“You must ask my sister and her husband if they would care to make the inspection.”
“But I was inviting you.”
“I should like to hear of your adventures.”
“On the Barbary Coast? They don’t make a pretty story.”
“I did not expect they would.” I looked across the table at Mistress Crocombe, who was coyly begging Sir Penn to tell her of his adventures on the high seas. He began to tell fantastic stories which I was sure were meant to shock us all. It seemed that he had more adventures than Sinbad himself. He had struggled with sea monsters and fought with savages; he had landed his craft on the coasts and brought natives ashore to work in his galleys; he had quelled a mutiny, ridden a storm; there was nothing he had not done, it seemed; and everything he said was overlaid with innuendo. When he led a little party of his men into an African hamlet I saw those men seizing the women, submitting them to indignity, pillaging, robbing.
Miss Crocombe covered her eyes with dismay and blushed hotly. She was a very silly woman and made her designs on Sir Penn too blatant. Did she really think he was going to marry her? I found it embarrassing to watch them together.
Tenerife was mentioned. It was the largest of what were called the Dog Islands because when they were first discovered so many dogs were there. Now they were known as the Canaries.
Tenerife was in the hands of the Spaniards.
“Spanish dogs!” growled Sir Penn. “I’d beat them all out of the ocean, that I would, aye and will … I and a few more like me.” He became fierce suddenly, all banter dropped. I saw the cruel gleam in his eyes. “God’s Death!” he cried, hitting the table with his fist so that the Venetian glasses trembled. “These dogs shall be swept off the seas, for I tell you this, my friends, it is either them or us. There’s no room for us both.”
“The oceans are wide,” I said, for there was something about these men which made me want to contradict them and prove them wrong if possible, “and much may yet be discovered.”
He glared at me and his eyes had narrowed—little pinpoints of blue fire between the weather wrinkles. “Then we’ll discover them, Madam. Not they. And wherever I see them I’ll bring my guns out; I’ll blow them off the sea; I’ll take their treasure ships from them and bring them where they belong to be.”
“Treasure which they have discovered?” I said.
“Treasure!” It was Jake beside me. “There’s gold in the world … it only has to be brought home.”
“Or filched from those who have already found it?”
Honey and Edward were looking at me in dismay. I didn’t care. I felt some tremendous surge sweeping over me. I had to fight these men, father and son, brigands and pirates both, for that was what they were; and when I talked to them I was excited, alive as I hadn’t been since I knew that I had lost Carey.
“By God,” said Sir Penn, “it would seem the lady is a friend of the Dons.”
“I have never seen one.”
“Swarthy devils. I’d cut the liver and lights out of ’em. I’d send ’em down to the deep sea bed, for ’tis where they belong to be. Don’t side with the Spaniards, child, or you’ll be going against what’s natural.”
“I was siding with no one,” I retorted, “I was saying that if they had found the treasure it was theirs just as if you had found it it would be yours.”
“Now don’t you bring schoolroom logic into this, me dear. Findings bain’t keepings when it comes to Spanish gold. Nay, there’s one place where treasure belongs to be and that’s in an English ship and we’re going to drive the Spaniards from the sea with might and main.”
“There are many of them and I believe they have made great discoveries.”
“There are many of them, true, and we are going to see that there are not so many, we are going to take their discoveries from them.”
“Why do you not make some yourself instead?”
“Instead! We shall make them, never fear; we shall make and take. Because I tell you this, little lady, the sea belongs to us and no poxy Don is going to take one fathom of it from us.”
Sir Penn sat back in his chair red-faced, almost angry with me. Mistress Crocombe looked a little afraid. I felt the color in my cheeks; Honey was signaling with her eyes for me to be silent.
Jake said: “The old Queen died in time. Our Sovereign Lady Elizabeth is of a different temper.”
“By God, yes,” cried Sir Penn. “We’ll defend her on sea and land. And if any poxy Don turns his snout toward these shores … by God, he’ll wish he never had.”
“We can guess what would have happened had Mary lived,” went on Jake. “We’d have had the Inquisition here.”
“We never would have. Thank God there are men of Cornwall and Devon who would have stood together and put a stop to that,” declared Sir Penn. “And God be praised we have a new Queen and she understands well that the people of this land will have nought of Papists. Mary burned our Protestant martyrs at the stake. And by God, I’d burn alive those Papists who would attempt to bring Popery back to England.”
Edward had turned pale. For a moment I thought he was going to protest. Honey was gazing at her husband, warning and imploring. Be careful! she was saying; and indeed he must be. I wondered what would happen if these fierce men knew that their host and hostess were members of that faith which they despised.
I heard myself say in a rather high-pitched voice: “My stepfather was one of those martyrs.”
The tension relaxed then. We had suffered such a death in the family; the implication was that we were of one belief.
Sir Penn lifted his glass and said: “To Our Sovereign Lady who has made her intentions clear.”
We could all drink to the Queen and we did so. Equanimity was restored.
We talked of the Coronation and the two men were ready to listen for a few minutes; and after that we went on to speak of local affairs, of the country and the prospects for hunting the deer; and an invitation was extended to us to visit Lyon Court.
It was late in the evening when the men left; and when I was in my room I found that I was wide awake and I sat at my turret window, knowing it was useless to try to sleep.
There was a knock on my door and Honey came in.
She was dressed in a long blue bedgown and her lovely hair was loose about her shoulders.
“So you’re not abed?” she said.
She sat down and looked at me.
“What did you think of them?”
“Crude,” I replied.
“They are far from London and the Court. They are different of course.”
“It’s not only their ill manners. They are arrogant.”
“They are men who command rough sailors. It would be necessary for them to show authority.”
“And intolerant,” I said. “How fierce the father was when he talked of the Spaniards. How foolish they are. As if there is not enough of the world for them all to have what they want.”
“People always want what other people have. It’s a law of nature.”
“Not of nature,” I said. “It’s a man-made custom, indulged in by the foolish.”
“The Captain was impressed by you, Catharine.”
“It is of no moment to me if he was.”
“He is a disturbing fellow … they both are.”
“The father looked as though he would carry you off under Edward’s nose.”
“Even he would not go as far as that.”
“I think he would go as far as it is possible to go—his son too. I wouldn’t trust either of them.”
“Well, they are our neighbors. Edward’s father said we must be neighborly and particularly with the Pennlyons, who are a power in these parts.”
“I hope we don’t see them again in a hurry.”
“It would surprise me if we did not. I have an idea that the Captain may come courting you, Catharine.”