Raleigh's Page

by Alan Armstrong

  “But why was I not advised of your coming and some appointment made?” the Monsieur asked, squinting as if he could not quite make them out. “And who is this boy?”

  He stared hard at Andrew.

  Andrew figured he must have sweated off the charcoal.

  Tremayne apologized. He pointed to the credential the Monsieur was holding. “I understood my principal, Mr. Douglas, wrote to you some weeks ago. His message must have gone astray. As for the lad, he is my clerk and my nose.”

  Viton said nothing. The two visitors had not been invited to move from where they stood.

  Tremayne’s face grew red. “Sir,” he said in a soft way, “the firm of Barnes and Barry intends no rudeness. We shall withdraw and proceed to Palermo, or you will accept proof that we are who we say we are and allow us to present our merchandise and see yours.”

  “What proof?” the Monsieur asked.

  “The nose of a vintner. Present your tests and the lad will match them. He has the gift.”

  The Monsieur peered at them in turn from head to toe.

  “It is most unusual. But come,” he said after a pause. “My man Brion will bring refreshment and samples to try your clerk’s nose.”

  To the left there were large double doors to the room that served as Viton & Frères’s countinghouse. Viton led them to the right, into a long hall. The floors were of polished stone set with smaller stones in figures and patterns. In London, Andrew had seen the like in places where wealthy Romans had lived a thousand years before.

  Brion brought a pitcher of sweetened lemon water and a dozen small glasses for the clerk to match.

  Andrew caught his breath as Brion presented the first. Pretending to sneeze, he knocked it over. The stuff spilled on Brion’s sleeve. It was naphtha.

  Andrew pushed himself away, apologizing as he wiped his nose. He’d saved it.

  The Monsieur pressed his lips together as Andrew moved to the other side of the table.

  Viton’s samples were easy to sort and match, easier than those Mr. Raleigh had used for his test.

  Over the lemon water, Tremayne went through his rehearsed lines about samples and furs.

  Andrew was edgy as he thought about what was coming. At last Tremayne suggested that since they were fatigued from traveling and the heat, perhaps they could meet for supper.

  “Yes,” said the Monsieur. “I will look for you at the change of bells.”

  Back at their inn they bathed and sewed each other into the vests. The vests were hot and uncomfortable and gave the small black biting creatures of that region safe harbor next to the wearers’ skins. Again Andrew applied the charcoal.

  He felt in his inner pocket for the drug vial. His hand shook when he touched it. Poison! he thought. I may kill him! He forced himself to take deep breaths. Despite the heat, he had goose bumps.

  18

  ADVENTURE IN THE WINE TRADE

  At the change of bells, Brion admitted them. His large smooth face revealed nothing. Viton was there with his clerk, a sturdy fellow, heavier and taller than Tremayne. Andrew caught himself feeling for the dagger strapped to his thigh. If it came to violence, they were outmatched.

  Over dinner, the Monsieur and Tremayne discussed their voyage from Lisbon, prices of wines there, fashions in London, and the Englishman’s interest in furs. Andrew sat silent, eating little. He wondered if the food was poisoned.

  “And your Mr. Parmenter,” the Frenchman asked suddenly. “How is his health?”

  Andrew felt the blood go out of his body. He’d not heard that name in connection with Barnes & Barry. Tremayne took it for a test.

  “I am not acquainted with Mr. Parmenter,” he replied in an easy voice.

  “In your firm, Mr. Parmenter?”

  “No, I am not aware of such a person.”

  “Um,” said Viton, pursing his lips.

  Andrew had tensed for a fight. He let himself sink back in the chair.

  “May we now offer our samples and discuss an exchange?” Tremayne asked.

  “Yes.”

  Andrew opened the samples case. Brion set six glasses before him and put a bowl in front of Viton. Viton’s clerk sat beside him. Brion remained standing.

  Andrew’s heart was pounding. He fought to take deep breaths as he arranged the six small bottles on the table. He had the vial in his pocket.

  As he had practiced with Mr. Raleigh so many times, he took up his napkin to polish the first glass and slipped the vial into his hand.

  With the vial concealed in the napkin’s folds, he dosed the glass as he poured the sample. He sniffed it and said what it was in his deepest voice.

  Tremayne took a list from his pocket. “Yes,” he said pompously. “This is our finest Canary. We have five barrels available.”

  “You try it first,” said the Monsieur to Tremayne.

  Andrew handed Tremayne the glass, turning it carefully as he passed it. They had trained for this. The drug was heavier than the wine. It would settle to the bottom if not stirred.

  Tremayne sniffed deeply, took a sip, ran it around in his mouth, then swallowed. “Ah! Most excellent,” he said, smacking his lips. “How can we hope to replace such wares at the exchange we are willing to let it go for?” he mused.

  The Monsieur flashed a greedy look as Tremayne swirled the glass, pretending to savor its fragrance one last time before passing it on.

  The Monsieur sniffed, took a taste, then spat.

  He closed his eyes for an instant and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We would be interested in that.”

  He passed the glass to his clerk. The clerk did as his master had done.

  They were not as thirsty as Mr. Raleigh had thought they’d be. Andrew would have to dose the next glass as well.

  “The second,” said Tremayne.

  Andrew’s strength was back. Again he flourished the napkin and tapped the vial.

  Again the Frenchman sniffed, worked the wine around in his mouth, and spat.

  He and Tremayne had some conversation about this one, then about the third and the fourth. The clerk and Andrew were kept busy making notes as Brion looked on.

  Andrew had two drops left.

  The Frenchman was becoming more agreeable. Perhaps he was getting some of the drug. He directed Brion and the clerk to go fetch samples of his furs for Tremayne to judge.

  “As you go, take those,” he said, pointing to the glasses he’d tasted from.

  Brion gathered them and left the room. The clerk followed.

  Waiting for the others to return, Tremayne drew the Frenchman out about his trade and the prices of furs.

  “I don’t know what’s keeping them,” the Monsieur said finally. “Of course they are polishing off the samples, but still…”

  Andrew forced himself not to look at Tremayne.

  “Well,” said the Monsieur, with a wave of his hand. “Let’s try number five.”

  Again Andrew prepared the glass, sniffed it, and announced what it was as he passed it to Tremayne, who sniffed and tasted, then swallowed with a grunt of satisfaction. He passed the glass on to Viton with a friendly nod. Perhaps he was getting some of the drug too?

  The Monsieur sniffed, smiled, and drank it down.

  “That one also—it will do,” he said. “Make a note.”

  As Andrew did so, Viton rang his bell.

  Silence.

  “Ah!” he said thickly. “Well, the last, and then I’ll fetch my drunkards.”

  The boy flourished the napkin one last time and emptied the vial.

  Viton swallowed it all. The man was a horse or the potion was water.

  He rang again.

  Silence.

  He started to heave himself up.

  “Oof!” he exclaimed as his legs went out. He sat down hard. With a long sigh, he sank forward on the table.

  Andrew kept his eyes down.

  The Frenchman snored deeply.

  “Now!” whispered Tremayne.

  They went out the way Brion and
the clerk had gone. The two lay sprawled in the pantry. They’d drained the glasses.

  Andrew snatched up their candles.

  “The cook,” Tremayne said, gesturing that they should pass through the kitchen. The place was silent. They came to a door. Andrew opened it without a sound. The cook was asleep inside. He took the key. As he turned it from the outside, the lock screeched. He went cold all over. They waited. She slept on.

  They hurried to the Monsieur’s apartment. They searched until the bells rang half past ten. There were folders and folios and sheaves of letters tied with ribbon but nothing resembling the map and the other papers Mr. Hakluyt had described.

  Suddenly they heard “thump” and what sounded like a cry.

  Andrew grabbed his dagger.

  It was the Monsieur’s large old tabby cat, glad for company.

  As Andrew petted her and his heart slowed down, Tremayne asked in an everyday voice, “If you were the Monsieur, where would you hide those documents?”

  On an inspiration Andrew said, “Out in the open, as if they were ordinary things of business. Not here, not where thieves would look for valuables.”

  They went back down past their sleepers and on to the room in front where Viton & Frères conducted their business. What appeared to be the map they were after was with some other papers in a folio marked “Trades Current.” There wasn’t light enough to be sure.

  The boy’s hands shook as he stuffed part of the file into the pocket of Tremayne’s vest. Tremayne then did the same for Andrew. Tremayne’s hands were cold. Their shirts were stretched tight.

  “And the samples case?” Andrew asked.

  “Leave it,” said Tremayne. “We’ve got enough to carry.”

  They slipped back through the kitchen and out the rear door into the alley.

  No one was around.

  They made their way to the inn, dodging through the harbor warren to make sure no one was following.

  As they sewed the vests shut, Tremayne said, “We can’t stay. We must ship out tonight.”

  They changed into their sailors’ clothes, paid the startled innkeeper, and slipped into the street.

  At that hour there were men of opportunity about, willing—for a price—to do anything.

  In a tavern by the water, they found a Dutch sailor who told them his vessel was headed to Lisbon on the change of tide. Tremayne bought his favor and he smuggled them aboard. By dawn, Marseilles and its prison island were out of sight.

  19

  REPORT TO MR. RALEIGH

  Word of their return got to Durham House before they’d anchored in the Pool. Pena and Mr. Harriot met them at the dock. At the great door of Mr. Raleigh’s house, James was waiting for them, beaming. They hurried up to the turret, where Mr. Harriot cut the vests away. The skin underneath was red and oozing from bugs and chafing.

  Mr. Raleigh wrapped them in towels and rang for James.

  “Tell the kitchen to send a boy with a bucket of warm water and a stack of clean cloths from the laundry. Quick!”

  While they waited, Tremayne made everyone laugh by telling how Brion had tested Andrew with naphtha and Viton had made Tremayne try the first sample. He told how the noisy lock to the cook’s door had made Andrew jump and how the cat’s yowl had made him do the same.

  Mr. Raleigh washed their sores. The soap and water stung. Then he rummaged in his sea chest.

  “I’m going to put on medicine,” he told Andrew. “It will burn, but you’ll have no scars. Hold him, Monsieur Pena!”

  Pena held the boy tight. Suddenly his sores burned like flares. Andrew lurched and bit his lip bloody to keep from crying out. Then the hurts went numb.

  When it was Tremayne’s turn, Mr. Raleigh gave him a rag to put in his mouth to keep from cursing. When the medicine hit him, Tremayne whipped about like a caught fish.

  Mr. Raleigh cut open the vest pockets. All eyes were on him as he sorted through the papers.

  “You did well,” he said. “You got the map.”

  He pointed to it. “Did you look?”

  “No,” said Tremayne. “There wasn’t time.”

  “Look now,” said Mr. Raleigh. “The West Indian islands are shown with their harbors. Where the Spaniards have forts, there are red marks.”

  He paused and looked at Tremayne.

  “Will you go with them?” he asked. The sweep of his hand took in Mr. Harriot and Andrew.

  “The three of us?” Tremayne asked. “Andrew, Mr. Harriot, and me?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Raleigh. “You three are my Americans now.”

  Andrew caught his breath: he was going too! Pena was nodding and smiling at him.

  “Yes, I’ll go,” said Tremayne.

  “Good,” said Mr. Raleigh. “Understand, you’ll not be going as settlers: this expedition will be to gather facts and write a report to encourage others to invest and settle. You and Andrew will go as explorers under Mr. Harriot.

  “For now, go back to your school and carry on as before. We hope to sail in the spring.

  “Neither of you will speak of this to anyone. To those who ask, say you’ve been to Ireland.”

  He nodded for them to leave.

  As Andrew got to the door, he turned and asked the question that had been gnawing at him since the night they left Marseilles.

  “Sir, did the drug kill them?”

  “No,” Mr. Raleigh said with a dry laugh. “I diluted it to one-quarter strength. I feared your hand would shake and you’d give too much.”

  “So they’re alive?”

  “Ha!” he exclaimed, making a face. “They are, and eager to renew your acquaintance, along with the Crown’s agents who have warrants for your arrest. Had you not made it out that night, you might not be standing here. By dawn they were searching every ship.

  “That map you took—it did not belong to Viton, you know. He’d borrowed it from someone high in Paris who had no business lending it.

  “Trouble all around!” Mr. Raleigh said with a happy smile.

  When Andrew got into the hall, Pena embraced him.

  “The French have invitations for me too,” he said. His face was grim.

  “For you? Why?”

  “We were plotting against the Crown,” he said.

  “The gardeners?” Andrew asked.

  “In life we all wear many hats,” he said slowly. “To some I was a gardener, to others I was a revolutionary for the Protestant cause. My name was on their list. A dozen years ago on Saint Bartholomew’s Eve, they killed ten thousand of us Protestants. All of my family. Every Huguenot on which they could lay their hands—noble or simple, man, woman, or child—murdered. The streets ran with blood; the river was full of corpses. The killing went on for days as Catholics rose in many towns and followed the example of Paris.

  “Mr. Raleigh was in France then,” Pena continued. “We were escaping together when we got caught. The men who found us had their knives out to cut our throats when Mr. Raleigh splashed them with his black oil and set them afire.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, shaking the dark memory from his mind like a dog shedding water.

  “Come see our children!” said Pena. “The plants, the seedlings—the melons are up! And today we begin the swimming!”

  “No!” cried Andrew.

  “Well, when your sores heal.”

  That night, Andrew undressed out of sight. He was so tired he left his clothes where they fell.

  “Where have you been?” William asked.

  “To Ireland, training to be a merchant.”

  “You would be a merchant?” Peter sneered. “Only that?”

  Peter’s tone of voice made him shiver, like the scraping of fingernails over slate.

  “That much,” Andrew replied quietly. It crossed his mind to tell them what Doctor Dee had said about merchants being heirs to adventure, but he didn’t. He was too tired.

  Hours later he awakened to Peter’s shrieks: “A Catholic! Andrew is a Catholic! A spy!”

  Some
how, when Andrew undressed, the rosary Rebecca had given him must have slipped from his pocket. When Peter got up in the night, he’d found it.

  As William and Andrew started up, Peter dashed into the hall, yelling, “Andrew is a spy! Andrew is a spy!”

  For a moment the boy lay helpless. Then his strength came on, like pouring naphtha on a going fire. He dashed into the hall and tackled Peter front-on, head to gut, taking him down hard and knocking his wind out. Peter was heavier and stronger, but at that moment his kicks and heavings were like a fly’s flutterings to the younger boy’s fury.

  With his teeth, Andrew shredded his nightshirt and tied Peter at the elbows as tight as he could. Peter was screaming a different tune now as Andrew half-rose and sat down on him hard to knock his wind out again. Peter lay still, gasping like a beached fish.

  He tied Peter’s legs together at the knees, then his ankles to his hands. The senior page ended up writhing like a trussed pig, gibbering and crying.

  Andrew stood over him. The beads lay next to the wall.

  By now William was there, along with Mr. Harriot, Pena, and James. Andrew wiped blood from his nose.

  Andrew looked at them, then at Peter. “You tell them,” he panted.

  He picked up the beads and went back to bed. As he lay down, he figured that was it for him at Durham House. He wasn’t sorry. It was like a boil burst: whatever followed, the relief was worth it. He went to sleep and slept wonderfully.

  The next morning Peter and Andrew stood before Mr. Raleigh. Andrew’s head throbbed. Peter could hardly walk.

  Mr. Raleigh’s face was like carved stone.

  “Show me,” he said.

  Andrew pulled the beads from his pocket.

  Mr. Raleigh shook his head like one annoyed at something small. “Put them away and go to your work.”

  The next day, Peter left for Ireland.

  Some weeks later, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Barry received a thundering letter from Viton & Frères accusing them of sponsoring common thieves. As proof, they returned the worn Barnes & Barry leather samples case, the six small bottles safe in their lamb’s-wool compartments.

  20

  THE SWIMMING LESSON

  “Today is for the swimming!” Pena announced. “The sailors say to respect the sea you must never learn to swim, because if you do she will take you as one of her own. To that I say, ‘Zut!’” He spat.