"I desire Your Honor to make known to Her Majesty the desire I have had to do Her Majesty's service in the performance of this voyage." That was commonplace enough. He was satisfied with that opening sentence. He dipped his pen.
"It has pleased God to suffer me to encompass the entire globe, in which voyage I have either discovered, or brought intelligence of, the rich places of the world. I navigated along the coast of Chili, Peru, and New Spain, where I made great spoils. I burnt or sank nineteen great ships." He frowned. Should he try to include all the lesser craft? His lock of hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed it back. There was a knock on the door.
He looked up and told Tyler to come in. Tyler did so; his face openly excited. "You wished to see me, sir?" he asked.
Cavendish said, "I did, Tyler. Would you like to carry this letter to London for me, tonight?"
Tyler's face broke into smiles. "I would, sir," he said.
Cavendish grinned. "Tyler," he asked, without preamble, "would you wish to stay on with me, ashore?"
Tyler was taken aback. He fumbled with his hands. "I would, sir," he said, low. "Thank you, sir." He paused, looking at his Captain. "Thank you, sir," he said, his eyes shining.
Cavendish reached into his table and brought out a heavy bag of
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gold. He tossed it onto the table. "Take this with you, then. In London, after you've delivered this letter to Lord Hunsdon, go to the Cock and Pheasant, on Ludgate Hill, and get rooms for me. I'll bring Cosmos, and Anthony de Dasi and his brothers."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Tyler, happily.
Cavendish picked up his pen, and Tyler went to the door.
"Be ready to go in thirty minutes," Cavendish added.
"Aye, sir," said Tyler. He closed the door, and Cavendish read over what he had written. He could hear plainly the noise of voices and laughter from the Desire, and from the boats that already hovered about her. Sentences fell into his cabin.
"Did you bring gold? How does England look? We sank the Armada!" He shut out the clamor of welcoming voices and began to write again.
"The matter of most profit to me was a great ship of the King's that I took at California, which ship came from the Philippinas, being one of the richest in merchandise that ever passed those seas. Which goods and ship, I was forced to set afire, for my ship was not able to contain the least part of them."
His pen was dry. Two sentences covered the taking of the Santa Anna. Two sentences, and nothing of a woman was in them.
He started a new paragraph.
"The stateliness and the riches of the countries among which I navigated, I fear to make report of, lest I should not be credited, for if I had not known sufficiently the incomparable wealth of these islands, I should have been as incredulous as others will be—those who have not my experience. Our countrymen can trade freely at these ports, if they but will."
He smiled a bit as he wrote that, one eyebrow arching up. There was little more to say. He added a brief itinerary of his voyage and the course he had charted through the Southern Pacific. "I leave Your Lordship to the tuition of the Almighty," he ended. "From Plymouth this ninth day of September, 1588."
He sealed the letter and stamped it with the heavy ring that bore his crest. That much was done, and he could feel the restlessness, the old restlessness creeping in on him. He gave the letter to Tyler, and went out on deck.
Most of the crew had been given shore leave for tonight. Shore leave, and ten pieces of gold. No more. He watched them almost tenderly as they mustered on deck for Master Fuller's inspection. They wore, proudly, the wide trousers which marked them as the
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seafaring men they were. They wore heavy belts, with shining daggers, and jackets of all kinds and descriptions—most of them obviously Spanish.
"Jesu," Cavendish said to Pretty, as he watched them disembark for shore. "There will be fifty happy wenches in Plymouth tonight."
Pretty grinned. "Going ashore, sir?" he asked.
Cavendish hesitated. He stared at Plymouth. It had been ten months since he had left Catherine. If she were coming to him, she would be waiting for him now—in Plymouth. His hands clenched on the rail.
"No," he said, "I'll wait."
Chapter XXXVII
ON FRIDAY, CAVENDISH PAID OFF HIS CREW AND DISMISSED THEM. ONE by one they filed past him.
"If you have a return of that fever, let me know, Johnson," Cavendish said, as he paid the man.
"Aye, aye, sir," Johnson said, smiling. He picked up his heavy bag of gold.
"And don't lose all this tonight," Cavendish said to the next man.
The seaman grinned. "I'll not, sir. You'll be in London, Captain?"
"I shall."
"Good-bye, sir." He went. The line went on. It was over, the voyage. The hatches were wide, and out of them were hoisted now the heavy chests. Damask, gold, spices. .Wealth and money. Now he had them. And fame, too, although he was hardly aware of it, now.
Another crew was going to take the Desire into drydock. The first of Cavendish's money went into the pockets of the men who were going to fit her for the sea again. He left the Desire before the alien crew took her. In his own cabin, with Cosmos beside him, he stood for the last time. There was nothing in it now but a roll of canvas. Moon came in, with Pretty at his heels.
"Master Fuller says that the shipbuilder is here, sir," Moon said. Moon looked a little lost.
"I'm coming," Cavendish said.
"What's that, sir?" asked Moon.
"A portrait," Cavendish said. She had given it to him. She had painted it herself.
"Of the Senora Catherine?" Moon asked, guilelessly. "Lord, she was fair. I wonder where she is now? Probably she's been in Spain for months. Probably she's married, don't you believe sir? Lord, she was marvelously fair."
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Marvelously fair. . . . That she was—and suddenly the thought of her pierced him sharply; the longing he had so carefully tried to cover, was there, naked, within him.
Moon coughed and went on talking. "The carriage is here, from London, sir. And Tyler has brought your horse. I wish I could ride part way with you, sir, but I'm going home."
"I'll see you in London, Moon. I'm going to take a house there."
'Til come, sir, thank you," Moon said.
"You, too, Pretty," Cavendish said. "Where are you off for? Suffolk?"
"Aye, sir. Will you be at Trimley?"
Cavendish said slowly, "I don't know." He didn't know. How could he, with this sharp uncertainty lodged in him?
Pretty was suddenly silent. He looked down at his boots. Then he said, "I'm sorry, sir. I forgot about Master David."
Cavendish held out his hand. "I shall let you know when I'm in Suffolk," he said.
Pretty gripped his Captain's hand, hard. "Good-bye, sir," he said, and he turned away hastily, carrying his leather-bound journal.
Moon and Fuller came over to Cavendish. Another crew was boarding the Desire. Moon said, "I hate to see these other men swarm over her, sir!"
Cavendish laid his hand on the rail. He picked at it with his finger, and the blue paint chipped off in flakes. "She needs them, Moon," he said. "For her, she's a slow sailer, now. They'll take care of her."
Moon scrambled down the ladder. The gun ports were closed. "Good-bye, sir," he said.
Fuller said quietly, "The shipbuilder is in the fo'castle, sir. Wait. Here he comes."
A heavy-set man came walking toward them. To Cavendish he gave a bow. "I have the specifications, and the drawings, sir," he said. "I brought them to you."
Cavendish took the papers he held out. "I'll let you know. Soon. I'll be back in Plymouth in a month or so."