In the darkness that had settled upon the room, now lit by only a few scattered candles, I led Anthony away. Past men who were running toward the fountain, past a knot of fluttering women, through a lane of trees where we knocked off waxen fruit in our flight, up the winding stairs. As I started to close the tower door, Countess Diana pushed it open and stepped into the room.
Anthony had gone to the window, the one that looked down upon the black water of the river. He whirled around at his mother's voice.
"You're thinking of France," she said. "But you cannot flee to France. Carr, or the king himself, will have you back ere your feet touch the coast."
Anthony's face was white. "The wrong man, the wrong man!" he said through colorless lips.
"Waste no time upon the servant's life. Give thought to your own," his mother said. "You don't have days or hours to do so. Minutes, at most."
Anthony again looked down upon the river, toward the coast of France, which in the dark night he could not see.
"Give up France," the countess said. "'Tis the same as fleeing straight to London and back to the Tower."
"Ireland?" he said. "I could go to Ireland. The Irish are so busy killing each other they'd never take note of me."
"With your blue eyes, lanky black hair, and white, white skin, they might mistake you for an Irishman," she said. "Your grandfather was an Irishman, you know."
Anthony was silent. He lifted his shoulders in a defiant shrug. For an awful moment I feared that he had decided not to run from Robert Carr. Wrapped in one of his romantic dreams, he had chosen death instead of a chance to escape.
I opened the door and listened. Lively sounds of dancing welled up from below. They did not deceive me. The king might be tripping across the floor, but not Robert Carr. Listening to the revelry I was struck by an improbable thought. I closed the door and locked it with the double bolt.
Anthony glanced at me. "You're excited," he said. "You must have heard something."
"Only sweet music and dancing, but I've had a thought. A wild one. We have sold the shares necessary to provision all seven ships. They'll be sailing for Jamestown in two weeks or sooner. You're a strong man, young and adventurous. The countess can get a place for you, even though the boats are full."
"'Tis something to think on," the countess said casually.
I knew her. She was pretending. She'd thought of Jamestown long before I had. She was determined to send Anthony to the New World. Who better to watch over her vast properties than her own son!
Anthony brightened. "I hear the savages out there have mountains of gold. It is said they eat from gold plates and wear gold sandals with which they tread floors paved with gold."
"I have heard this," I said, opening the door again.
"Simple people, too," Anthony said. "With courage and a little luck, a man could become an emperor in the New World.
"What do you hear?" he asked me.
"The dancing has stopped. Drums and fifes are playing a mournful song. A death march from the crusades, I think."
"A timely thought," he said.
"Selected, no doubt, by Robert Carr and meant for your ears," his mother said.
"When he comes, give him my fair tidings," Anthony said. He kissed his mother and lifted me from my feet. "Thank him for the thoughtful warning."
Two stairways led down from the tower, one into the Great Arcade, the other, by a series of secret windings, to a postern hidden in the trees. Anthony took the secret path.
While we stood in the doorway, guards in ribbons and fancy armor came, wanting to know if we were hiding Anthony Foxcroft. When the countess told them that she knew nothing of his whereabouts, they brushed past us and ransacked the tower, much to her disgust.
They looked in the small bed, under the bed, in the clothespress, and behind the draperies. A wicker chest, which I had planned to use for my journey to court, scarcely large enough to hide a midget, was locked. They demanded the key, opened the chest, and departed, clambering down the stairs to search the next floor.
At Countess Diana's bidding, I closed the door and snuffed the candles. In the dark I followed her to the south window, which had a view of the stable. A half-moon shone overhead, and by its light, after what seemed a very long time, we saw Anthony ride out and take the road that led to Wentworth Village.
The countess clasped me to her bosom and let out a grievous moan. But most of her grief, I believed, was for show. She was really glad her son was bound for Jamestown. Not only would it put him beyond Carr's reach, but it would offer him an exciting life not to be found at Foxcroft and a golden chance to enrich himself. Above all, he could keep a watchful eye upon the lands, rivers, and meadows she owned in the shining wilderness of Virginia. Yes, she was happy to see him go. It was my heart that was breaking.
The king was off hunting the next day from dawn until noon. At noon he sent for me. I found him in the pavilion, seated in a canopied chair, picking at a plate of roasted duck, his long, blood-stained cuffs rolled back. I stood for a while before he looked up; when he did, his glance was fixed upon my forehead.
"The mark is still there," he said, "so I shan't need to make another one. Has it protected you well?"
"Oh, yes, Your Majesty, very well," I said, though no one could see the mark but the king and me.
He fastened me with his sharpest look. I expected him to ask about the happening of yesterday night—what I knew, where Anthony was hiding himself. Instead, he asked about the serpent ring.
"You aren't wearing it, young lady. Why not?"
I gathered my wits and sought an answer. But what could I say save the truth?
"Countess Diana has it."
"Has it?"
I glimpsed a ray of hope. "She's keeping the ring for special times. It's so priceless she's afraid I'll lose it."
"'Tis to be worn. 'Tis a part of you, like your hand, like your heart. God gave it to me, King James of England, His princely voice, His holy presence here on earth. 'Tis a sacred ring, therefore. Wear it now and all times, even when you sleep."
He called a guard and sent him posthaste with instructions to retrieve the ring and not to return without it.
"Have you gathered your things? Your magical pens?" he asked me. "We move at noon, soon after the hunt. Don't bother with clothes. Wear what you wear now. You'll be dressed properly, in courtly fashion, when you reach London."
He put down his knife, shoved the untouched duck away, and then described the life I would be introduced to. It was a glowing picture he painted—the eminent men, the lords and ladies I would meet, the dances, the courtly fetes I would attend.
"Sometime," he said, "and may God delay the day, a worthy knight will claim you."
I followed his every word. I smiled, I nodded, made little signs of pleasure, was charmed beyond the powers of speech. Yet withal, every second of the time my deepest thoughts never strayed once from Anthony Foxcroft.
The servant came back, red-faced, with the ring. His Majesty rose and in reverent silence placed it on my finger. Then he glanced at my forehead. Satisfied with what he saw, he dismissed me with a smile.
That night, as the castle slept under a half-moon, I packed my best clothes and made my way to the stables. A horse I had ridden before, which was slow-footed yet reliable, followed me through the trees until I was out of hearing. After climbing to his back, I plodded down the road past Wentworth, past Selby, toward the distant town of Plymouth.
At sunrise, reaching Darnley Village, I stopped at a tavern and slept till midmorning. When I had quickly breakfasted and was about to start off in a slanting rain, the tavernkeeper advised me not to leave. There were highwaymen on the road ahead.
"Five travelers were robbed last night," he said. "They all lost their purses. One lost his life. It's foolish, miss, to go farther."
I thanked him kindly and rode off in the rain, clenching the serpent ring, my guardian, my protection against all harm.
SEVEN
I arrived
in Plymouth after nine days and nights on muddy roads in wind and rain. I rode by post horses part of the time, having little in my purse and my own horse having given out. I'd had to borrow two pounds from Countess Diana, leaving a note with a promise to return the money.
Yet nothing of this ordeal mattered. The fleet had not sailed. The ships lay at anchor in the calm waters of Plymouth Bay, flags flying from their masts, decks aswarm with settlers. And as I rode up the cobbled street I saw Anthony Foxcroft standing at the door of the White Lamb Tavern in conversation with a group of men.
Not an hour had passed since the day I left home that I hadn't worried about him. Had he changed his mind and gone off to hide himself in France? Had he met with some horrible accident? Had Robert Carr set guards on his trail and arrested him? But, miracle of miracles, there he stood in a sky-blue doublet and a feathered cap, his long hair shining in the bright sun.
I rode past him up the cobbled street and gave over my hired horse to the post rider who had accompanied me the last leg of the journey. In my heavy cloak, with my fur hood pulled down, I walked back to the tavern, thinking to slip inside unnoticed—my boots were muddy, my clothes travel-stained, and I hadn't touched water in days—but while his listeners waited for him to go on with something he was saying, Anthony stopped and called out to me.
"You took your time, Serena, dear. I looked for you days ago."
My cheeks flamed. I was embarrassed by his greeting but not astounded. He certainly knew that wherever he went, be it France or Ireland or the Low Countries, I would follow him. Since that far day, the very day I had fallen in love with him, when had he ever doubted his power over me?
"The nag you just rode down the street," he went on, "is fit only for crows. You must have hired a stable full of crow baits, for they took most of a fortnight to get you here. Another day and you'd have been too late. The fleet sails in the morning early."
I said nothing in reply. I turned away and left him in the street, paid for a room in the tavern with the last of my money, ordered two tubs of hot water and a maid to scrub me, fell asleep in the second tub, and was awakened at nightfall by word that a gentleman from one of the ships bound for Jamestown wished to see me.
A tall, stooped, very thin young man with yellow ish skin and fiery eyes was waiting in the common room, pacing up and down, his bony hands behind his back. He gave me a sharp look as I came down the stairs. Something about me—my smile, the pink satin slippers, the red ribbons in my hair—caused him to purse his lips. He continued his pacing until I boldly introduced myself, suspecting that he was the gentleman who wished to talk to me.
He bowed stiffly and said that he was Richard Bucke, clergyman on the ship Sea Venture. "I understand from Anthony Foxcroft that you wish to join us on our voyage to the New World."
"This is my intention."
"'Tis noble of you, yes, noble, but I wonder if you have given thought to the hardships you'll encounter on shipboard and in the New World?"
He spoke slowly, in a reverent voice, but eyed me suspiciously the while, still wondering, as far as I could tell, if I might turn out to be a hindrance rather than a help.
"Have you had, by chance, experience on a farm, with animals, crops, and such?"
"Oh, yes," I said, determined that the Sea Venture would never, never sail without me. "Foxcroft, where I come from, is a vast estate. I was born at Foxcroft. I grew up among horses and cows."
The Reverend Bucke looked at my hands, the ring on my finger. He pursed his lips again. He was about to say that there was no room for me on the Sea Venture.
I took off the ring. "If you'll look inside the band," I said, "you'll find the king's crest. He gave me the ring."
"King James!" the Reverend Bucke exclaimed.
I nodded.
"Why, pray tell?"
"He admires my writing. He has asked me to come to London to write letters for the queen. But I came here, instead, to talk to you."
The Reverend Bucke smiled. He gave back the ring. Certainly, by some kingly magic, it had changed his mind about me.
"I'll need to write letters whilst in Jamestown," he said. "Perhaps you can be of help. I write a hand scarcely to be read by anyone, even myself."
"And also, sir, I can help you write down your sermons. You will give many, I am sure."
"Two every day will be the order of things. But I do not write sermons down. They fly to my tongue like birds."
From his slashed brown doublet he fished a long listing, and I put my name to a contract.
"Sea Venture sails before noon tomorrow," he said. "Be on the quay at dawn. Bring only necessities—only what you can comfortably carry. We'll have one hundred and forty-nine aboard, one hundred and fifty counting you. Space is limited."
Space was more than limited. Soon after dawn I was taken aboard the Sea Venture, to the afterdeck and down a few narrow steps into a dungeon where the roof was so low I had to stoop. I was given a space that measured no more than a stride in width and two strides in length. Not a bed or a bunk, mind you, but a sleeping place on the bare floor.
There was no one in the dungeon. Everyone was on deck in the fresh air—everyone save Anthony Foxcroft. For a few awful, tormenting hours he was nowhere to be seen. I'd have paced the deck if that were possible, but we were standing shoulder to shoulder in a place no larger than a pigpen. Somebody's beard was scraping my cheek.
Noon came. He was not in sight. Could the king's guards have captured him? I thought of going ashore, swimming ashore if need be. Then, as trumpets sounded from each of the seven ships and echoed across the bay, he appeared on the quay.
Taking his time, he sauntered down the steps, his black, wide-brimmed hat cocked on the side of his head, got into a waiting longboat, and was rowed to the ship. He came up the ladder, calling my name. He called thrice in a ringing voice. I did not answer.
"Where are you?" he shouted, alarmed, elbowing his way along the crowded deck.
I took off my hat and waved. He raised his sword and waved back. I heard him say, "You have no idea what you're..." He said more that I couldn't hear. Chains rattled, sails flapped, people shouted.
There were no waves in Plymouth Harbor, but the ship rocked anyway, gently up and down, back and forth. My stomach began to rock, too. I felt myself grow pale. For a fleeting moment I thought of London and King James, of the life I might have led.
Anthony grasped my arm. He led me to the rail and told me to breathe out when the ship rose up and to breathe in when the ship sank down. In this way, he said, I would feel as though the ship weren't moving at all.
I did as I was told and felt somewhat better. At last I saw White Lamb Tavern, the cobbled streets, the tumbled, slant-roofed houses, slowly disappear. And behind us six other ships followed along in a line, like six fat ducks on a pond. Farther back, trailing along like goslings, were two little boats, pinnaces, with fluttering sails.
The sun was bright on the water—too bright—and the Reverend Bucke was halfway up a mast, giving the first of his many sermons in a powerful voice. My head spun and my stomach took a twisting turn.
EIGHT
I was seasick for a day and a night, flat on my back on the hard floor. Anthony brought me bowls of turnip soup and the Reverend Bucke tried to comfort me with pious talk about how noble I was to be going out to help the starving people in Jamestown. I was too sick to eat the soup or to care if the ship reached Virginia or hit a rock and sank.
The second day I felt better. Much better, when the ship put in at Falmouth, not far from Plymouth, and anchored for days in the calmest of waters, while it took on eight horses and a dozen pigs.
Just when we were ready to leave, as the sails were unfurled and the dripping anchors brought in, a boatload of men nosed out of the fog. Someone in a scarlet cloak cupped his hands and shouted to us. He wanted the ship to wait, but the sails were full and we were moving.
A sailor threw him a rope, which he grasped, and he was hauled on deck. The boatload of m
en, shaking their fists and howling insults, disappeared in the fog.
The man in the scarlet cloak was on the ship no more than a second when he asked in a ringing voice for the fleet's commander, made his way over the crowded deck, flew up its ladder to the Great Cabin, and burst in upon Admiral Somers.
We could hear him shouting through the open door. He was John Fitzhugh, captain of the king's guards, sent by the king to arrest Anthony Foxcroft and to bring him forthwith to the Tower and justice.
Anthony and I were standing at the rail, close to the Great Cabin, but someone shut the door and we heard nothing else. It was a terrible moment. If Admiral Somers decided to turn back, Anthony would be given over to the captain of the guards and taken off the ship.
Anthony always carried a dagger. He had his hand on it now. But what could he do with it? If the ship turned back, it would be of no use to him. There was no way he could ever withstand a dozen armed guards.
We waited in silence. We rounded a low headland. This was the moment the admiral could change course and return to Falmouth. A strong wind struck us and put the ship on its beam. The door of the Great Cabin swung open. Admiral Somers stood looking back at the town, at the men in the rigging ready to trim sail.
I do not know whether it was because he had added the hours it would require to put Anthony ashore to the earlier delays and the confusion it would cause among the ships in our wake or because he simply didn't believe John Fitzhugh, but his decision came quickly. He turned, closed the door behind him, and let us sail south, into the open sea.
Fitzhugh remained on board, and that night, while we were eating our supper, the admiral sent for Anthony.
Anthony didn't come back, though I waited for hours.
When I came on deck in the morning, the Reverend Bucke said that Admiral Somers wished a word with me. It seemed that Bucke had informed the admiral about my friendship with King James.