by Lisa Klein
The queen meets with her Privy Council tomorrow afternoon. I will devise some pretext upon which to visit you.
I remain your humble
Catherine Archer
She speaks of craving and of my lips, then in the next phrase of desire, then finally my scalding fire. O beneath her polite discourse, do I detect profound passion? I will not sleep this night.
An Account of a Meeting
On the promised day, upon the hour of three, my valet brought C.A. to me in the garden.
“My mistress wishes to borrow your volume containing the Spanish captain’s account of his voyages,” she announced.
“Clever Cat!” I said and sent the valet to fetch the requested book.
Glancing about nervously, she said, “Rather, I feel like the bird about to become the cat’s meal.”
“There is no danger here,” I assured her, leading her through the elegant knots of greenery, the tall hedges, and the fig trees brought from Sicily. She scarcely seemed to notice my statues newly arrived from France. Then I brought her to a bower where petals of the flowering pear drifted down with each puff of wind. I tried to take her hand but she held it back.
“This coyness, lady, seems a crime; for here is solitude and time.” (In her presence my verses flow like wine.)
She blushed very prettily but was not deterred from her purpose. She related a quip of Her Majesty, light words that weighed heavily on her. “Do you think she meant to warn this ‘Cat’ away from you, her ‘Warter’?”
“I would not drown you,” I said, smiling.
“I don’t fear you, but her. She is … in love with you.” She hesitated, as if revealing a secret, then added, “Everyone knows this.”
“The queen can be jealous,” I agreed, “but I daresay she was only enjoying a bit of sport with you. Do not be afraid to match wits with her.”
Thus reassured, she smiled. I took her hand and she did not resist.
“Now let us talk about you,” I said.
She talked but I remember little of what she said, for I was conscious only of her pretty teeth and lips. Then I related my upbringing in Devonshire and made her laugh over my escapades at Oxford, where I never read a single book. Her eyes widened to hear of my soldiering in the Irish wars and how I despaired of subduing that barbarous land.
“Thus you are determined to succeed in this New World enterprise. I am certain you will,” she said. Under her admiring gaze, I longed all the more for the fame and favor of which I dream.
My valet had not returned with the book (a wise fellow who knows his master’s wishes), and my dear Catherine was beginning to be uneasy again. Then from her sleeve she produced a handkerchief, saying “You must have this back. I dare not keep it.”
I was confused, for I could not remember giving her my handkerchief. I said, “You are unkind to return my token.”
“It is the queen’s token.” She showed me the embroidered initials in the corner. “She meant it for you, not for me.”
So that is what became of the handkerchief! I did not lose it after all. I remembered the delight it had given me to insert the cloth in Catherine’s sleeve that day in my library. It would be ungentlemanly of me to reclaim it.
“What was the queen’s to give to me, became mine to give to you,” I said. “’Tis a traveling token of favor.” And I would not take it back despite her protests.
Moved and flattered, with blood suffusing her pretty cheeks, the lady departed—without the book. I shall have to carry it to Whitehall myself. Clever Cat, indeed.
And damn me that I was so surprised by that silly handkerchief I lost my chance to kiss her.
To C.A.
Over the “C” is my newfound land,
My America, north and south,
I’d explore you with this hand
Claim you with my mouth.
O let me but sail my bark
Into your shimmering bays
There to anchor my heart
All my remaining days.
Chapter 6
Spies and Savages
I committed Walter Ralegh’s poem to memory. In my dreams I let him explore me with his hands and lips and woke up blushing. I imagined standing beside him on the deck of a ship bound for the New World, where strange men lived who had no idea we were coming to dwell among them. But I told no one, not even Emme, of my fantasies.
Meanwhile my mistress had no time for jealousies or jests. There were fresh rumors that her Catholic enemies were plotting to put her cousin, Queen Mary of Scotland, on England’s throne. Though Mary had been forced to abdicate her throne and had been held captive for seventeen years, she still had many allies, both in England and abroad. And Mary had one great enemy, Sir Francis Walsingham, who could see a Spanish plot in even the most innocent event.
One day I saw the spymaster, his cap pulled closely about his ears, enter the queen’s privy chamber. With him was the Earl of Shrewsbury, who guarded Queen Mary at Sheffield Castle. While Emme kept watch in the hallway, I tiptoed to the door and listened at the keyhole. The queen was speaking. Her voice was sharp and urgent.
“We threw Mendoza out of the country, but his spies are everywhere.” Mendoza was the Spanish ambassador, whom everyone knew to be a devious little man. “No doubt they hide among my cousin’s servants, seeking the chance to free her.”
I heard Walsingham reply, “You underestimate me, Your Grace. Many of Mendoza’s spies are in fact my spies.”
But the queen was not pacified. “Mary betrays me and she bleeds me dry. She keeps a household of fifty at my expense. I cannot trust a single one of her servants. Dismiss them all.”
“But Your Majesty insisted that she be treated with the respect due a fellow monarch,” Shrewsbury said.
“You coddle her,” accused the queen. “Has she has turned your head, too? Bewitched you with her charms?”
Shrewsbury began to protest but Elizabeth interrupted him. “Read every letter that goes in or out, search every scrap of linen sent to the laundry, every barrel, box, and hogshead of wine that is delivered, even check her chamber pot.”
“We already do, Your Majesty,” said Walsingham. “Be assured that I shall ferret out any evil. It shall not harm you.”
“Let no one harm her, either,” said the queen in a dire tone. “But be warned, My Lord of Shrewsbury, if a rebellion occurs while she is in your care, then you have betrayed me as well!”
Emme and I hurried away before anyone should open the door and discover us. Back in our dormitory, I asked Emme why the queen so hated her cousin.
“Why, Queen Mary is younger than our Elizabeth and said to be very beautiful. She has been married twice already, and she has a son.”
“While our queen has no one to succeed her,” Frances put in, overhearing us with her big ears.
“So she is jealous of her cousin, and afraid of her, too,” I said, finally understanding. “But what will she do if she finds proof of a plot?”
“Why, she will have Queen Mary’s head cut off. That is the punishment for treason,” said Frances with relish.
I shuddered. With the queen so jealous and fearful of betrayal, it would be unwise of me to meet her favorite courtier in secret. So I wrote to Ralegh that I could not see him, but he persisted in sending me letters and verses. I read them with pleasure, then tied them in the handkerchief embroidered with the queen’s initials and hid the bundle in the bottom of my coffer, beneath a pair of shoes I had outgrown.
It would have been wiser to burn them.
In September, Walter Ralegh’s ships returned and word sped through Whitehall that the captains had brought back not one, but two savages. They dwelt at Durham House, where Ralegh saw them daily. I wrote to him—an innocent letter, begging only for a description of them—but I received no reply. Nor had he sent so much as a scrap of poetry in a month’s time. But how could I be jealous, when it was not another lady but two warriors who had captured his fancy?
Finally the day arrived when
the savages were to be presented to Queen Elizabeth. Rumors abounded concerning their great stature, fierce aspect, and the sharpness of their teeth. But had they been more dangerous than a menagerie full of wild animals, nothing could have kept me from court that day.
For the occasion the queen wore a new gown of brown velvet and a green taffeta bodice. The matching skirt was embroidered in gold with leaves and birds. I believe she was almost as excited as I was, for she could barely hold still as Lady Veronica tucked pins into her ruff, her bodice, and her train to hold them in place.
“I would be appareled like the Earth herself, for her best creatures should not look more glorious, more natural than I do,” she said, admiring herself in the glass. Three gold chains about her neck and a headdress of gold wire set with emeralds completed her costume. I had never seen her look more elegant—or more artificial.
Wanting to be noticed myself, I chose a bodice and skirt of pale rose silk with sleeves slashed and pinked after the fashion. I now had a small wardrobe of my own, thanks to my salary from the queen and a small allowance from my father’s estate. I even had a small strand of pearls which I wore because I knew that Ralegh liked pearls. I longed to see him almost as much as I did the savages.
The banqueting house had not seen such ceremony since the days when the queen courted Monsieur. The ceiling was hung with foliage, where songbirds twittered, their melodious calls echoing in the cavernous hall. The October sunlight streamed in the multitude of windows and glittered on the gilded pillars as the queen made her entrance, heralded by trumpets and flanked by guards in red coats trimmed in black velvet. The spectators who filled the benches facing the center of the hall greeted the queen with cheers and applause. Her noblemen wore breastplates and swords, befitting the ceremonial occasion. Elizabeth mounted the dais, and Emme and I spread out her train as she sat upon a low-backed chair with her ladies arrayed around her.
I heard scarcely a word of the queen’s speech, for my attention dwelt on Ralegh, on the glossy hair that curled over the engraved gorget around his neck, on his velvet suit and the matching cloak worn over one shoulder. I imagined the number of pins required to keep it from sliding off and envied the valet who helped him dress. He stepped forth to present the queen with an oyster shell filled with pearls and spoke in praise of her virtue and her godly empire. All these words only made everyone more restless for the true objects of wonder still to appear.
When Ralegh finished his speech, a fanfare sounded. Two creatures of the most striking appearance stepped into the hall and were met with exclamations of awe. Their black hair was closely cropped on one side but chest-length on the other and plaited with feathers. Their skin was the color and sheen of polished rosewood and their feet were bare. Indeed, their bodies were mostly naked, except for the animal skins covering their loins. Disapproving noises came from Frances, but I felt no shame to look on them as they approached the dais. So this was the state of nature in which man dwelt without kings, laws, religion, and government. The thought filled me with wonder and a strange longing.
As they drew nearer, I saw that one of the Indians had a nose like a hawk’s beak and a proud look. He wore a woven cloak trimmed with colored beads. His taller companion, to my surprise, seemed no more than a youth, his face unlined. He wore furs draped over his shoulders. His chest bore raised markings, like blisters, and were painted with white and black streaks. I had never seen a man’s chest before, and was surprised to glimpse dark buds there, like my own chest before my breasts began to grow.
Feeling heat rise to my face, I shifted my gaze to the young Indian’s face and willed him to look back at me. “Emme, he is magnificent!” I murmured behind my hand. He held himself motionless, but his black eyes flitted from side to side. For a brief moment they met my own.
At a signal from Ralegh, the two Indians bowed stiffly to the queen, who held out her hand, which they touched with their own rather than kissed. They then allowed themselves to be led around the hall—like bears in an arena, I thought—while the spectators covered their eyes or stared in awe, pointed, and even cried out in amazement.
My gaze followed the noble figures as I wished for a longer glimpse of the tall one’s face, that I might look into the dark glass of his eyes and see another world revealed there.
Chapter 7
From the Papers of Walter Ralegh
4 November 1584
My dear brother Carew,
I have good news of the voyage. My captains brought home two fine natives, Manteo and Wanchese. Now fitted with taffeta shirts and hose, they look like Englishmen, if one ignores their nut brown skin and coarse black hair. The scholar Harriot spends long hours with them and grows fluent in their tongue, which is called Algonkian. In turn they prove remarkably adept at learning English, though they speak in a rough and halting manner still.
Manteo is the younger and more agreeable of the two savages. He shares his knowledge of the useful commodities afforded by the land and the tribes and their manner of warfare. While Manteo is of an open and trusting disposition, Wanchese is reserved and suspicious. I think he was taken from his village without his consent—which was against my instructions. Manteo, however, promises to be a valuable guide and ally.
Tell the lords and gentlemen of Devonshire that those who become investors will be among the first and the few to meet my Indians, who love to tell of the abundance of that New World.
Your brother,
W. Ralegh
Capt. Arthur Barlowe to Walter Ralegh
23 November 1584
I submit some notes toward my report. I know you desire to circulate said report as soon as it is completed, in order to feed the curious and capitalize on the public’s interest in the New World.
Arthur Barlowe’s Discourse of the First Voyage to Roanoke Island
Our safe arrival was auspicious. The shore very sandy and yet full of grapes growing bountifully there and on the green soil of the hillsides, climbing toward tall stands of cedars. The air so sweetly scented, like a delicate flower garden, that it seemed we had entered into a new paradise. …
The Natives Show Their Friendship. Wingina, the king of the Roanoke, and his goodly warriors entertained us and we traded with them to our great advantage. A copper kettle fetched fifty skins! The king’s brother clapped a tin dish to his chest, making signs that it would defend him against his enemy’s arrows. … They hold us and our ships and weapons in marvelous admiration. Wingina urged us to go against the chief Piemacum, assuring us of the great commodities in his town. But whether it was for the friendship he bore us or to take revenge on his enemy, we could not determine, nor did we wish to engage in their disputes.
Of Their Way of Life. Their boats are made from the trunk of a single tree, which they hollow by burning and scraping with shells. By such means they fashion shallow boats, called canoes, that carry twenty men.
A savage fishing from his canoe filled his boat almost to sinking within half an hour. As well as the waters, the land is bountiful, providing fat bucks, conies, deer, and all manner of edible plants: melons, walnuts, pease, and fruits, and especially their white corn, which they are able to reap three times in a single season.
In short: a people most gentle, loving, and faithful, lacking guile and treason, and living after the manner of the golden age. The earth bringing forth abundance, without toil or labor. The winters short, but no shortage of meat. The rivers teeming with mussels yielding valuable pearls … etc.
I agree there is little benefit in publishing the difficulties of our journey and the waywardness of some of the savages.
Despite the perilous shallows around the island of the Roanoke, it is favorably located. From there you may launch raids upon the Spanish and interrupt their trading.
With every good hope for the colony’s future, I remain your devoted servant,
Arthur Barlowe
P.S. Allow me also to suggest that our first object upon returning to the island must be the erection of a fort.
(As a matter of prudence.)
Memorandum
15 December 1584. Wanchese has contracted smallpox and must be isolated, especially from Manteo. He grows fearful of the boils on his flesh and babbles in his own tongue. Will not let the doctors near. Does he think we poisoned him? He is sure to become even more suspicious. If he recovers.
28 December 1584. An attempt to assassinate our beloved queen has failed, God be praised! A doctor in league with the Jesuits accosted Her Majesty as she walked in the garden at Richmond. But then he lost his courage and found himself unable to carry out the deed.
May fortune and grace preserve our queen, for while she lives, I prosper. Should she die—and with none to succeed her—papist minions of the Scottish queen stand ready to rise.
That would be the downfall of all my dreams.
Wanchese recovers, but his face will be badly scarred. He has lapsed into a sullen silence.
10 January 1585
Dear Carew,
Your brother’s striving and seeking have been rewarded at last by the royal mistress of his heart and fortune, who has granted him the honor of knighthood.
Furthermore she has appointed me lord and governor of the land to be named VIRGINIA in her honor. Mine is the task of colonizing the coastal areas and all the interior, bringing the inhabitants under Her Majesty’s sway. She grants the use of her own ship, the 180-ton Tiger, and 2,400 lbs. of gunpowder for the next voyage.
I wish she had compounded the honor with money. But her nod may induce many of her nobles to invest, as well as merchants. Indeed, who could could resist the prospect of plunder coupled with the profits from trade in timber, pine resin, furs, etc.?
