight.

We came down from Pennlyon—Jake and I with Carlos and Edwina, Jacko, Penn, Linnet and Damask. The sun was dancing in the water and in the little streets people were hurrying from their houses to come to the church to see Sir Francis. For he was there: the great sailor, the terror of the Spaniards and the hero of all the Queen’s loyal subjects.

We knew that soon the greatest battle in our country’s history would be fought. Those of us who were sober-minded reminded ourselves that our future could depend on it. Already the Spaniards were preparing to sail.

Out in the Bay lay the ships flying the flag of England—a red cross on a white background. The wind was strong and the ships seemed to be pulling at their anchors, impatient to be away. There lay Drake’s own ship, the
Revenge,
Howard of Effingham’s
Ark,
Martin Frobisher’s
White Bear
and
Triumph.
There were the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
and
Nonpareil.
A wonderful sight. Jake had given his services to Lord Howard and Sir Francis. Carlos and Jacko had done the same.

They would never have forgiven themselves if they had not been at hand to sail out and fight the Armada when the time came.

And as I sat in the church on that Sunday I asked myself what would the next days bring.

The
Golden Fleece
had not yet returned. I wondered often whether she had been taken by the Spaniards. If so, Roberto might well have been saved. He might be living with his father’s family in Spain. Was that too much to hope for? Who could say? But it was not so very long ago since he had sailed away; perhaps the
Fleece
would return bringing him with her. And if he did, could he settle down to a peaceful life?

The Queen of Scots, deeply implicated in the Babington Plot, had the previous year been beheaded in Fotheringhay Castle, and if we could beat the Armada we might be free of menace from outside England and from within. Could we hope for a few peaceful years?

I had told Linnet of Roberto’s escape. I confided in her more and more. She was now eighteen years old—a lovely, spirited girl. She was like us both—Jake and myself. I had stressed, too, how Jake had saved Roberto by sending him off in the
Golden Fleece
which was a noble act on his part, for she would realize his firm convictions.

“He did this for me,” I said. “It is something I shall never forget.”

Linnet with the emotional impulsiveness of the young changed toward him. She began to see him in a new light. The rough and violent man whose heart was good nonetheless. She no longer scorned him; and it was another revelation to notice that Jake was almost pathetically pleased by her change toward him.