“For that alone she deserves to have her head cut off.”
“Mary’s point is that our Queen is the daughter of Anne Boleyn, whom the Catholics call a whore because they say she was never in truth King Henry’s wife, whereas Mary herself is descended legitimately through Henry’s sister.” I reminded him.
Jake threw me a warning glance. “You talk like a Papist.” He narrowed his eyes. “And let me tell you, I’ll have no Papist in this house. If I find any it will be the worse for them.”
I knew he was referring to Roberto, for he had been watchful of the boy. I trembled for my son, but I replied boldly: “I speak without religious bias. I merely state that this is the case.”
“Our Lady Elizabeth is Queen by right of inheritance, a true daughter of King Henry,” retorted Jake, “and we’ll fight for her. There is no Englishman worthy of the name who would not give his life for her—and keep the Papists from the land.”
We drank the Queen’s health—I as fervently as the others.
But I was uneasy. There would always be disquiet in the land I supposed. There would always be this conflict; and when I thought of the quiet determination and religious fervor of Felipe and those whom he commanded, and the might of the Spanish galleons, I feared the breaking out of a mighty conflagration.
In the night I awoke and Jake stirred beside me.
He said: “You know why I’ve sent for Girling?”
“He is going to command one of your ships, I doubt not.”
“Which ship think you?”
“That I cannot know.”
“The Rampant Lion.”
“Your ship?”
“Well, she is lying idle there in the Hoe.”
“I did not know that you allowed others to command her.”
“Nor have I till now.”
“But why so?”
“Need you ask? I have found a more desirable mistress than adventure. She is as unreliable as the sea, but by God, she can be whipped to sudden fury; she can be soft sometimes—though she tries to hide it. There are times when I am at the helm and she is as soft and gentle as any could wish—but I can never be sure of her.”
“Your fancies are beyond your imaginative powers to express. I should not attempt them if I were you.”
He laughed. “Know this. I am letting Girling take the Lion. It’s a short voyage. And when he comes back I shall go away. I would take you with me, Cat. You and the boy. But he’d be too small, wouldn’t he? Who knows what we might meet on the seas? Here’s a problem. If I leave you I shall dream every night, and in the day too, of Spaniards raiding the coast. If I take you with me… How could I take you with me?”
I said: “You will have to go as other men go.”
“What a reunion it’ll be when I come back. You’ll be on the shore waiting for me. No games, my love, while I’m away.”
“Do you imagine everyone is like you? I wonder how many games you will play on your voyage?”
“You must not be jealous, Cat. I am a man who must needs game. But there will only be one for whom I truly care and for her I would cast aside all others.”
“Do not deprive yourself,” I said. “Game all you wish.”
“Nay, you would be jealous, but we have to part in time. I am a sailor. For the first time I almost wish I were not. See how I love you. I love you so much that I give Girling command of my ship that I may stay with you.”
I was silent being moved by such a declaration. For the first time I felt a certain tenderness toward him.
Girling had sailed away. Poor Jake, he stood watching until she was out of sight—his love, his ship, his Rampant Lion.
He said: “It is like seeing another man with your woman.” He was moody for a day or so, wondering why he had allowed Girling to go in his place. He busied himself with the comings and goings of others of his ships, but there was only one Lion.
He would follow the voyage in his mind, studying charts and working out where the ship would be. He would say: “If the winds have been favorable, if she has not been becalmed, if she has not met up with any with whom it has been necessary to do battle she will be here.”
At times he wished he were with her. At others he was clearly delighted to be at home. In the midst of some of our battles he would say: “To think I gave up a lion for a shrew.”
But there were the moments of deep satisfaction. I began to be satisfied with my life. Was this again the serenity of pregnancy? Perhaps it was. My mother sent a messenger to me fairly frequently with letters.
“If only you were not so far away,” she mourned. “How I long to be with you at this time.”
My grandmother sent recipes and even concoctions she had prepared. After having been so far away we seemed moderately close now in spite of the miles which separated us.
The months began to pass. My child was due in February.
Jake was beside himself with glee. He visualized the sturdy son we should have. He continued to despise Roberto, but Carlos and Jacko never ceased to delight him. They were growing wilder and more untamable every day. They rode, went hunting with Jake and studied archery and fencing. They played truant from the tutor whom I had engaged to teach them, which amused Jake.
He had done it all before. Anything they did which reminded him of his own exploits was applauded and they knew this. My Roberto was clever in the classroom, a fact which made me rejoice, for it gave him this advantage at least. I kept him away from Jake as much as possible and often arranged that they did not come into contact for weeks at a time, a fact which pleased them both so it was not very difficult to maneuver.
“The boy should be here when the Lion returns,” said Jake. “We’ll call him Lion.”
“There is no such name,” I said.
“We’ll make one.”
“Would you saddle the boy with such a name? He will be laughed at throughout his life.”
“Much he’ll care.”
“As a compromise we’ll call him Penn after your father.”
Christmas came and with it the messenger from the Abbey bringing gifts but most welcome of all letters. Honey was happy at the Abbey. Edwina was well. “How peaceful it all is, Catharine,” she wrote. “Tenerife seems far away.”
And Luis? I wondered. Did Honey ever think of the two husbands who had been murdered—one before her eyes? I myself could not forget the sight of Felipe lying in his blood, slain by the man who was my second husband. I missed his courtesy; sometimes I found myself comparing Jake with him.
We lived in violent times and life was cheap. Men such as Jake Pennlyon thought little of running a man through the heart. I trembled to think of the slaughter there would be when the Rampant Lion met a Spanish galleon on the sea.
This hatred of men for men, when would it end? I hoped that by the time my little Roberto was a man it would be over.
It was the end of January when the Rampant Lion came home. It had been a bleak month with cold winds blowing in from the east. Then it had turned warm and with the warmth came the inevitable rain. There was a heavy mist and out of this suddenly there loomed the ship. She was dangerously near the shore and the mist clung eerily to her masts; Jake at the window saw her first.
“God’s Death!” he cried and stared at her.
I looked at him and saw that his deep color had faded.
“What’s wrong?” I cried.
“God’s Death!” he cried. “What have they done to the Lion?”
Then he was out of the house. He was running down to the Hoe. I followed him. I stood on the shore watching the small boat row out to the shattered ship.
What a day that was! I shall never forget the dampness of the mist and that still, almost lakelike sea. And there she was, his beloved ship, with one of her masts shot off and a hole in her side.