by Jenny Barden
She was on top of the world, seeing everything open out, before she entered the trees and the prospect closed around her. Then, beyond the edge of the wood, she saw the black crow fluttering its last, and the master falconer with the hawk already feeding from his glove, and the Queen close to Sir Walter patting her gelding’s steaming neck. Fine snow swirled around them while they spoke in low voices, and Sir Walter must have said something witty because the Queen tipped back her head and gave a light carefree laugh.
Emme rode behind them to the Inner Court in a clatter of hooves over fresh-brushed cobbles, and she was pleased to receive a summons to the Presence Chamber as she alighted. Perhaps Secretary Walsingham had won the permission she longed for and the Queen was about to announce that she could join the settlers bound for Virginia. Why else would Her Majesty want to see her? And if the Queen had given her assent then her father would not dare object. Her way to the New World would be clear. Emme felt as if the jesses that had held her were loosening at her feet; she might soon be leaving. She peeled off her gloves and cloak and hurried to the royal lodgings, but the expressions that greeted her as she was ushered before the Queen made her sink into a curtsey from which she dropped to her knees and hardly dared look up.
The Queen sat flanked by Sir Walter Raleigh and Secretary Walsingham, and the countenances of all three were as cold as blue ice. Only the glow of Sir Walter’s cheeks remained to hint at the ride that he and the Queen had enjoyed. With no more than a slight gesture the Queen bade Emme raise her head, and her gaze had the sting of lye as she searched Emme’s face.
A shiver of fear ran like quicksilver down Emme’s spine. Had the Queen heard the rumours and now believed she was shamed?
The Queen left her kneeling and continued to regard her with a penetrating stare.
‘We have received reports which put us in mind to sanction a fresh endeavour with the object of establishing a permanent colony of our realm in a place to be known as the City of Raleigh.’
Emme’s blood raced again; the Queen was speaking of Virginia after all. Emme noticed Sir Walter’s mouth twitch towards a smile at the mention of the city’s name. His hands rested on his knees, one of which was half covered by the voluptuous folds of the Queen’s skirts. The Queen blinked slowly, and she must have moved her head a little because the pearls trembled on the jewelled band that had been placed over her auburn wig.
‘The Governor and Assistants of this colony have already been determined, and a hundred of our good subjects are desirous of joining this enterprise, which number is likely to rise as the opportunities become better known, so I am told.’
Emme’s eyes widened as she hung on the Queen’s words. Was she about to be given her freedom?
‘Yes,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘I see you are familiar with these plans.’ The Queen’s scrutiny held her transfixed as she waited for the nod which Emme felt bound to give.
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she said.
‘I would like to know why I should consent to your leaving my service in order to accompany this venture.’ The Queen inclined her head. ‘Well?’
Emme looked from her to Secretary Walsingham, hoping for some clue as to how she should respond. Would enthusiasm for leaving the Queen’s service be considered a betrayal? Her Majesty was notoriously jealous, and vengeful against those she thought disloyal. If Emme showed that she wanted to join the colonists, would the Queen condemn her as perfidious? Had she already decided to refuse her permission and was this now a test that might lead to her dismissal? Or did Her Majesty want to be sure about the strength of her resolve? What had Walsingham said and how had the Queen replied? If only she knew. But the Secretary of State’s demeanour gave nothing away. He sat with his hands clasped solemnly in his lap, and looked straight back at her with his dark-ringed hooded eyes, and not a hint of encouragement on his tight-drawn lips or the set of his lantern jaw.
‘I wish only to serve Your Majesty,’ she began. ‘With your leave, I could sail to the New World and report back faithfully on everything I observe. By this means you could have unique insight into the establishment of the colony and the reality of life for an Englishwoman in Virginia. If you have any special instructions, I could carry them out without anyone knowing that I served you …’
‘How would they not know?’ The Queen’s fingers drummed over the arms of her chair. ‘I understand that several of those involved in the venture have already seen you in my retinue.’
Emme shot Secretary Walsingham an anxious glance. He turned to the Queen and spoke softly.
‘Master John White has been introduced to Mistress Fifield and the same is true of Mariner Christopher Doonan, one of Drake’s men, and the Indian, Manteo. These three have seen her at Richmond Palace and Durham Place, but I think they may be trusted to be discreet. They have already proved their loyalty. They need be told no more than that Mistress Fifield has been tasked by Sir Walter to accompany the colonists and account to him for the prospects of settling families in Virginia. Measures could then be taken to ensure that no connection is made in the general perception between Mistress Fifield and her service to you. If anyone else leaving for Virginia has seen Mistress Fifield in your company they would be unlikely to remember or make the association.’
The Queen waved her hand. ‘What measures do you mean?’
‘She could assume another identity. I believe she has given the matter some thought.’ He turned to Emme and raised his arched brows.
Emme closed her eyes briefly, drawing on her inner fortitude to answer with strength.
‘I could travel under my old family name and dress like a goodwife’s maid. I would be content to serve one of the families who have volunteered to go.’
Secretary Walsingham gave a nod. ‘The Governor’s family will have need of a maid. John White’s daughter will sail with him and she is expecting her first child; she is married to one of the chosen Assistants.’
The Queen looked hard at Emme. ‘This service would be very different from the singing and dancing you have been used to performing for me.’
Emme clasped her hands and stood rigid. She must not demur and reveal that she considered her service for the Queen likely to prove far harder than anything expected of her by the colonists. ‘I would be content to do it, nonetheless. I would work diligently in this role for Sir Walter’s endeavour which has so much inspired me.’
‘She could return within six months,’ Walsingham interjected. ‘Master Ferdinando will sail the flagship back once the settlers are established and Mistress Fifield could leave with him. The report she provides might be of use to you and Sir Walter in determining your future policy regarding colonies in America. To act on knowledge is always better than to act on conjecture, and she could help ensure you have a breadth of information about Virginia.’
Emme did not protest. Any contradiction from her might jeopardise her chance of winning the assent she needed, and the Queen seemed caught on the cusp of reaching a decision – she turned to Sir Walter. Emme noticed the flash of affinity shoot between them as their eyes met; she tried not to think of their legs brushing together under the spread of the Queen’s dress. She looked at Sir Walter’s white silk netherstocks, barely marked by the ride in the snow, then her eyes travelled to the silver-embroidered canions over his powerful thighs, and the line of silver buttons down his broad-shouldered doublet. He cut a dashing figure, and his clothes must have been worth a fortune, but still she did not consider him as handsome as Mariner Kit, not that Kit would give her a second thought now. She watched Sir Walter lean forwards and heard the promise of the New World in his voice.
‘A report from a lady could be useful; I am sure Master Harriot would be pleased to have it, as would others who share our objectives. I envisage that our colony in Virginia will lay the foundations for the establishment of English dominions across the world.’ His eyes shone as he looked at the Queen. ‘We must garner as much knowledge as we can about the experiences of
our first settlers. Any information that Mistress Fifield gathers could be invaluable in encouraging other women to venture after her …’
With a small quick motion, the Queen squeezed Sir Walter’s hand while smiling benignly as if to take the sting from her interruption.
‘I think we are agreed upon the principle, but why you, Mistress Fifield? What impels you to risk losing everything including your life on this voyage?’ She turned back to Sir Walter, and the look she gave him suggested that she understood perfectly well and that she would have taken such a gamble for his sake if she could. But would that make her want to deny Emme the kind of chance she could never have?
The Queen inclined her head to Secretary Walsingham, though he kept silent and looked sombrely back at Emme. What had he said? Had he passed on his suspicion that Emme wished to join the expedition because of one ‘particular’ man, as he had suggested at their last meeting? Or had he hinted that there might be other, darker, reasons for Emme wishing to join the voyage? How should she answer?
‘My desire is only to serve Your Majesty and take part in this historic endeavour which should prove a lasting monument to the glory of your reign and to God.’
‘Ha!’ The Queen gave a sharp derisive laugh, but she looked pleased, then her face transformed to the same forbidding cast that had greeted Emme on her arrival. ‘I do not believe you.’
Emme shivered. Her dissembling had been misjudged and now she would pay the price. She lowered her head.
‘I am Your Majesty’s humble handmaid.’
‘Look at me,’ the Queen commanded, and Emme obeyed, taking in the tired blue watery eyes that she rarely ever truly saw.
The Queen held out her hand.
‘Kiss my hand. Go on this voyage with my blessing. Return to me at the earliest opportunity and report to me alone on everything you observe. Tell no one what you learn and keep secret your service to me. God be with you.’
Heart thumping, too overwhelmed to speak, Emme rose, curtseyed and kissed the Queen’s jewelled fingers.
‘When will you leave?’ the Queen asked.
What could she say? She did not know. She only knew she was leaving. The Queen had said she could go.
‘As soon as possible in the New Year,’ Sir Walter answered.
Emme’s response to all three was a radiant smile.
5
Great Waters
‘They that go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.’
—Psalm 107, verses 23 and 24, quoted by Richard Hakluyt the younger in his epistle to A Discourse of Western Planting of 1584, or ‘Certain reasons to induce Her Majesty and the State to take in hand the western voyage and the planting therein’, addressed to Sir Francis Walsingham at the request and direction of Walter Raleigh
Plymouth, England
May 1587
Kit gripped the iron ring knocker and gave a sharp rap. He stepped back and looked up at the lady carved into the arched doorhead. ‘Mistress Fortune’, Will called her, and from the abundance of diamond-leaded glass in the windows to the gilded sign hanging over the merchant’s shop, there was the evidence that Mistress Fortune had looked after his brother well. This new house in Notte Street was one of the finest in Plymouth, rising to three jettied storeys, close studded and slate tiled, with an oriel window overlooking the street and an entry leading to a courtyard with a warehouse and stables beyond. It was the kind of house he could have lived in if he’d settled down like Will after his first great adventure and the long journey that had taken him to Mexico and imprisonment, slavery and life as a runaway, and a return from Panama in Drake’s company with his pockets full of Spanish gold. But the lure of the sea had eaten into him, the searching and the yearning, and in the thirteen years since he’d never stayed long enough on land to put down roots in bricks and mortar. The spirit of what might have been seemed to rush out and pass through him like a puff of aether, leaving him staring at Will’s door for most likely the last time. The sound of yapping came from inside, then the rattle of a latch before the door swung open, a spaniel pup twined around his legs, a steward beckoned him in, and Will strode forwards with his arms held wide.
‘Kit!’
Kit returned his brother’s powerful embrace, then took in the changes in Will’s face as they pulled back a little, still gripping one another’s arms. His brother’s eyes glittered from deep-weathered slits, and Kit saw the lines, bumps and blemishes that made Will’s skin seem boot-worn, and the way his cheekbones stood out, and the sharp angles of his long jaw. Had time marked his own face as emphatically? Kit had not seen Will since before he’d left for the Indies, and his image of Will after any long absence always reverted to how he’d looked on their first voyage: thick-haired and bronze-skinned with a broad flashing smile. The smile was still there, the confidence and the strength, but Kit saw other qualities too: pride and fulfilment, and when Will turned at the approach of his wife, Kit recognised the source. Ellyn carried a babe in her arms, and the joy in life shone from her as intensely as on the day he’d first seen her, when they’d rescued her from the Spaniards and Will had asked her to marry him. She, too, had aged; there was delicate silvering in her once-rich brown hair, and her dark eyes, still pretty, bore the marks of happiness in crow’s feet wrinkles. The affection with which she looked from Will to her baby sent a pang through Kit’s heart, as did the way she crooked her finger for the infant to suck when the babe gave a snuffling cry.
‘A third child?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Ellyn answered. ‘This is Alice, your new niece.’
‘Nick and Moll are well?’
‘They are as full of mischief as young fox cubs and thankfully now at school.’
Kit bent to kiss Alice, inhaling her sweet baby smell as his lips brushed her cheek. Then he looked back at Will.
‘You have a moment to talk?’
‘Always, for you; come on in.’
The steward made to close the door but Kit stopped him.
‘I have something to fetch from the wagon back there.’ Kit jerked a thumb towards the wagon waiting in the street.
‘Let’s bring it in, whatever it is.’
Will walked out, his steward at his heels, and the waggoner jumped down to open the tailgate. At the sight of the sea chest inside, Will’s eyes widened with a smile. ‘You are staying?’
‘Leaving,’ Kit answered, reaching to take hold of one of the great iron rings, deciding to say nothing more until he and Will had some privacy. Together they bore the weight and, grunting and gasping, hauled the chest inside and set it down in the store behind the shop, out of sight of the street window. Kit gave the waggoner a ha’penny and waved the man away, while Will ushered out the servants who had gathered round to watch, and Ellyn left gracefully after giving Kit a kiss.
Kit looked round at an array of cloth of all kinds that represented the business Will had taken over when he had married into the Cooksley family, along with samples of caulked planking showing Will’s former craft, and a display of singular artefacts collected over two generations of trading. There were ginger roots and figurines, dried pungent tobacco leaves, the skin of a colossal snake and the carapace of a giant turtle. Hanging on the wall was a parchment map of the Americas and a curve-bladed Barbary scimitar, while on a table covered with an oriental carpet was a silver bowl filled with cinnamon sticks and an old brass astrolabe. Kit’s attention settled on the astrolabe. Harriot had devised better ways of navigating with the latest quadrants and his own charts, and he’d instructed Kit carefully along with all the ships’ officers in the latest developments in the art. They were well prepared, but that did not mean the voyage would be easy.
‘I am sailing for Virginia tomorrow as Boatswain aboard the Lion; I may not be coming back.’
Will looked down at Kit’s sea chest with its great studded bands.
‘I have heard of this. The word has been out for weeks that the n
ext ships for Virginia will be in need of men.’
‘That’s why we’re here – to take on more mariners.’
‘You are sailing with Simon Ferdinando?’
‘Yes.’
‘He has a poor reputation.’
‘He is trusted by Sir Walter Raleigh, who has given his backing to the venture. Our mission is to establish a new colony in the Bay of Chesapeake, to be known as the City of Raleigh, under the governorship of John White.’
Will looked straight at Kit with blue eyes that drilled for the truth.
‘I thought Ferdinando’s ships were set to return to England within the year?’
‘Yes, but not with me. I mean to join John White as one of his Planters – that’s what the settlers are called. I’ll stay in Virginia.’
‘That’s why you’ve brought this?’ Will touched the chest with his shoe.
‘It is.’
Will put his hands on his hips and bent his head, brow furrowed.
‘It’s late to be setting sail for North America, into May already, and with two months’ voyage ahead at least. By the time you’ve revictualled in the West Indies and sailed north of Florida there may be hurricanes blowing.’
