He and Fuller went over the side, one after the other. Ashore they parted, and Cavendish handed Cosmos the portrait and the papers the shipbuilder had given him. Cosmos was in the coach; he decided to ride up front so that he could see better. He opened the door for Cavendish.
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Cavendish shook his head. "I'm going to ride," he said, and he swung up into the saddle.
The carts had gone ahead. The carts with all his personal belongings, and his share of the spices and the cloth; only the heavy sea chests with the fortune in jewelry and gold, and his commissions, traveled with the coach. And there were the three Filipinos, and Cosmos. The Mayor of Plymouth had proudly provided an armed escort.
Cavendish set the pace. He rode ahead. The riders and the coach left Plymouth behind. . . .
They reached London forty-eight hours later. Cosmos was still riding up front. Cavendish galloped ahead, and London was ready to greet him. Cosmos had never seen anything like this before in his life.
For hours he had been watching the city come closer. He was shaken with riding, and the pounding of hoofs sang in his ears. And then, suddenly the city had swallowed them up; its inhabitants almost stopped the coach, and stopped the Captain. They clung to his saddle and the stirrups; they swarmed over the coach, and pushed the mailed riders aside with high good humor. They yelled and shouted, and leaned out of the high windows, and they threw flowers.
The women were as many as the men. They said all manner of things to Cavendish which Cosmos did not understand. Their voices were high with excitement as London welcomed her returning hero.
The coach barely moved. All the way up Ludgate Hill, the coachmen struggled against a sea of humans, and Cosmos was breathless with excitement too, his almond eyes darting this way and that, to be sure not to miss anything of the buildings, of the houses, the gardens, the bridges. Wonderful bridges, and a great silver river where ships were anchored and river craft plied.
Tyler was riding at the head of the coach. His face was covered with smiles. The three Filipinos hung out of the coach windows, a little terrified, but not too terrified to look, round-eyed, at this English city which had certainly gone mad. And, ahead, Cavendish rode, trying to answer the questions hurled at him, trying to keep from riding down the men and women who flung themselves at his horse.
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His scarlet seacap was perched on the side of his head. He wore Spanish mail, pure gold, and polished Cordovan boots with gold spurs, and heavy fringed riding gauntlets. One woman seized the bridle of his horse. When he tried to release her fingers, she snatched for the glove. He let her pull it off, and she waved her prize proudly.
The Cock and Pheasant was just ahead. The coach stopped. Tyler pushed his way to Cavendish's side, and took his Captain's horse. Cavendish grinned at him.
"We're home, Tyler," he said. "We're home."
Chapter XXXVIII
The cock and pheasant was crowded, it swarmed with court gallants, waiting to see their Cavendish. The landlord was very proud and a bit apprehensive. They sat on tables; they were gambling with dice and cards; they were drinking. When Cavendish appeared, they milled about him, excitedly, and they all talked at once.
Cavendish pushed them aside and sat down at one table. Sir George Carey was at his side. Sir John Harington had arrived; he was allowed a place at the table. Gradually the room settled down again, and again the dice rolled. The landlord served dinner, and the wines flowed.
Cavendish was drinking ale.
"Where in God's name have you been, Tom?" Carey asked. "I was going to ride down to Plymouth if you hadn't come today."
Cavendish said, "The Admiralty Court was dividing the spoils, George."
"What did you do in Plymouth?"
"Nothing," said Cavendish. "I stayed aboard most of the time."
"You stayed aboard?" Carey grinned. "I heard that, but I didn't credit it."
Cavendish said sharply, "It was true."
"I know a wench who would be charmed to know you."
"I believe he means that biblically," Harington put in.
Cavendish laughed. "I'll choose my own wench," he said. Suddenly he added, "I have picked her."
"This wench is—" Carey made a gesture.
"No, thank you," Cavendish said, applying himself to his food. No wenches—while he still cherished a vision. There was yet time. He thought of Carey's certain admiration when he saw her. "I've picked out a lady," he repeated.
Carey nudged Harington. Harington winked. The conversation went on Then the landlord came up.
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"Captain," he said, timidly.
Cavendish looked up, frowning.
"Captain, there is a lady to see you."
Cavendish jumped to his feet. He was conscious of the pounding of his heart. "Where did you put her?" he asked, intently glancing around the crowded room. "In my rooms?"
"Aye, sir," the landlord said, wondering if he had done right or whether a tempest would be loosed on his head.
"Thank God," Cavendish said. He didn't bother to excuse himself. He pushed out of the room, and ran up the narrow stairs. He ran down the crooked corridor. He flung open the door of his own room. He stopped short.
His hands clenched. He stood tall in the doorway.
"Who are you?" he asked. He stared at the curved figure, veiled heavily. Anger filled him. He came to the center of his room; he had left the door open.
"Leave," he said.
"Then I shan't win my wager," she replied. The voice was low and tentative.
He was unappeased. "D'ye want me to use force?" he asked.
"Would you?" she said. But she was a little afraid of him.
"I would," he answered. "And I shall."
She moved toward him slowly. He smelled faint perfume.
"You're costing me twenty pounds," she said.
"Twenty pounds?"
Her voice had a hint of laughter in it now. She was daring enough, to come here.
"You have so much gold, Captain," she said, "you could at least pay my gambling debts."
She was passing in front of him, toward the door. Her veil, artfully arranged, did not conceal the generous curve of her breasts above the low-cut black dress.
"A moment," he said, reaching out his hand. He tried to see through the veil. He couldn't.
"Remove your veil," he said.
"Ah, no," she said.
"I'm used to 'aye, aye, sir'."
"I might disappoint you. You expected another. Did you not, Captain?"
"No!" he said. He shut the door. It banged sharply.
"You lie," she said. "You expected someone. I am sorry."
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"Take the veil off. I cannot buy a pig in a poke."
She was very lovely, so she removed the veil. He had never seen her before. He took the cloak from her shoulders and surveyed her. His experience marked her as submissive and lustful and generous.
"Carey brought you," he said.
"True, Captain. We had a wager. Whom were you expecting?"
"No one," he said. He moved toward her. "I've been a foolish man, mistress."
"I came as a jest only, Captain," she said, and she laughed, her teeth sparkling white. "Call Carey."
"The devil I will," Cavendish said.
"Oh," she said, "but you must."
"Must? Who are you?"
"Martha Howard."
He knew her, then. She was one of the sprawling Howard family; her sister had been one of his mistresses; they were long on love and short on virtue. He drew her into his arms, slid one hand down her body. She did not resist. She was made for love; he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the big bed.
Five hours later he sent her home in his coach with Tyler—the richer by fifty pieces of gold. He felt only a trifle guilty. He dismissed her from his mind and went downstairs to join Carey and Harington.