I understood. None who had been involved in that plot would have been allowed to go free.
“But Walsingham is determined to have more proof ready. Friends of mine have disappeared suddenly. I know that they are under arrest. If the Babington Plot does not bring the Queen of Scots to the scaffold, they will discover more plots. They are determined to. No Catholic, or any man who has ever joined in any scheme is safe. They are hunting us out, Madre.”
“And they are hunting you!”
“They came to my lodging. I was fortunate. I was warned. If I go back there I shall be taken. They are searching for me now.”
“The Captain is here,” I said.
“I saw his ship from the Hoe.”
“Oh, Roberto, we shall have to take the greatest care.”
“Manuela will help.”
“Manuela is dead.”
I told him briefly how she had tried to murder me and for what reason.
He was silent, deeply shocked.
“Madre, how cruel life is! And now it seems that everyone’s existence is governed by this hatred between Spain and England.”
“It is the shadow across our times. Religion—Catholic or Protestant. It has been so for many years. It darkened my mother’s life. I have not escaped. I brought a priest to Manuela when she died. She wanted it. I hope it was not discovered. One can never be sure.”
He kissed my hand.
“Madre, I love you. Always through my life I have looked to you, relied on you.”
“You can rely on me still, my son; not because I am Catholic or Protestant but because I am a mother. I know little of doctrines, nor do I care. But I do know of love, which seems to me of greater importance in the world.”
“You will let me stay here?”
“It must not be for long, Roberto. The hut is no longer safe as it once was. After I was locked in, the household seems to have become aware of it. Before, few people remembered it was here. Soon you must go away.”
“I have thought, Madre, that if I could get to Spain, I might find my own people. My father’s family would know of me and I must have estates there, must I not? Did not my father make me his heir?”
“He did, but that was long ago. Others would have taken your inheritance by now.”
“But I would be of their family. They would receive me.”
“Roberto, how could we get you to Spain?”
“I must get away from England. I am wanted and Walsingham will never let me go free. I shall be taken as Babington was…”
There was stark horror in his face and reflected in his eyes I seemed to see that fearsome plot of land near Holborn with the scaffold and Ballard and Babington undergoing excruciating torture.
Not for Roberto, I thought. Not the little boy who had lain in my arms, who had given such joy to Felipe and brought us together.
What a cruel world, where men could do such things to men. Not my son. I would do anything but allow that to happen.
I must save him. I must find some means of getting him out of the country. Who would help me? Carlos? Jacko? Jake? How ironical. If I said: Roberto is here. He is involved in plots, he must escape, what would they do, these haters of Spaniards? At best they would draw their swords and run him through; more likely they would hand him over to those who sought him that he might die the dreaded traitor’s death.
I said: “I must have time to think. I must find some way. One thing is certain. You cannot stay here long. I must find another hiding place for you.”
“Madre, you must not be involved. They call those traitors who give aid to Catholics.”
“They can call me what they will. I shall guard my own son. I will leave you now. When I am gone you must lock the door and open it for no one but me. Eat the food I have brought. You must not grow weak and I see you are already.”
“I have walked far, Madre.”
“Eat and rest and I will come back.” I went to the door. “Lock it when I am gone and open for no one. Remember, it is most unsafe for you to remain here.”
I had opened the door and horror overwhelmed me.
Jake was standing there.
“Indeed it is most unsafe,” he said, “for traitors to hide on my lands.”
He came into the hut and shut the door. I felt as though I would faint and leaned against the stone wall for support.
“So,” said Jake, and never had I seen his eyes so brilliant, his mouth so cruel. “You are running from the law? You are a fool as well as a traitor to come here.”
He towered above Roberto. He seized him by the shoulder and shook him. His hand was on his sword.
I ran forward and gripped his arm; I hung onto it with all my strength. Jake looked down at me, his mouth hard as it could only be for Spaniards.
“Jake,” I pleaded. “For God’s sake. This is my son.”
“Your Spanish bastard,” he said.
His sword was out. I saw the gleaming steel. I tried to thrust myself between him and Roberto.
Jake pushed me aside. He put the point at Roberto’s throat.
“So you have come here, you dog.”
Roberto did not answer. He stood very still, his face white, his Spanish dignity never more apparent. I was praying incoherently, not to the God of the Protestants or the Catholics but to the God of love. Save my son. Let him live. Whatever happens to me now let him live. Let him escape to a good life. If I never see him again I care not, if he can live and be happy.
“Jake,” I cried. “Jake … I am begging you…”
Jake hesitated. It was miraculous that he should sheathe his sword.
“You left your lodging,” he said. “You are wanted. They will take you. It’s the traitor’s death for you. But you come down here. You would smear your traitorous slime on your mother. You would have her suspected of sharing in your evil crimes. If that were so even I could not save her. Do you know that, you coward?”
“I would not involve her. I would swear that she has never shared in my schemes. I would say she did not know I was here.”
“Be silent.” Jake was rocking on, his heels, thinking deeply.
He took the key from the hook.
“You will stay here,” he said.
And to me: “Come, Cat. Leave him.”
He pulled me out and locked the hut.
I said: “What are you going to do, Jake?”
“You will see,” he said.
I knew that he meant he would keep him a prisoner until he could hand him over to those who would bring him to trial and sentence him to the traitor’s death.
I do not know how I lived through that day. I could not think what I should do.
Jake was grim and silent, making plans, I knew. I asked myself whether Roberto would attempt to escape. If he did he could not get far. He was exhausted. Could he manage even to climb up to the small window, break it and jump through? He was not in the same condition that he had been in when Manuela and I had sheltered him before.
Jake was vengeful; he knew no gentle feelings. He would have killed him on the spot had I not been there. At least he had not wished to do so in my presence.
He went away and I stayed in my room. I dared not go to the hut for fear of what I would find there.
All day long I waited for something to happen. I kept thinking I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs—men come to take Roberto away. Five minutes was like an hour that day, one hour like twenty-four. I felt sick and ill; I could not get out of my mind the terrible picture of men’s suffering on the scaffold. This must not happen to Roberto … not to my son, the little boy of whom we had been so proud, Felipe and I.
Jake returned home in the late afternoon. He came to our bedroom.
“Jake,” I cried, “what are you doing?”
“What would you expect me to do?”
“You are giving him up?”
“He is still in the hut. He’s trussed up so that he can’t move and I have the key.”