Cate of the Lost Colony Page 7

  She undid the seal and read the petition, then flung it aside.

  “Thomas Graham—a worthy man? I’ll let the rascal guard the villains in Fleet prison, but never my sovereign person.” She sprang to her feet and stood over me. “Why would you, Catherine, take up the cause of this strutting turkey-cock?”

  I fell back on my heels, too stunned to reply.

  “It shows a defect in your judgment,” said Elizabeth coldly.

  “I am not perfect. Nor is Thomas Graham,” I croaked, feeling the tears coming. “But he and Lady Anne are deeply in love!”

  As soon as those words left my mouth I realized my error, one that would cost my new friends—and me—dearly.

  The queen’s frown deepened into a thundercloud. “None of my ladies may love without my consent! I decide if you will marry, and whom.” She stamped her foot for emphasis. “Do not forget!”

  I left the queen’s chamber in tears and sought out Emme. Finding her at her prayers, I poured out the whole story. She looked at me aghast as her prayerbook slid to the floor.

  “How was I to know she hated Graham so much?” I wailed. “Surely Anne could have warned me.”

  Emme took me by the shoulders. “Don’t you see? The matter has little to do with Graham. Elizabeth was speaking to you as an intimate—do you know how most of us would die for such words from her?—and you replied by thrusting a petition at her.” Emme shook me. “She wanted to give you something, and you abused her generosity.”

  “But I thought it was virtuous of me not to be self-seeking!” Despair washed over me. “Oh, Emme, I should have listened to you and refused Anne. Now I have lost the queen’s regard.”

  She tried to comfort me. “You are still a babe in the ways of this court. If you are lucky, perhaps she will overlook the whole business.”

  But the queen was not inclined to forgive or forget. She dismissed Graham from court, sending him back to Kent, and gave Anne a tongue-lashing that left her red-faced and tearful for days. Anne, in turn, accused me of betraying them and ruining her happiness, but Emme defended me.

  “You should be glad she did not banish you,” she scolded Anne. “She could have put you and Thomas both in the Tower.”

  “At least we would be together!” she wailed. “But now I shall never marry, and you, Catherine,” she threatened, “will live to regret the harm you have done us.”

  “I already regret it,” I said mournfully. “But since I intended no hurt, won’t you forgive me?”

  She would not, and she let everyone know that I could not be trusted. The other ladies shunned us both, fearing that our misfortune, like a disease, would infect them. They sent their own lovers away, and a virginal hush settled over the court, defying the turmoil beneath its surface.

  Loyal Emme remained my friend. Anne found an ally in Frances, who also disliked me for some reason I could never discern. I waited on the queen with a humility so abject it pained me. If she noticed, she gave no sign. I lived in fear that one day her temper would flare up again and that I, like Graham, would be dismissed and disgraced. For I knew that Fortune’s wheel never stops turning.

  Elizabeth’s court, which seemed a golden, glorious place when I arrived, was now like a forged coin—not worth a penny. I even thought about leaving. But where could I go and how would I survive?

  Chapter 10

  Shared Ambitions

  Disconsolate, lacking friends and out of favor, I did what I could to alleviate my misery. That is, I dreamed of escape; I fantasized about love. I imagined walking with Sir Walter in Finsbury Fields or meeting him at a playhouse and weeping into his shoulder at the end of a tragedy. I pored over his letters and poems until I had memorized every line. But it only made me sadder that he no longer wrote to me. So I tied the pages up again in the embroidered handkerchief and hid the bundle in my chest. For solace I read the romances that passed among the queen’s ladies, tales of shepherds in love with princesses and knights seeking their damsels. For a time they took me to another world.

  But one night I found something far better, cast aside in the queen’s bedchamber: a manuscript of the first voyage to the island of the Roanoke. I read it at once, devouring Arthur Barlowe’s descriptions of the land so bounteous it was like paradise. I read about the innocent friendliness of the Indians and the chief’s wife in her fur-lined cloak, with pearls hanging from her ears. How I wanted to meet her, to visit her bark house, to smell the air fragrant with unusual flowers and trees!

  While reading I made an additional discovery. With the manuscript was a letter from Sir Walter. I held it to my nose but could smell no trace of his civet. I read the letter and found it contained verses exalting my mistress’s virtue and recommending Barlowe’s report. And an idea came to me, a plan whereby I might regain the queen’s favor.

  Best of all, it would give an opportunity to see Sir Walter again.

  One day when the queen was abed with a ulcer in her leg, I asked Emme to come with me to Sir Walter’s house, saying I had a favor to ask of him.

  Emme’s eyes lit up with curiosity, but she was also wary. “We must contrive a purpose for going out, or our absence may be questioned.”

  I grabbed a pile of old linens. “If anyone asks, we are delivering these to the embroiderer on the Strand.”

  So we left Whitehall with the linens, joining the crowds thronging the streets around Charing Cross. A ten-minute walk brought us to Durham House, where a footman said that Sir Walter was not at home. Emme and I walked back to Whitehall in silence. I decided my plan was a feeble, doomed effort.

  “He was there, I am sure,” I said. “But he does not want to see me!”

  Emme’s brown eyes were warm with sympathy. “He has a new love, and her name is Virginia,” she said.

  But the very next day I received a message.

  My dear Catherine! I regret missing you. What was it, I wonder, that brought you here after so many months’ absence? I beg the return of your delightful presence soon. Nay, sooner. At once, if you could fly, angel.

  W.R.

  My heart thumped at my ribs like a bird in a cage. Ralegh wanted to see me! I secreted the message with the others tied in the queen’s handkerchief. Then I waited for an opportunity to go to him. I was careless with my duties, misplacing sleeves and partlets, but only Emme seemed to notice. Elizabeth’s ulcer had improved and she could now hobble around her bedchamber.

  “Go today,” Emme urged. “You won’t be needed to dress the queen until she can walk about more easily.” She helped me into my green silk bodice and skirt that brightened my gray eyes. “Don’t forget to fetch the linens from the embroiderers,” she added with a wink.

  Not half an hour later I was in the garden of Durham House, alone with Ralegh among the shaded bowers. The narrow paths forced us to walk close to each other, our arms touching from time to time. The scent of him and the clouds of purple lavender went to my head like new wine, and I could not order my thoughts. I found myself prattling to him about the queen’s health.

  Sir Walter stopped and put up his hand. “I do not wish to hear about the royal ulcer,” he said with a wry smile. “Tell me about yourself instead. What you have been doing and thinking of late?”

  Thinking too much of you. Reading your letters. Wanting to walk with you, just like this. I did not confess these thoughts, but a different truth. “What weighs on me now is the queen’s disfavor,” I admitted, relating the entire episode of Graham and Lady Anne. “So, to be plain, my position is precarious. I desire only to be back in Her Majesty’s good graces.”

  “And I desire to be in yours,” he said smoothly.

  “What do you mean?” I murmured.

  “You did not reply to my letters and poems these past months,” he said in a tone of rebuke.

  I looked at him in surprise. “But I have received nothing from you! Not since the handkerchief and … the poem that followed.” I felt a wave of heat wash over my face at the memory of what he had written to me: My America,
north and south, I’d explore you with this hand, Claim you with my mouth.

  “Nothing? How can that be?” he said, frowning. “Then receive it now.”

  He leaned toward me, and I saw his parted lips, his teeth. Though everything in me longed to be kissed, I shook my head.

  “No, I must not! The queen will be angry.”

  “She will not know.”

  Like a sapling in the breeze, I swayed toward Sir Walter until my lips just grazed his.

  “That was no true kiss. Let me show you one,” he whispered.

  Clasping my shoulders, he lowered me onto a bench and sat beside me, his thigh pressed to mine. His nearness and his breath on my cheek sent a sharp tingling to the base of my spine.

  “No, for I may not love without Her Majesty’s permission,” I said, pleading.

  “You are here without her permission, are you not?”

  “I was foolish to come. I should go now.”

  With a sigh, he released my shoulders. “But you may not leave until you have told me why you came.”

  “Oh, yes.” I had been about to leave without even touching on my purpose.

  “Was it simply to see me?” he prompted, sounding so hopeful I hated to disappoint him with an honest answer.

  “I did come to see you yesterday—as a friend in need of your help. I wanted you to write a poem for me to give to the queen, something that might restore me to her favor.” I sighed. “But it was a foolish idea, for if she learns I was here with you, I will lose my place altogether.”

  Sir Walter did not seem offended. He took my chin in his hand and tilted my head upward. “Rather, your coming here shows your courage,” he said. “Many a man wishes to flout the queen’s will in favor of his own, but dares not.”

  “Can you be you speaking of yourself?” I asked in disbelief. “I thought your wishes had been gratified by all the favors the queen grants you.”

  “Oh, Cat!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “I will confess my ambitions to you. I wish to go to the New World myself and govern it. I would bring all Manteo’s people under my dominion and rule like Caesar during the golden age. I would dig in the earth with these hands and mine its wealth, enough gold and silver to make Virginia the richest colony in all the world. Every man in England would hail the name of Ralegh!”

  Sir Walter strode back and forth proclaiming his ambitions while I watched in amazement.

  “But Elizabeth makes me stay in England, a toy to entertain her! She appoints me warden of this, captain of that. All her favors, like ropes, only tie me down with heavy duties.”

  I could no longer contain myself. “Oh, Sir Walter, I also dream of going to the New World! Ever since I saw the maps in your library and your ships at anchor on the Thames. And the savage, Manteo—seeing his noble bearing and hearing him speak only quickened my curiosity. He is not much older than I am, and he has already traveled far and wide. Since reading Captain Barlowe’s report, I want nothing more than to visit this land where nothing is corrupted and everything is free—” I broke off, breathless.

  Sir Walter looked at me with an expression almost like pity. He sank down beside me, then lifted my hair from my shoulders, brought it to his face, and kissed it.

  “You, Cat, you sleek, beautiful creature, are more innocent than America herself,” he murmured, dropping my hair and touching my cheek instead. “You don’t know how free you are. How fortunate!”

  Moved by curiosity I touched his face, the straight, narrow nose, the furrowed brow beneath his curly hair. It was bold of me, but then I was no longer a timid Cat.

  “We are both dreamers, are we not?” I said with a smile. “But you are the innocent one if you think that freedom is my good fortune. No, it is a fearful thing to one who has no family and no wealth. Without the queen’s favor, I will starve.”

  Ralegh nodded. Then he looked over my shoulder and began to speak. “Virginia, land of so much plenty, for your bounty I do hunger.” He paused and thought for a moment. “But on your shores you’ve placed a sentry, denying my poor love an entry.”

  “What do you mean by these rhymes?” I asked, hoping for a simpler declaration of his love.

  “Why, it is the opening stanza of the poem you requested. The land of Virginia is the queen,” he explained. “The bounty is the favor you seek. Write it down.”

  From inside his doublet he handed me a pencil and a piece of paper. They were warm from being next to his body. I wrote down the verses.

  “This is like a poem you sent me,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment. “Were those meant for the queen, too?”

  “No, that is my style, to be allegorical.” He then gave me a hurt look. “What I sent to you, I meant only for you.”

  I held his eyes with mine, waiting for him to say more. I wondered if it was easier for him to write of love than to speak it.

  “Hold now, I have a second verse coming on,” he said.

  I wrote the rest of the lines as he uttered them, though the verses did not suit my circumstances. I would have to rewrite them or the queen would see Ralegh’s style and I would be forced to confess the lines his. That could only lead to greater trouble.

  I thanked Sir Walter for his efforts and took my leave with a decorum that belied the turmoil within me. I let him kiss my hand, which gave me not half the thrill of his lips near mine. But the moment for a true kiss had come and gone, because I refused it.

  It wasn’t until I was lying in my bed under the eaves, reviewing every moment of our meeting, that I wondered why I had not received the letters Sir Walter had referred to. Had they been intercepted? But why and by whom? Was someone trying to keep us apart? Perhaps it was a friend who wanted to protect us. Or an enemy who wanted to betray us. And why was Ralegh not more concerned about the stray letters? I considered that he had never written them, but pretended he had so I would think he had not forgotten about me. Did he, then, not love me? Oh, but he had so wanted to kiss me, and wasn’t that all that mattered?

  Mired in uncertainty, I did not fall asleep until the blackest part of the night, just before morning.

  Chapter 11

  Manteo, Friend of the English

  My people live at the bright beginning of the world, the Dawnland, where the sun rises from the sea and gives life to all things. We ourselves began long ago when a giant came from the sea and with an arrow split open a tree, and the first man stepped forth. I listened to this story many times as a boy. Now I wonder if the giant came in an English ship like this one. A canoe would not be big enough for him.

  I thought about the giant-god every morning when the sun appeared behind the ship and at night when it disappeared into the water in front of it, drawing us toward Ossomocomuck. Finally, where the water met the sky, the islands appeared.

  To protect my land, the gods surrounded it with sharp rocks hidden just beneath the water. I tried to warn the pilot but he said he would take no direction from a savage. So his vessel struck the rocks with a sound like an angry demon tearing into the wood. The sea poured in and the pilot cursed his god. I prayed to the sea-gods, who freed the boat and permitted it to land without sinking. But as punishment for the captain’s pride, all the wheat, rice, and salt in the ship’s hold were ruined.

  The English built their fort on the island of the Roanoke, near Wingina’s village. Wanchese returned to his people. Gren-vill sailed back to London, leaving Ralf-lane to govern.

  I led the English from one settlement to another on the mainland. John-white made drawings of the people and the dwellings and Ralf-lane gave gifts to the weroances. After leaving one of the villages, they discovered a silver cup to be missing. Ralf-lane made his men return there and he demanded the cup. The weroance denied that his people had stolen it. I knew I had to act or the fragile peace would break.

  “Will you accept a gift of furs instead of the cup?” I asked the governor. He would not.

  “The English are angry,” I then said to the weroance in his tongue. “Send your women an
d children away for their safety.” I thought this threat would make them give up the cup. But I was wrong.

  “The women and children are leaving,” said Ralf-lane. “That proves they have the cup and are preparing to fight for it.”

  I knew there were only a few warriors to defend the village. But before I could stop the English, they began to tear down the houses, looking for the cup. Finding nothing, they burned the houses. The fields also. Quicker than a hunter can flay a rabbit, the village was destroyed. Everyone had fled.

  “The people will not forget this day or cease telling about it,” I said to Ralf-lane, unable to hide my distress. He laughed, thinking my words were meant to praise him, not warn him.

  The cup was not found among the ashes. I do not think the weroance had it, for if he did, he would have given it up to save his village. What montoac that cup must have contained, that the English went to such lengths to avenge its loss!

  I learned about the white men by watching them from day to day. They were much like children. Quick to anger and to fight. Full of wonder. When they first ate the openauk, the wild potato, and pagatour, maize, their eyes grew round. Like children they could not take care of themselves. They could not hunt without startling every creature in the forest. They did not know how to track game. I showed them how to set up weirs to catch the whiskered keetrauk, which they named “catfish.” They never tired of asking me where the gleaming pearls and the shining wassador were hidden. When I said I did not know, some accused me of lying.

  Ill feelings grew between the laborers and the gentlemen, who would not build houses, dig the fort, or till the soil. Soldiers fought and Ralf-lane punished them by making them work with chains on their feet. Only John-white seemed content as he made his drawings of fish, plants, birds, and people. They were so true that my people were afraid, but I assured them that his pictures could not steal their spirit and cause them to die.