Perhaps it was because I was pregnant that a certain serenity had come to me. I had noticed this in both Honey and Jennet though with Jennet it was a constant attitude. I was surprised that I was excited by the thought of bearing this child which had been forced on me. But already I was forgetting the means of its begetting and was conscious only that a new life was stirring inside me and that I should be a mother.
I would dream of my child and be eager for its arrival … not only because it meant that when I had it I should go home, but because I longed to hold it in my arms.
We were allowed to go into the town. Honey left the baby in Jennet’s care and she and I set out riding on mules, accompanied by Richard Rackell and John Gregory, who, because they spoke English perhaps, had been made our guards.
They rode one in front and one behind and I felt my spirits lift as we saw the town lying in the valley. The sun was brilliant and it shone on the white houses and the Cathedral, which John Gregory told us had been built at the beginning of the century. We could not see the great mountain peak from this spot, but we had seen it at sea when we had approached the island—the great Pico de Teide which the ancients had believed supported the sky and that the world ended just beyond it. Perhaps one day, he suggested, we should be permitted to go farther inland and there we should see this miraculous mountain.
We left our mules at a stable and we went on foot into the cobbled streets, closely guarded by the two men. The women mostly wore black, but on the balconies of some of the houses there were ladies who leaned on the wrought-iron balustrades to take a close look at us, and some of those wore colored skirts and mantillas.
“They are interested in us,” said Honey.
“They know you are foreigners and come from the Hacienda,” said John Gregory.
“Do they know,” I asked, “how we were brought here?”
John Gregory replied: “They know you have come from a foreign land.”
He took us into the Cathedral. The three of them crossed themselves before the magnificent altar while I looked at the sculptures and the fine ornaments that decorated it. I had never seen such a great cathedral. The smell of incense hung heavy on the air. The figure of the Madonna was the most startling object, though; she was in an enclosure of wrought iron and wore a dress of some silken material on which sparkling gems had been sewn. On her head was a crown of jewels and on her fingers diamonds and brilliantly colored stones of all kinds.
John Gregory was beside me. He said: “People give their wealth to the Madonna. Even the poorest will give what they have. She refuses nothing.”
As I turned away he whispered: “It would be better if you acted as a good Catholic. It would not be wise for it to be seen that you are what would be called a heretic.”
I said: “I have had enough of the Cathedral. I will wait outside.”
He accompanied me and I left Honey on her knees with Richard Rackell beside her. I wondered what she was thanking the Virgin for—the death of her good husband; her abduction; the safe arrival of her child?
Outside the sun was brilliant.
I said to John Gregory: “So you are a devout Catholic. I wonder have you confessed what harm you have done to two women who did nothing to hurt you?”
He flinched slightly. He was always uncomfortable when I upbraided him, which I did often. He folded his hands together and as he did so I noticed again the scars on his wrists and wondered how he had acquired them.
“I did what I was obliged to do,” he said. “I had no wish to harm you.”
“So you thought we could be dragged away from our homes, ravished and humiliated and no harm done?”
He did not answer and we were joined by the other two.
There was such a sense of freedom in walking in those streets; there was an air of excitement in the town too. The shops enchanted us. It was long since we had seen shops. They were open onto the streets, like enchanted caverns. There was spicy food and hot bread, different from the variety we had at home; but what fascinated us most were the bales of various sorts of cloth which we saw in one shop.
We could not resist handling them. Honey ran her hands over them ecstatically, and a dark-eyed woman in black came to us and showed us materials—one was velvet, deep midnight blue.
Honey said: “Why, Catharine, that would become you. What a gown that would make you!”
She held it up against me and the woman in black nodded her head sagely.
Honey draped the material around me. I said: “What are you doing, Honey? We have no money.” I was conscious then of wearing Isabella’s gown and I determined that I would do so no longer. Honey had made gowns for herself. So should I, but how I should have enjoyed wearing the velvet!
“Come away, Honey,” I said, “this is absurd.”
And I insisted on walking away.
At the inn we were given a beverage which had a strange flavor of mint. We were thirsty and drank it eagerly and after that we mounted our mules and returned to the Hacienda.
It was later that day when going to my room I found a package on my bed. I opened it and there was a roll of velvet. It was the material I had seen in the shop.
I stared at it in amazement. I held it against me. It was beautiful. But what did it mean? Did the woman in the shop think we had bought it! It would have to be returned at once.
I went to find Honey. She was as surprised as I was and we decided that the woman had misunderstood and thought we had purchased the material.
We must find John Gregory at once and explain to him. When we did so he said: “It is no mistake. The material is for you.”
“How can we pay for it?”
“It will be arranged.”
“Who will arrange it?”
“The shop woman knows you come from the Hacienda. There will be no difficulty.”
“Does it mean that Don Felipe will pay for this?”
“It would amount to that.”
“I shall certainly not accept it.”
“You must.”
“I have been forced to come here. I have been forced to submit, but I will not take gifts from him.”
“It would be impossible to return it. The woman believes you to be under the protection of Don Felipe. He is the first gentleman of the island. It would be a slight to him if you returned the velvet. That would not be allowed.”
“It can be taken to him then, for I shall not use it.”
John Gregory bowed and took the material which I thrust into his arms.
Honey said: “It’s a pity. It would have made a most becoming gown.”
“Would you have me accept gifts from my seducer? It would be tantamount to giving him my approval of what has taken place. I shall never forgive him for what he has done to me.”
“Never, Catharine? That is a word one should use with care. It could have been so much worse. He has at least treated you with some respect.”
“Respect! Were you present? Did you witness my humiliation?”
“At least it was not what Isabella suffered at the hands of Jake Pennlyon.”
“It was the same … the method may have been slightly different. She bore Jake Pennlyon’s child and I am to bear his. It nauseates me, Honey, to think of it.”
“Still,” said Honey, “it’s a pity about the velvet.”
A summons came for me to dine with Don Felipe. It was the first time since that other occasion when he had told me for what purpose I had been brought here.
I wondered what it meant.
I dressed myself with care. Honey and I had made a gown for me from the material we had found in the sewing room. As I put it on I thought how illogical it was to accept that material and haughtily decline the velvet which had come from the shop. Everything in this house belonged to him, so naturally did anything in the sewing room. We lived on his bounty.
But the velvet was a kind of gift direct from him and that I would refuse.
He was waiting for me in the cool dark salon in which we
had dined before, and as on that other occasion I sat at one end of the table, he at the other. In his black doublet trimmed with that dazzlingly white lace he looked every bit the fastidious gentleman. When we had last dined thus, none of those embarrassing encounters had taken place; now they stood between us—memories which I imagined he no more than I could efface.
He was aloof in his manner but courteous, and we were served as before by silent-footed servants with the food with which I had now become familiar. I was aware of a certain excitement which I had not known before. I was very much conscious of him. I wondered about him and I kept thinking of that night when I had touched his face gently and tenderly and pretended to sleep.
He talked of the island while the servants were there. He spoke without enthusiasm for it nor any great show of interest, but beneath that cold manner I sensed that he had a great feeling for it. He commanded it. He was holding it for his master, Philip the Second, a strange silent man such as himself. They were different these Spaniards; they did not laugh aloud as we did; they thought us barbarians.
He told me then how the Guanches who were the natives of the island stained their skins the dark-red resin of the dragon trees and how they mummified their dead.
It was interesting and I wanted to know more and more of the island. He said that Pico de Teide was regarded by the Guanches as a kind of god who must be placated, and a fine sight it was towering above the plains with its snowcapped top which never changed even where there was burning heat below.
It was when the meal had been finished and we were alone that I realized the reason he had invited me to sup with him.
He said: “You went into La Laguna and saw the Cathedral.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You must not act as a heretic in La Laguna.”
“I shall act as I please and as I am doubtless what you will call a heretic I shall perforce act as one.”
“When you visit the Cathedral you must show Catholic respect for the Virgin and the altar; you must kneel and pray as others do.”
“Would you have me a hypocrite?”
“I am determined that you shall bear the child. I would not wish aught to happen to you that would prevent it.”
I put my hands on my body. I used to delude myself into fancying that I could feel the child. It was absurd, it was much too soon; but I was already so much aware of it.
“What should prevent it?” I demanded.
“You could be taken before the Inquisition. You could be questioned.”
“I! What have I to do with the Inquisition?”
“This is Spain. Oh, I know we are an island far from Spain; but Spain is wherever we settle and that will be in every part of the globe.”
“Never in England,” I said proudly.
“There too. I assure you it will be so in due course of time.”
“Then I assure you it will never be so.” I had a vision of Jake Pennlyon, his eyes flashing scorn, brandishing his cutlass and crying out to the Spanish Dons to come and see what they would find.
“Listen to me,” he said, “’ere long the whole world will be ours. We shall bring the Holy Inquisition to your land … as it is here and in every place on earth where Spain has laid its hand. No one can escape from it. If you were taken, even I could not save you. The Inquisition stands above all … even above our Most High King, Philip.”
“I am no Spaniard. They would not dare touch me.”
“They have touched many of your countrymen. Be wise. Listen to me. You will start instruction in the True Faith tomorrow.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“You are more foolish than I thought. You must be shown what happens to those who defy the truth.”
“Whose truth? Yours? You who trample over the innocent to gain your revenge. You have taken three women from their homes; you have submitted them to degradation and pain; you have killed a good man because he tried to protect his wife. And you talk to me about your faith, the True Faith, the only faith.”
“Be silent.” For the first time I saw him moved. “Know you not that servants may hear?”
“They do not speak my barbarian language, remember, except the two villains whom you employed to bring us here.”
“I will be tolerant. I will beg of you to be calm. I ask you to listen in a civilized manner.”
“You talk to me of civilized behavior. It is as funny as speaking of your religious virtues.”
“I speak for your good. I speak for you and the child.”
“Your bastard which was forced on me.” Yet even as I said those words I murmured a reassurance to the child. “Nay, nay, little one, I want you. I’m glad you are there. Wait until I hold you in my arms.”
My voice must have faltered, for he said gently, “That is past and done. Nor can it be undone. It was your misfortune that you were the betrothed of this brigand. You have the child. Bear it and accept your fate. I swear to you that from now on I mean no harm to you. Will you accept that?”
I did, but I said: “Having harmed me in such a manner that must leave its mark on me forever, perhaps you do mean that.”
“I assure you it is so. I never meant harm to you. You were necessary to the fulfillment of my vow. Now I would give you the comfort you will need until the child is born.”
“You promised I should go home when the child was conceived.”
“I have said I must see the child is born. For that reason you will stay here; but while you are here I wish you to live securely and in peace. And for that reason you will listen to me.”
I cried: “Do not think I can be placated with gifts of velvet.”
“It was no gift of mine. The shop woman sent it for you.”
“Why should she?”
“Because we buy much cloth from her and she wishes to please me by offering you this gift.”
“Why should it please you?”
“Surely you understand. She believes, as many will, that you are my mistress. That you have been brought here to live with me and in such case what pleased you will please me and put the donor in favor.”
“Your mistress! How dare she.”
“It is what you are in a sense. Let us face the facts. And in these circumstances you will have some protection. But as I told you even I cannot protect you from the mighty Inquisition. That is why I wish you to be instructed in the True Faith. John Gregory, who is indeed a priest, will instruct you. You must listen. I do not want you to be taken away … before the child is born.”
“I refuse,” I said.
He sighed. “You are unwise,” he answered. “I will tell you what has happened in your country while you have been away. Your Queen is a foolish woman. She might have married Philip when her sister died. It would have been an opportunity to have united our countries. It would have saved much trouble.”
“She could not take her sister’s husband. Moreover, he did not give a very good account of himself as a husband, I fancy.”
“The fault lay in that poor barren woman. And now her foolish half sister, the bastard Elizabeth, has the throne.”
“In which her country rejoices,” I said. “Long may she live.”
“It is long since you left home. Her throne is shaking now. She will not long occupy it. The true Queen Mary of France and Scotland shall take it and when that has been done the True Faith will be restored to England.”
“With the accompaniment of your Holy Inquisition?”
“It will be necessary. There will be a great purge of heretics in your island.”
“God forbid,” I said. “We have had enough. We remember the Smithfield fires. We’ll have no more of them.”
“The faith will be restored,” he said. “It is imminent.”
“The people are firmly behind the Queen.” I was remembering her accession, how nobly she had spoken as she entered the Tower. “I must bear myself to God thankful and to men merciful…” And my heart swelled with loyalty toward her and hatred toward all her enem
ies.
“They will no longer be so,” he told me. “Certain events have changed the people’s feelings for the Queen.”
“I do not believe it.”
He studied me coolly in the light of the candles.
“The Queen made Robert Dudley her Master of Horse. Rumor has it that she wished to marry him. He had a wife. He had married earlier, impulsively, some said, for as events turned out he could have been destined for a high place. King no less—though mayhap in name only—for the Queen doted on him. She is a coquette, a frivolous woman; she is coy toward all men, but we hear that the feeling she has for Robert Dudley goes deeper. Now his wife, Amy Robsart, has died somewhat mysteriously. Her body was found at the bottom of a staircase. Who shall know how she died? Some say she threw herself from the top of the staircase because she could no longer bear the neglect of her husband; those who would placate your Queen and Lord Robert will tell you that she suffered an accident. But there are many who will say she was murdered.”
“And the Queen will marry this man?”
“She will marry him and there is an end of her. On the day she marries Lord Robert she stands a self-confessed accomplice to murder. She will lose her kingdom, and who will take her crown? The Queen of France and Scotland, who is the true Queen of England. We shall support her claim. She will become our vassal. I command that you take instruction from John Gregory. I insist on this for your own welfare.”
“You cannot make a Catholic of me if I will not have it.”
“You foolish one,” he said quietly. “I tell you this to save you.”
Over the candles I looked into his face. He was moved in some way; and I knew that he feared for me.
After that began my daily sessions with John Gregory. At first I refused to listen to him. He said I must learn the Credo in Latin. He used to chant it again and again.
He said: “If you could not do that, you would be condemned as a heretic without further ado.”
I turned away from him, but I could not keep up my silence; I was not silent by nature.
“You are an Englishman, are you not?” I demanded.
Lion Triumphant Page 19
