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Carey laughed when he saw him. Cavendish sat down and slid his long legs under the table.

"How much did you give her, Tom?" he asked lazily.

"Fifty pieces of gold," Cavendish said. He banged on the table for the landlord.

"Jesu," Carey said, "you'll spoil all the whores in London. But I doubt if Mistress Howard has been paid in gold before; she's not a bad wench."

"She remonstrated a little," Cavendish said, remembering. "I told her to take the gold."

"You drip with wealth," Harington said.

They questioned him about the voyage. As usual, he answered their questions briefly. He ate and drank; later he settled down to gamble, and he won enough to pay for his night's pleasures. At five in the morning he sleepily let Cosmos help him undress, and he rolled into bed pleasantly drunk. Yet an uneasiness held him awake long after he should have been asleep.

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The next day he bought a house. The town house of the Earl of Shrewsbury. It was near the Globe Theatre and near the Bear Gardens. Its grounds sloped down to the river. Then he took Catherine's picture to be framed.

Two busy weeks passed. He rented a warehouse on Fleet Street to store the spices and merchandise he had for sale to the merchants of London and Europe. A crew of workmen swarmed over his new house, redecorating the long second-floor gallery that would be used for entertainment; on the study walls they put up the painted leather panels that David had shown Catherine. The house had been unused; the chimneys were swept, the larders stocked, and a new wine cellar relined with shelves.

The stables were newly painted; a new carriage was ordered, and he spent three days in the purchasing of fine horseflesh. He spent one long afternoon closeted with the Queen. But in these two weeks, no word, no letter, no courier came from Catherine.

Her portrait hung over the mantel of the fireplace in his bedroom. The painted green eyes looked down at him; from the wall, her warm red mouth smiled at him tantalizingly, and the shining hair gleamed. But she did not come. He had given her enough gold and jewels to keep her wealthy for the rest of her life; she didn't need to come. And besides that, he thought bitterly, there were only too many men who would be glad to heap more wealth on her.

The first day of October dawned. That day, when he walked into the room, he didn't look up at the picture. Cosmos was in his room, and Cosmos was pale with excitement. He was staring at himself in the mirror; his livery was made of velvet, his buttons real gold. He was going to Court.

He turned hastily as Cavendish came into the room.

"Admiring yourself?" Cavendish asked.

"Aye, sir," said Cosmos, truthfully.

Cavendish laughed.

Cosmos studied his master's appearance. He was fully satisfied. "I am a good barber," he said.

"Jesu, you are becoming vain," Cavendish said.

"Thank you, sir," said Cosmos, happily.

Cavendish put into his hands a carved ivory box. Cosmos held it in sweaty hands. He followed Cavendish again, out of the house, into the carriage.

The city was familiar to Cosmos by now, but he still liked to sit up front and absorb the stares of Londoners who had never seen a Japa-

266

nese before. Cosmos was proud of being a celebrity in this alien land.

The coach drew to a .stop. Cosmos hopped down, and opened the door. Cavendish stepped out, and Cosmos fell into step behind him. After him came the three Filipinos, dressed alike in white satin.

As they approached the throne room, Cosmos heard the subdued murmur of voices. He came to a stop outside some huge double doors which were flung open. Cosmos stared at the halberdiers, who looked down at him from under their helmets with interest. They didn't speak, and Cosmos saw his master go ahead of him.

Cavendish stood in the big doors for only a second. He paused between the two guards at the door. Fifty feet away from him sat the Queen.

There were a great many people in the room. Cavendish saw the French ambassador, with his wife and daughters. There was Don Antonio, exiled King of Portugal. Cavendish's mind went back to Java and the two Portuguese who had been so glad to know their King was safe in England. Cavendish saw other faces, some familiar, some not familiar, and ahead of him was the Queen. Her ladies were grouped around her, and he started forward, down the narrow carpet that covered the path to the throne.

He walked swiftly through the hushed room, and knelt at her feet.

"Your Majesty," he said.

Behind her, tall candles burned in wrought iron holders. She rose to her feet. She was still tall, only a little bent, and she drew herself to her fullest height. This was her kingdom, and she, its Queen and mother. It was her power, her gift, to draw men to her like the one before her now. To him she was more than woman, perhaps a goddess, at the least a Queen. This England that she ruled sent her without stint its bravest men; for her they labored, and she turned their services into great returns for the nation that bred them. Here were romance and practicality thrust together, to raise England high, to wrest the power of the seas from Spain, to place it on a green island whose ships already circled the globe.

The power of Spain was partly broken. More battles there would be, but now, at this moment, she was sure that she had won, and that it was England that would go forward, and Spain that would wane, slowly, like a dying candle, sputtering annoyingly and flaring up briefly—but dying at the last.

Lord Hunsdon, to the left of the throne, stepped forward slightly.

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Elizabeth noticed him, and she knew he was going to speak. With a gesture of her hand she cut him short.

She had spoken to Cavendish before, in private. She had seen the charts, the map of China; she had heard the tales of incredible wealth, of rich islands; she had listened long as Cavendish had recounted to her his adventures and the sights he saw. She had seen his notes, and she had heard him end by saying, with a downward twist of the mobile mouth, "With a little force, you may take spoil of them all."

"But you believe in trade?" she had asked, reminding him.

"Aye, but with a little force—"

She had talked with him thus in private. Today, this was display. She liked it. So did he; so did the crowded Court; so did the people who would hear of it and tell it over among themselves. Today she was not a harassed woman, finding the conscience, the will, the time to do what she must do; today she was the Queen, dramatic, lovely, and buttressed by this pageantry.

She was looking down at Cavendish's dark and gray head. Softness filled her face, restoring youth to it, giving it a quickened loveliness that had been hers once, and like a miracle returned to her when emotion moved her.

"Your sword," she said. She held out her hand.

Surprised as he was, he acted instantly. He drew the narrow blade, fashioned in Toledo. Elizabeth knew, as she took it in her hand, it had been stolen from the Spanish. Her quick humor was pleased.

The candlelight winked along the length of steel, as she touched his shoulder with it. She leaned over, she was very near him, and regardless of stares, she laid her hand on the dark head for just a moment. Then she reversed the blade and handed it back to him.

Cavendish heard her bid him rise. He stood, now he looked down at her, and he sheathed the weapon.

"Your arm, please," she said.

She placed her hand on his arm, and she seated herself. One of her ladies nearest her moved aside a little, so that Cavendish could stand beside her. At this moment Cosmos appeared in the big doors, a small figure.

"Your Majesty," Cavendish said. "Cosmos is Japanese, taken from King Philip's treasure ship. He would wish to present you with a token of our esteem. And the three behind him are Filipinos."