Shattered Icon

by Bill Napier

  I will not describe the troubles which we had. The gentlemen would not work, being busy with exploring, sketching and measuring. The other colonists refused to work for them. Many of the soldiers behaved like wild animals. It was not long before Ralph Lane introduced severe discipline, and more than one soldier was left to rot, hanging from a tree. Overhanging all of this was hunger, a dwindling food supply and a relationship with the savages which, although it started well, soon became uneasy.

  All this time, I was alert to discover the true purpose of the colony. That it had something to do with the gentlemen present seemed obvious. Never were men less suited to the practical work of planting, digging and building. On clear nights, Mr Harriot would measure stars with his cross staff. And on one such night, I had an idea. We were on the beach, I with slate and lantern, and Mr Harriot with cross staff and compass. He was measuring the position of a rising star, Aldebaran, in the constellation of the Bull.

  'Sir,' I said. 'You have told me that to determine longitude, you need a clock which will give you the time in England which you may compare with the local time.'

  'That is true, Ogilvie.' My master was squinting along the needle of the compass. 'And I also said that fame and fortune awaits the man who builds such a clock.'

  'But there is no need to build it,' I said in excitement. 'It already exists!'

  Mr Harriot took his eyes away from the compass. In the dimmed light of the lantern, I could see him studying my face curiously.

  'There, in the sky!' And I pointed to a thin crescent moon. 'Do you not see, sir? The moon can be used as a clock. Its movement against the background of stars is like that of the hands of a clock around a dial. If you know that the moon will pass a star at midnight in England, and we see it passing the star at six o'clock in the evening here, then we have our longitude. A quarter of a day, or ninety degrees.' I could hardly stop myself from jumping up and down with excitement.

  Mr Harriot laughed. 'Calm down, Ogilvie. What do you think Kendall and I have been doing with all these star sightings? But I fear the method is not working. We cannot predict the movement of the moon against the stars with enough precision, and we do not even have star charts with enough precision.'

  I felt myself shrinking with disappointment. But my defeat only filled me with resolve. Some day, I would find the solution to this great problem.

  I could never penetrate the secret purpose, and began to think it would not be fulfilled until the colony had been well established. I also began to suspect that the purpose of the conspirators was to destroy the colony from within. For murder was still being committed, and the fear which permeated our group did not arise simply from the growing hostility of the Indians.

  Great relief, even joy, spread through our little community when the murderer within was finally identified and arrested. But of all the adventures which befell me in America, none troubled me more, or had a more lasting effect on me, than the trial of the apothecary, Abraham "Rosen.

  CHAPTER 27

  There was a threat of thunder in the black clouds piled on top of each other, and indeed, when I left Mr Barlowe's house with an armful of his notes, a fork of lightning far out at sea dazzled my eyes, reaching from the high clouds to the ocean in an instant. The sea was dark green and rough, and white-capped waves pounded rhythmically on the sandbanks. I could see the masts of the Tiger and Roebuck swaying to and fro.

  My morning routine, of copying the sketches of the gentlemen and transcribing the rough notes of Masters Harriot and Barlowe, was interrupted by the arrival of Anthony Rowse. He was carrying some thick book under his arm and his face was grim. 'Young Scotch, leave that. You have another duty this morning. Take writing materials to the chapel this instant. A goodly supply.' The parliamentarian disappeared abruptly while I hastily gathered up parchment, pen and ink.

  A long, coarsely cut table had been set up on the dais of the chapel, facing the congregation. There was a smell of freshly cut timber. The front pews were occupied by a dozen or so of the gentlemen. Behind them, labourers, mariners, tradesmen and soldiers took up the remaining space. There was hardly room for a mouse. The crush at the back of the chapel, where there was room only to stand, meant that the doors could hardly open.

  Ralph Lane, the governor of the colony, took his place at the centre of the table. On his left was Mr Kendall; Mr Rowse sat on his right. I thought of the Holy Trinity with Governor Lane as God, but quickly dismissed the blasphemous thought. I sat at the edge of the long table, on the far left of Ralph Lane. The duty of which Anthony Rowse had spoken was now clear. Having learned the art of swift and short writing, I had been assigned the task of notary at a trial. I was both proud and nervous. As to the nature and purpose of the trial, my mystification would be removed soon enough. In front of me I had laid out my goodly supply of parchment, pen and ink. The table was otherwise bare, except for the book which had been under Anthony Rowse's arm and which now sat in front of Ralph Lane. With a thrill of apprehension I saw that it was the Malleus Maleficorum - the Hammer of Witches.

  My mentor, Thomas Harriot, sat at the front between Amadas and Sir Edward Cole, the lawyer. Governor Lane snapped his fingers at a soldier, John Vaughan, near the back. Captain Vaughan disappeared out the door, leaving us suspensed in a state of curiosity and excitement.

  In a minute there was a buzz of conversation and all eyes turned. Abraham Rosen, the apothecary, was being dragged in between two soldiers, who were using elbows and shoulders to clear a path. The apothecary's hands and feet were in chains. There was a rope around his neck, held by one of the soldiers, and he was being led like a dog on a leash. The man was limping and bruised, and seemed to be in pain. I had heard cries of pain overnight and the source was now clear to me: the soldiers had been doing their work. He was clearly terrified, and as he was dragged towards the dais his eyes were looking wildly from left to right, as if for some means of escape.

  Ralph looked up and down the length of the table and then fixed a cold gaze on the apothecary. 'Do you understand the charges against you?' he asked.

  'Yes, and I am innocent of them.' The apothecary's voice was both faint and frightened, but it carried a note of determination.

  'Read them out.' Ralph Lane slid a piece of paper towards me.

  I read, and I think my voice was shaking a little, 'You are accused, first, of belonging to the Society of Witches. Secondly, you have used your secret knowledge of sorcery and poisons to destroy the body of Simon Holby of York. Third, you murdered John Barnes the carpenter by occult means. Fourth, you poisoned Simon Fludd of Exeter. Fifth, you poisoned David Falconer. Sixth, although a Jew, you have been Jesuited and corrupted and have been induced by Spain to destroy this expedition from within and are thereby accused of treason.'

  There was more excited muttering. Lane growled, 'Silence.' He nodded to Sir Edward Cole, a tall man, dressed in black satin and a white ruff. He had a short grey beard, little hair on top and a withered left arm. He stood before Governor Lane but placed himself so that he spoke both to Lane and to the congregation behind him, sometimes more to the one than the other.

  'The matter before this court, Governor, is one of a monstrous nature. To murder any man is abomination enough. But to commit such an act through secret knowledge and sorcery is to connive with the Devil himself in carrying out the deed, and is in effect to act against God. To attempt to destroy this expedition, which has the approval and license of Her Majesty, is to act for the enemies of Her Majesty, that is Philip of Spain.' At this point Sir Edward fixed a stare on Lane, whose hatred of Spain was legendary.

  Sir Edward now pointed at the trembling apothecary with his good hand. 'This wretch must face the. accepted penalty for traitors. He must be hanged, cut down while still alive, have his privy parts cut off and burned before his eyes and his bowels removed while he still lives. His body must then be burned to ashes, as is the custom for a witch.'

  There was a rattling of chains as the apothecary's arms and legs began to tremb
le uncontrollably. But Sir Edward's voice was pitiless. 'He is sine religione, sine sede, sine fide, sine re, et sine spe - he is without religion, habitation, credit, means and hope. He has been abused, corrupted and Jesuited: I never yet knew a treason without a Roman priest in the background.'

  Sir Edward now faced Ralph Lane.

  'You have before you the Malleus Maleficorum, the undisputed authority on the Society of Witches. The Malleus, Hammer of Witches, is accepted by both Catholic and Protestant jurisprudence and all the greatest authorities, writers and jurors throughout Europe. It is a book of deep scholarship and great wisdom.'

  'What European authorities do you speak of?' Rowse asked.

  'I refer, for example, to Jean-Bodin, member of the French Parliament and one of the outstanding philosophers of our day. He has written this.'

  At this point Sir Edward started to read from a paper, which I thought odd. Either he had anticipated the question, or there had been collusion between the advocate and one of the judges. He read: 'There exists a great conspiracy and society of witches. This society has tremendous wealth. It is cunningly guided, with cells in every town and hamlet. It uses espionage in every land and has informants ranging from high-placed courtiers to humble estate workers. It maintains a relentless, secret war against the established orders of religion and government. No act of treachery is too cowardly or too base to be used. They possess an ancient and secret knowledge, including knowledge of poisons, handed down from the time of the Egyptians and even before.'

  The lawyer looked up from the paper. 'Thomas Harriot will tell you that he does not believe in witches. Yet there are those who would see Thomas Harriot, with his interest in necromancy and membership of the School of Night, as part of this conspiracy.'

  There were gasps from around the courtroom. Mr Harriot, his face grim, made to stand up, but the lawyer waved him down. 'I do not say this myself. Perhaps the difference between us is only a matter of words. I believe that witches communicate by supernatural means, perhaps he does not. Perhaps Thomas could be prevailed on to accept the existence of witches at least as a secular and evil organisation.'

  I felt that, in some clever way which I could not quite understand, Sir Edward had issued a threat. He was saying to Mr Harriot: Accept witches at least to this extent, or you may be thought to be one yourself. But I had no time to think further about this. Sir Edward was speaking again, and it was all I could do to keep up with him even with my swift and short writing.

  'Keep in mind, then, that the best minds of our day, throughout Europe, are convinced of the reality of the Society of Witches. We cannot be so foolish as to ignore this stable consensus of opinion which has held throughout the years. The Malleus itself goes back to 1486 and has been repeatedly issued by the leading continental presses. Even the pontiffs have accepted the existence of witches, who are especially active in northern Germany.'

  I wondered why Sir Edward had mentioned northern Germany, but my curiosity would be satisfied soon enough.

  The governor raised a hand to stop the lawyer's flow of words. 'Thomas, do you have anything to say?'

  Mr Harriot, on the front bench, shook his head. 'Very little. It is true that many authorities have argued for the existence of witches. I can only say that I find no room for them in my system of the world, and increasing numbers of men of science believe the same.'

  'Men of science,' Sir Edward repeated. 'Men who dabble in the occult, perhaps? Men who believe in the existence of atoms which are immortal, indestructible, and which in combination constitute everything in the world? Characteristics which, according to men of faith, belong to God alone?'

  Again that subtle threat, hidden beneath a veil, which I did not quite understand. But the governor was saying, 'Thomas Harriot's opinions are not on trial, Edward.'

  The lawyer nodded curtly. 'I now request the court's permission to question the physician.'

  'Proceed.'

  The advocate pointed a finger towards the back of the hall. There was a disturbance, and Mr Oxendale was being pushed through the crowd by some of the mariners. He wore a close-fitting velvet hat which covered his ears, and a long coat whose purple matched that of the hat. I heard Anthony Rowse muttering to Ralph Lane: 'Why is the fool in court dress?' The physician sat in a chair positioned edge-on to face both the lawyer and the bench. He was nervous and his accent was hard for me to follow, I think he came from Devon or Wales, but I took his words down as accurately as I could, guessing some of them.

  The advocate stood over the doctor of medicine. 'Who are you?'

  'I am Peter Oxendale.'

  'Your trade?'

  'I am the physician, as you know.'

  'And your qualifications?'

  'I belong to the Guild of Barber Surgeons, or the Fellowship of Surgeons as it was known before we united with the Barber's Company. We have the royal charter.'

  'That is qualification enough, Mr Oxendale. Now describe, if you will, the events leading to the death of David Falconer.'

  'Mr Falconer came to me after dinner on Thursday night, five days before we reached Puerto Rico. He said he had a feeling of restlessness and felt he was being suffocated. His pulse was very high. I felt at first he was a victim of bad food.'

  'But you changed your diagnosis?'

  'Yes, when his face muscles began to contract. He looked as if he was grinning. I took him to his bunk but his body began to contort violently. There was a period of respite, during which he lay exhausted and fearful, but then increasingly violent contractions overcame him and he was clearly in great agony. His back was so arched it looked as if it would break and his jaw was locked open. By this time his pulse was higher than I have ever seen in a patient. Eventually he died during a convulsion, simply, I think, from an inability to breathe.'

  'Did you examine the body after death?'

  'I did, sir.'

  'And what did you find?'

  'His extremities were grey, his blood was dark and thick, his stomach had a red congestion and he was bleeding under his skin. Liver, bowel and heart smelled of bitter almonds.'

  'These are symptoms of what poison?'

  Mr Oxendale threw a sidelong glance at the apothecary. 'I know of a berry whose juice creates these symptoms in the tiniest doses. It is colourless and so powerful that even the volume of a pinhead is fatal. Sometimes, I am told, death occurs within twenty minutes.'

  'And how long did Mr Falconer take to die?'

  'Three hours. For most of that time he was conscious and in great pain, but unable to speak because of the locked jaw.'

  Sir Edward stood back to show that he was finished.

  Ralph Lane looked directly at Thomas Harriot. 'Do you wish to question the physician?' Mr Harriot simply shook his head.

  Sir Edward said, 'In that case I will proceed to question the prisoner.'

  Mr Rosen's eyes were wandering in his head, as if he was suffering from some fever. His brow was damp with sweat.

  Sir Edward's tone, it seemed to me, was domineering. 'Your name?'

  'Abraham Rosen.'

  'You are a Jew, then?'

  'I am, sir.'

  'And what is a Jew doing on a Queen's expedition?'

  'Sir, I was pressed into service with Frobisher two years ago. I believe I served well, and gained experience with maladies which may afflict mariners in the tropic latitudes, as well as with the treatment of many wounds. Because of my experience I was approached by a messenger and agreed to serve again.'

  'And where do you practise your trade?'

  'I own a pharmacopoeia in London.'

  'North or south of the bridge?'

  'South.'

  'In Southwark?' Sir Edward raised his voice as if in surprise, although I do not doubt he knew the answer before he asked. 'You live with thieves and whores?'

  'My trade is needed there as elsewhere. And a Jew is not always welcome in the fashionable parts of the city.'

  'As an apothecary, you have knowledge of herbs?'

&n
bsp; 'I have. And of balms and plasters.'

  'Do you practise the medicine of the Galens, or do you belong to the reformers?'

  'In truth I do not know. No herb has ever cured the great pox or plague and I believe that the reformers should be allowed to develop their methods. But I take whatever materia medica I believe to be appropriate to the disease, whether the herbs of the Galenists or the chemicals of the Paracelsians.'

  'You have a knowledge of herbs, then?'

  'Indeed.'

  'Do you claim to know more than Mr Oxendale on these matters?'

  'In truth?' The apothecary glanced nervously at Ralph. 'In truth, I think Mr Oxendale knows little of these matters.' I sensed a trap and was surprised that the apothecary did not see it. No doubt his mind was clouded with fear. He added, with a touch of pride, 'I have studied under both Peter Severinus and Thomas Erastus.'

  Sir Edward now sprang his trap. 'And does this deep knowledge of herbs include poisons?'

  'Poisons?' The apothecary's voice quavered.

  'Poisons.'

  'I have some slight knowledge of them.'

  'I see. A deep knowledge of herbs but only a slight knowledge of poisons.' Sir Edward now nodded to a wrinkled man in a black leather tunic, sitting behind the gentlemen. The man scurried to the advocate, handed over a small black box and retreated to his seat.

  'You recognise this box?' Sir Edward asked. There was a hint of triumph in his voice.

  It seemed impossible, but the man's face, already ruined with distress, grew even more distraught. 'It is part of my medical store.'

  'Indeed.' The word was delivered in a mocking fashion. 'It was taken from your quarters yesterday.'

  The lawyer placed the box on the table in front of Ralph Lane, who opened the lid and peered in. The governor pulled out a small glass phial containing dried, blackened leaves.

  I gasped with the shock of recognition. For I had seen such leaves before, in the secret bulkhead over Marmaduke's berth. I knew in an instant that Mr Rosen was an innocent man and that the murderers were Marmaduke, Rowse and Kendall, two of whom were the apothecary's judges! And I also knew that, to reveal my knowledge and save Mr Rosen, I would myself meet the hangman. I glanced around surreptitiously but nobody had seen my sudden alarm: all eyes were on the glass jar. What was I to do?