"Aye," she said, "and we still have peace."
He laughed. He laughed as if he were truly amused. And then he said, "You believe that. It is what makes your deception so marvelous, your strategy so vastly annoying to a man like Philip."
But the hazards ahead loomed very large to her again. And the length of the voyage. "It will take you two years to round the world?"
"Because I would explore, Madam." On the table in front of her lay a parchment. She picked it up.
"Ah, well," she sighed," I like the men about me, but somehow I like better the men who will not stay about me. Captain, here is your commission."
The parchment would hardly protect him. If he were made prisoner, he'd be hanged for piracy. But that did not make the fact of the commission any less important. He rose.
"I'll bring this back to you," he said.
The Queen's eyes were ironic.
"You named your ship Desire?"
"Aye, Madam."
She held out her hand. His strong brown fingers took hers tightly
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and firmly. She was suddenly sure that if he lost his life for her, she would avenge it.
"Who strikes at you, Cavendish" she said, "strikes at us!"
His fingers left hers.
"God go with you," she said softly.
The audience was over. He went to the door; it closed behind him. In her chair she sat for a moment; her stomach ached painfully, and she leaned her head back against the hard wood. Her face was drained of all expression. She was mother to a country, and under her hands it was burgeoning forth; under her woman's fingers it was knowing a flowering of its arts; it was ripening, big with increase. And from its island shores, its ships set sail. Set sail—and caused her fear. In her chair she sat unmoving while outside dusk fell, summer dusk, sweet and sweet smelling.
In the courtyard of the palace three men waited. Cavendish, emerging, saw each face, and the figure of his groom. Cavendish absently laid his hand on the neck of his favorite horse. He spoke first to George Carey.
"I have another errand, George," he said.
"You do, Tom?" Sir George Carey asked.
"Aye, I'll be two hours or so."
"I'll wait," Carey said, sending a sidelong glance at his companion.
Cavendish turned his attention to the other man. "I thought you were at Trimley, David," he said.
David Cavendish had obviously been waiting for his older brother to speak to him, but now that he had, David replied instantly, "I didn't stay home, Tom."
Cavendish said one word. "Why?"
"Suffolk is dull," David said with easy defiance. Then he stopped. Both men were waiting for him; the groom was listening. David said, "Tom, I decided to see you again! I wanted to speak with you. I want to go with you."
"Now?" Cavendish said.
"Not now," David said. "I want to sail with you."
"No," said Cavendish. "Impossible, David. I want you to stay at home. At Trimley. I've told you many times you must learn to manage the estates." The last sentence he added as though to explain his refusal.
"That's a most inadequate reason," David said.
Cavendish was already in the saddle. He looked down at his
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brother and Sir George Carey. "Good-bye, David. I'll see you later, George."
He wheeled his horse and David and Carey watched him go. The groom followed hastily. They disappeared into a London street.
Cavendish's progress through the city was not unobserved. His great roan was a familiar sight, so was he and the scarlet sea cap perched on his dark head. The city of London knew he was leaving soon; they knew that in Plymouth harbor three ships, new built, formed the small fleet he would command and that those sturdy English ships would soon set sail. London had caught the fever of her seamen; islanders, too, they harkened to the restless seas.
Men called to him as he galloped past. They waved their caps at his retreating figure. They had seen him on Fleet Street, dressed in his heavy breeches and the seaman's leather jacket; they had seen him dressed finely at the theatres; they had seen him in the lowest of waterfront taverns, and the more he caroused ashore the more headlong a devotion they gave him.
He reined in opposite a stone mansion of imposing size, a mansion built with Spanish gold. He dismounted, and he stood for a moment, his hands still on the reins.
"Good-bye, boy," he said.
His groom stood waiting, while the Captain bid farewell to his favorite horse. Then he was handed the reins.
Cavendish said, "Sir Francis has offered you lodging for the night. In the morning you ride for Suffolk. Have that hired nag ready for me in two hours."
"Aye, sir," said the groom, a bit wistfully. The Captain was leaving soon; the hours were passing fast.
The men who had gathered on the street to watch and hear were close.
"Good luck!" one called. "Good luck, Captain!"
Cavendish raised his hand to acknowledge the greeting.
"St. George for England!" another man shouted, just as a girl slipped through them and ran, long blond hair flying, to the stone steps Cavendish was mounting. He turned.
She looked up from the bottom of the steps, poised like a statue.
"D'ye remember me?" she asked breathlessly.
Cavendish swept off his cap and bowed. He grinned. "Your servant, mistress," he said, and was about to turn away when he swung around again, a coin in his fingers.
"Dolly," he called, and she nodded vigorously, curls dancing.
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He laughed down at her and tossed the coin. It glittered, and as he went in the now open doors, she whirled and held it up for the men to see.
"Gold!" she cried.
"Jesu, what he spends," one man said proudly, staring toward the house. But the big doors were closed now; the wench was walking away with the gold clutched tight.
Inside the house, Cavendish was grasping his host's big hand.
""Hungry?" Sir Francis Drake asked genially.
~ u l wanted badly to see you before I sailed," Cavendish declared.
Drake, just returned from another voyage to the Indies, released Cavendish's hand. He was short and stocky. Across his ruddy cheek a jagged scar gave evidence of his profession, and he limped a trifle from a bullet wound in his right calf.
Cavendish followed him into a long paneled dining room. Drake walked over and closed the near window. Cavendish smiled.
"Are you afraid the Spanish may be listening?" he asked. He sat down, stretching his legs out comfortably. Then he yawned and rubbed his chin with his brown hand.
Drake sat down at right angles to him, and lifted the already filled tankard.
"Your health, sir," Drake said.
"Yours," said Cavendish. He drank slowly; he set the tankard down empty. Then he yawned again, deeply.
"Sleepy?" asked Drake. "Been whoring again as usual, Cavendish?"
Cavendish laughed. "I rode all night," he said. "Captain Havers sent his regards, sir."
"Where did you meet Havers?" Drake asked.
"Christ's College, Cambridge."
"Could they stomach you there?"
Cavendish said solemnly, "I stayed but two years." He was laying a chart out on the table, when Drake suddenly let forth a stentorian bellow and banged his tankard on the table.
The door flew open. As two servants entered, Drake quickly rolled up the chart. The servants brought trenchers of beef and cheese and bread, and two smoking chicken pies. Then the door closed behind them, and Drake unrolled the chart again.
Cavendish had kept his eyes on the servants, rather to their discomfiture. "You don't trust them, Drake?" he asked.
"I trust no one," Drake said. "These are Magellanic charts."
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"From Portugal," Cavendish said. "But as for secrecy—I have been followed a deal lately. In Madrid they know I'm sailing."