Lion Triumphant

The Long Absence

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED, yet still we looked for the Rampant Lion. Day after day I would awaken with a feeling of expectancy upon me and each day when the sun went down I would feel a heavy despondency.

Not today, I would ask myself. Perhaps tomorrow.

And still he did not come back.

Every day we talked of him. We speculated where he might be. When ships came in we would go down to the Hoe to discover if there was any news of the Rampant Lion.

And gradually as the months slipped by, I was afraid.

What could have happened to Jake? It was impossible to imagine him as captive in enemy hands. Yet nothing but that would keep him away so long. Unless he was dead. That was even more impossible. I couldn’t believe that. I had never known anyone so alive as Jake.

Sometimes a terrible sadness settled on me. I used to think: If he is dead, is my life over? Can it really be that I shall never see him again?

Then some certainty would remind me that he was indestructible and I would watch the horizon with new hope.

“Let him come back,” I prayed. “Let us fight as we did. Even let him try to kill me. But let him come back.”

Had it taken this to teach me what he meant to me? For years I had let myself brood on Carey. Oh, yes, I had loved Carey with a girlish passion, but had I loved him more when he was lost to me than I had when I believed he was mine? I knew that I had loved Felipe more after he was dead than when he lived. Was it my nature to do this?

And now Jake!

There is no one for me but Jake, I thought. Oh, Jake, come back.

But the months passed and still he did not come.

Linnet was my great solace. She was lively and remarkably like Jake. She had the same startling blue eyes and coloring; more than that there was the same stubborn line to her jaw when she was crossed. I used to think: If Jake could see her now—he who so longed to see himself reproduced would realize that this had taken place in his daughter. She was more like him than either Carlos or Jacko.

We were constantly hearing tales of the rich treasures which our seamen were bringing to England—captured Spanish gold—so much of it. The rivalries between the two countries were being intensified as the years passed.

Every time I heard these stories I thought of Jake. I imagined him in all kinds of adventures. But I knew something terrible must have happened. Otherwise he would have been home.

There seemed now to be a general feeling in the household that we should never see Jake again, but I refused to accept this. So did Carlos and Jacko, Jennet too.

“Whatever has happened to him,” Carlos constantly said, “he’ll be back.”

There was a great deal of talk about Francis Drake, a Devon man born not far from Plymouth, in Tavistock, it was said. The Spaniards regarded him as a supernatural being, the Devil incarnate, who sailed the seas with the purpose of destroying those of the Catholic Faith and stealing their treasure. They called him El Draque, the Dragon.

It was on a December day in the year 1577 when we had the great excitement of seeing him sail from Plymouth. What a glorious sight it was. For some time Drake had been preparing for this expedition. We did not know then that he was to circumnavigate the world.

His own ship, the Pelican, was not unlike our Lion. (He was later to change its name from Pelican to Golden Hind.) With him sailed the Elizabeth, the Marigold, Swan and Christopher; and in addition to the ships there were pinnaces, some of them in pieces, the better to store them; they would be put together when needed. We were all amazed at the provisions which had been carried ashore and some of the plate for his table was of silver. He took with him too his band of musicians. It had been discovered how important music could be to men who were far from home and weary for it. A concert could turn men’s mind from the boredom in which are the seeds of mutiny.

I was caught up to some extent in the general excitement, but it reminded me poignantly of the occasions when Jake had left for his voyages.

“Jake, Jake,” I murmured, “when are you coming home?” I refused to consider the possibility of his death.

Carlos came in one day full of excitement. He had been talking to some of the seamen as he often did and had met the great man himself. Drake had been interested to learn that he was the son of Jake Pennlyon.

He was allowed to help load the stores and Jacko who was overcome by envy went with him and begged to be allowed to help. The outcome was, because of their enthusiasm and the fact that they were Jake Pennlyon’s sons, Drake himself came to the house to see me.

Such a man must always remain in the memory forever. He was not tall, but there was about him a sense of power. His limbs were strong and he was broad in the chest; he was a merry-looking man and his large clear blue eyes had what I called “the sailor’s look”—so marked in Jake—penetrating as though they could see farther than most. His full beard was fair as was his hair and there was about him a human quality. I was deeply moved that a man who had so much on his mind at this time could spare a few hours to come to comfort me. For that was what he was trying to do.

“I have met Captain Pennlyon once or twice,” he said. “A great seaman. England has need of such as he is.”

I glowed with pride and my eyes filled with tears, which he noticed.

“Many of us go off for years,” he said, “and most people give us up for lost. But some of us are not easily disposed of, Ma’am. Captain Pennlyon is one of them.”

“My great fear is that he has fallen into the hands of the Spaniards.”

“He’ll give a good account of himself, I’ll tell you that.”

“I firmly believe he will come back.”

“There’s a bond between you and you would know. That’s how it often is with sailors’ wives.”

He would find places, he said, for Carlos and Jacko in his expedition if I so wished. He had, in truth, come to ask me first.

The thought of their going off into danger sickened me, but I knew I must not stop their going.

And when he left Carlos and Jacko sailed with him.

It was a glorious sight to see them sail away—exhilarating but sobering.

Jennet stood beside me.

“To think that my boy Jacko should sail with mighty Drake,” she cried. “But I’d liefer it had been with the Captain.”

Then she turned away to wipe her eyes, but they were bright again almost immediately.

“Think what he’ll say when he comes back!”

Undoubtedly she, like myself, believed in the indestructibility of Jake.

The days passed and still no news.

The following spring Edwina came to Trewynd Grange. She was seventeen years old and was to come into her inheritance on her eighteenth birthday. Alice Ennis called at Lyon Court to tell me that she was expected.

“We shall stay here with her,” she said. “It is what her mother wishes. A young girl should not live as mistress of such a large house.”

She arrived with a band of servants, whom she had chosen from Remus Castle, the home of her stepfather. I was eager to see her and as soon as the news was brought to me that she had arrived I went to Trewynd.

I could never enter the hall there without memories flooding into my mind. I looked up at the peep and long practice told me from the shadow there that someone was watching me. I remembered how Honey and I had looked down and seen Jake come into the hall; I remembered the night when I had been taken away to the galleon. But that was a long time ago and now Edwina, Honey’s daughter, was here.

As she came into the hall I held out my hands to her.

She clasped them and smiled.

I think we loved each other from that moment.

Edwina was a frequent visitor at the Court; she had become as a daughter to me and she and Linnet were good friends.

I could never forget Jake. I dreamed of him often and when I awoke and found he was not beside me that overwhelming emptiness would sweep over me.

On a November day in the year 1580, Francis Drake sailed into the harbor.

What excitement there was! He had brought with him a marvelous quantity of treasure such as none had ever brought before. There was gold and silver, precious stones, and pearls as well as silks, cloves and spices.

He had also brought back Carlos and Jacko.

How they had changed! They were men now—experienced sailors.

The first one they looked for when they stepped ashore was their father. I shook my head sadly, but he was uppermost in our thoughts during the celebrations for their homecoming. We were all so much aware of the missing head of the house—even Linnet, who could scarcely remember him.

Carlos and Jacko talked a great deal of their adventures. There had been storm and calm; they had visited strange lands and come near to death. They had grown up and the sea was in their blood.

The expedition would be remembered throughout the years to come because although Drake was not the first man to discover that the Earth was a sphere, he had actually been the first to encircle it, whereas Magellan, who had known this was possible, had been prevented from completing the circle by his death in the Philippines.

Drake was the great hero of the West Country and very soon after his return he sailed the Golden Hind up the Thames and there at Deptford the Queen herself came to knight him.

Such men as Drake, Carlos and Jacko had become the heroes of our time because they would be the leaders when the time came to face the Spaniards.

Jake Pennlyon was such a man.

He had now been away so long that it was only because he was Jake that I could continue to hope. Carlos, Jacko, Jennet, everyone who had known him intimately, refused to believe that he was dead. Such was that magic aura he had always conveyed to us.

Sometimes I used to open the cupboard in which his clothes were kept and touch the cloth of a coat. Then I would imagine I heard his laughter. “Don’t dispose of them, Cat. I’ll need them yet.”

Once I opened a drawer and a moth flew out. I was concerned at once. I must care for his clothes and I did not want anyone else to do this. I decided I would therefore take them out, fold them afresh and put among them a powder made from herbs which my grandmother had given me and which she was convinced would preserve cloth forever against moth and insects.

It was then that I made the horrifying discovery. In the pocket of one of his jackets was a figure. As my fingers closed around it I was transported back in my mind to that occasion when I had found the image of Isabella in my drawer.

There was no doubt who this was meant to be. Myself! I could see the pinhead, a little rusty—where it had entered the cloth of my gown.

And in Jake’s pocket!

It could not be. I remembered how on more than one occasion he had raged against witches. But why? Because he believed in the evil they could create, because he believed that could kill, because he feared them?

And why should this image be in his pocket?

I studied it. The likeness was there. My thick straight hair, and the eyes were painted a vivid green. There could be no doubt who it was meant to be.

Had he consulted a witch? Had he been carrying out her orders? Not Jake! Yet this thing was in his pocket. It must have been lying there for years. Why had he left it there and gone away? Had he hoped that when he came back the witch’s work would be done?

I was going to destroy that figure.

I put it into the pocket of my gown and went out into the garden. There was a hut on the outskirts of the grounds. Few people went there. I buried the doll beneath some braken and set it alight. The grass was dry, as was the braken, and I had not thought there would be such a blaze. As the wax of the image spluttered, Jennet and Manuela, who must have seen the smoke, came running out to the hut.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Only a small fire.”

“How did it happen?” asked Jennet. I did not answer.

As the fire died down Jennet stamped on the last of it.

Manuela knelt down and picked up a piece of charred cloth. It was the piece with the pin sticking in it.

“People should be careful of fire,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “The ground is very dry just now.”

Carlos and Edwina were attracted from the moment they met and two months after the return of Drake’s expedition Edwina came to the Court and said she had something to tell me.

She and Carlos wanted to marry.

“You have known each other such a short time,” I said.

“It is long enough,” she answered. “And he is a sailor and sailors have no time to waste.”

I had heard that before, I thought with a smile.

“You see, Aunt Catharine, although we have only just met, we must have known each other years ago. We were together as babies.

It is interesting that we were both born far across the sea … both in the same place and it seems like fate that we were brought together.”

“Everything in life is fate.”

“But the manner in which we were brought together! Your being taken away with my mother and there was Carlos … and you found him and brought him to the Hacienda. My mother has told me about it.”

“Are you sure that you love Carlos?”

“Oh, Aunt Catharine, there could be no doubt.”

“It isn’t easy to be a sailor’s wife. There will be long periods when he is away and one day perhaps…”

I could not go on and she put her arms about me.

“Carlos’ father will come back,” she soothed. “Carlos is sure of it.”

“And I am too,” I said vehemently. “I know that one day I shall look from my window and his ship will be in the bay. But, oh, how the years go on … and no news … no news…”

There were tears in her eyes. Her love for Carlos made her understand my tragedy.

Manuela came to my room. Her great mournful eyes glowed with fear as they rested on me.

“Señora, I must speak with you.”

“What do you wish to say, Manuela?”

“There was wax. It was an image. There was what was left of the gown and I have the pin here.” She laid it on the table before me. “It was pierced here.” She touched her left side. “It was meant to go through the heart. It must have been like the image that was made of Doña Isabella. Such images are the same throughout the world. Witches are everywhere … they work together in the same way.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Someone burned that. They were burning the one who was represented by the image.”

“I burned that image, Manuela.”

“You, Señora! You wish someone dead!”

“That image was made to look like me. I found it in … I found it. I will not have such things in this house so I burned it.”

“But, Señora, someone made an image of Isabella and she died…”

“I don’t believe in such nonsense.”

She shook her head at me sadly.

When she had gone, I asked myself: Was I speaking the truth? How much did I believe? I remembered how I had been sent to Mary Lee’s house and how I knew someone had been in the bedroom, for I had seen the door close, and then I had discovered that my bed curtains were ablaze. I had found the image among Jake’s clothes, and since he had gone away there had been no more strange attempts on my life.

Was it possible that he had attempted to be rid of me and when he had failed had gone away, temporarily abandoning his plans until his return? I would not believe such nonsense. And yet … the suspicion was sown and it often came into my mind.

There was to be a wedding at Trewynd.

Edwina was very excited naturally. “My mother is coming,” she said. “My stepfather was not going to accompany her, but I have written saying that he must. It is after all my wedding.”

I thought then: I shall see Carey. After all these years, I wonder what my emotions will be.

At Trewynd the Ennises were preparing for the wedding. Everywhere there was the odor of burning rosemary and bay leaves to sweeten the place; I ordered that the same should be done at Lyon Court, for although our rushes were replaced regularly it was always necessary to sweeten the place at intervals. We did this at the Court by moving to different parts of the house while others were being sweetened and with so many guests coming we needed to sweeten all through. I was glad of the knowledge of herbs which I had gleaned through my grandmother in the old days and I was able to add all kinds of aromatic herbs to our sweetening.

It was an exciting day when the party arrived. They had been traveling together for safety. My mother and Rupert would stay with me, Honey, Carey and their children at Trewynd.

It was wonderful to see my mother. She had aged a little, but there was such a look of serenity about her and Rupert as to tell me that they enjoyed a happy life together.

Sooner or later I must inevitably meet Carey and I did so first in the great hall of Trewynd where he stood with Honey. The years had not marred her beauty. Her kind was indestructible. The violet eyes might have been more shadowed, but they were as luminous as ever and I realized at once that because she was fulfilled as she had never been before, and was a contented and happy woman, a new quality mingled with her beauty and added something to it.

Such meetings were necessarily emotional. I kissed her warmly and all the time I was conscious of Carey standing there. Then my hands were in his, his cheek laid against mine. I felt the firm pressure of his hands.

“Catharine!”

“Why, Carey … it is so many years.”

“You have changed very little.”

He had changed a good deal. There was something haggard about the lean face which I had once loved so well and remembered through the years. I wondered whether I would have recognized him had I not known who he was.

We talked about the journey, what was happening at home and the pleasure this marriage gave them.

It was easy and passed smoothly and I could not have believed that I could have shown so little emotion on my meeting with Carey.

It was different when we met alone in the pond garden.

There we could speak freely.

“Oh, Catharine,” he said. “I have thought of you often.”

“And I of you,” I told him.”

“There was nothing to do but part.”

I shook my head.

“I wanted to die,” he said.

“I too. But we lived.”

“Well, we made a life for ourselves,” he said. “When I heard that you had been abducted by the Spaniards I cursed myself for not being with you … for not having defied everyone and everything.”

“It is long ago. And you are happy … with Honey?”

His face softened. “I never thought to be so happy since I lost you.”

“She loved you always.”

“Yes, she has told me. I have my compensation and you have your children.”

“And Jake too, Carey. He will come back. I know he will.”

The wedding was celebrated. Carlos went to live at Trewynd and the Ennises left with my mother and Carey and Honey.

I helped the newly married pair settle in.

I was glad of the way everything had turned out. I had seen Carey again, not without some emotion, yet I was certain now that it was Jake I wanted.

I had loved Carey; I had loved Felipe. I had lost them both. Jake was different. He was part of me. To be without Jake was like being but half alive.

That was why I had to go on believing that he would come back.

It was late February. Carlos was at sea and Edwina had spent Christmas with us. We had decorated the house with holly and ivy; we had played our games. Time was passing. Linnet was now nearly fourteen years old and I had passed my fortieth birthday.

Poor Edwina longed for children, but so far there was no sign of them; I was deeply affected by the manner in which her eyes so often strayed to the horizon; she was dreaming of the day when a ship would appear and Carlos would come home to her.

Over the years the activity at sea had increased greatly. There were six or seven ships to every one there had been in the old days. There were prizes and honors to be won at sea. The name Sir Francis Drake was on every lip. He had won riches and honors—not only for himself but the country. There were laughing references to the fear of the Spaniards for El Draque. They thought he was some mighty god—or the Devil—and they lived in daily dread of him.

One day Edwina came over to Lyon Court as she did so often. She said that friends of Carey’s had called on their way to their country estates in Cornwall and had stayed a night at Trewynd. They had brought news from London.

There had been another plot which might well have succeeded; and if it had, said Edwina, we might have had a new Queen on the throne.

“That could never be,” I said. “The people are firmly behind Our Sovereign Lady, Elizabeth.”

“Nevertheless the Spanish ambassador has been dismissed from the Court. He is returning to Spain without delay. Francis Throckmorton has been arrested and is now in the Tower.”

I said: “There have been these plots ever since the Queen of Scots came to England.”

“And there will be, some say, until her death. It is a wonder the Queen does not sanction it. Mary is in her power and one hears that the Queen’s ministers constantly advise it, yet she holds off.”

That visit of Edwina’s disturbed my peace of mind.

It was June and the gardens were full of damask roses, which I loved particularly because they reminded me of my mother. Mayflies danced over the pond in the garden and there were pyramids of loosestrife by the streams; purple nettles abounded in the hedges mingling with roses; and on the air was the scent of honeysuckle.

The weather was exceptionally calm which created a stillness everywhere as though nature were waiting for something dramatic to happen.

Soon, I thought, Jake must come home. It is on a day like this that I shall look from my window and see the Rampant Lion on the horizon.

The night came and I sat at my window, as I often did, looking out to sea; I was restless that night; it was almost like a premonition, for as I sat at my window I heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs in the distance, then coming nearer and nearer. I could see nothing and suddenly the sound ceased. I wondered who was riding by at this hour and as I sat at my window I saw the figure below, stealthily creeping across the courtyard.

It was a familiar figure. Roberto! I thought.

I went down hastily, unbolted the iron-studded door and stepped out into the courtyard.

“Roberto!” I cried.

“Madre!” I held him in my arms and he was almost sobbing.

“My love,” I said, “you have come home. But why do you come so stealthily?”

He whispered: “None must know that I am here. I have much to tell you.”

“You are in trouble, Roberto?”

“I don’t know. I may well be.”

With a terrible anxiety I bade him take off his boots. He must come to my bedroom as quietly as he could. I sent up a prayer of thankfulness that Jake was not at home.

We reached my bedroom in safety.

I said: “Are you hungry?”

“I ate at an inn near Tavistock,” he told me.

“Tell me what is wrong.”

He said: “Madre, we must set the true Queen on the throne. We must depose the bastard Jezebel.”

“Oh, no,” I cried. “Elizabeth is our good and true Queen.”

“She has no right. I tell you, Madre, she has no right. Who is she? The bastard daughter of Anne Boleyn. Mary is the daughter of kings.”

“Elizabeth is the daughter of a great King.”

“By his concubine. Queen Mary is the true and legitimate heir. She will restore the True Religion to England.”

“Ah,” I said, “it is a Catholic plot.”

“It is the desire and determination to set up the True Religion, Madre. Spain is behind us. They are ready to strike. Their dockyards are working day and night. They are equipping the finest Armada the world has ever seen. None will be able to stand against it.”

“My dear Roberto, we shall stand against it. Do you imagine that men like your stepfather, like Carlos and Jacko, would ever be beaten by the greatest ships in the world?”

“They are braggarts, all of them.” How his face contorted with contempt and hatred as he spoke of Jake. “When they see the ships of Spain have come against them they will realize they are beaten.”

“That they never will.”

“You cannot understand the might of these ships, Madre.”

I did remember the majesty of one Spanish galleon.

“The day will come. It can come any time now. We have failed … but we will not always fail.”

“What has brought you here?” I asked anxiously. “You are in danger?”

“I may well be. I am not sure whether it was known that I was involved. I thought it wiser to leave. None know where I have gone. They may discover my involvement. Throckmorton is in the Tower. If they should rack him…”

“Throckmorton!” I said. “You are involved in this? Oh, Roberto. Roberto, what have you done?”

“I was given my post on the recommendation of Lord Remus and that may have saved me. Remus is trusted and he vouched for me. But because of this I thought I should get away for a time. So I came here. But, Madre, if they should come here to look for me…”

I said quickly: “How can we keep your visit a secret?”

“Just for a while, Madre … until we can be sure.”

I said: “Thank God your stepfather is not at home.”

He laughed. “What joy he would have in handing me over to Walsingham.”

“Walsingham!” I cried.

“He has his spies everywhere. It is due to him that we are discovered.”

“This is like a nightmare come to life. It is what I always feared. This conflict in the family. My mother suffered from it … so much. And now…”

There was a fanatical light in Roberto’s eyes. He took my hands. “Madre,” he said, “we have to bring back the True Religion to this sad country.”

“Tell me how you are involved. Tell me what has happened.”

“Francis Throckmorton has traveled widely in Spain. He has spoken to men of great influence there; he has seen what efforts are being made. From Madrid he went to Paris and there met agents of Queen Mary. The Queen’s family, the Guises, are proposing to raise an army and Throckmorton returned to London and set up in a house at Paul’s Wharf. There he received letters from Madrid and Paris and they were passed on to the Queen of Scots.”

“Oh, my God, Roberto, what are you involved in!”

“In trying to bring great benefits to this country. In trying to bring the people back to sanity, to truth and…”

“And to bring yourself to disaster.”

“Madre, I should be dying for a great cause and what would my death matter if that cause were to succeed?”

I said angrily: “It would matter to me. What do I care for causes? I care for my son … my family. What matters it to me what doctrines flourish? I believe in the simple one: love one another. It does not seem to involve how one worships, only that one behaves like a good Christian.”

“You think like a woman.”

“If only the whole world would do that it would be a happier place.”

He said: “Walsingham’s spies saw Throckmorton’s visits to the house of the Spanish ambassador. He was arrested; his house searched and there was found a list of Catholics in England who were prepared to take part in enterprises to restore the true religion.”

“And your name was among these?”

“It may well be.”

I was silent in my terror.

“We must hide you, Roberto. But for how long? Before the household is astir we must hide you.”

“Manuela will help,” he said.

I knew that he was right.

I said: “I will call her. But no one must know why. Stay here. Do not stray from this room. I will lock the door while I am away.”

I went down to the room where Manuela slept with Jennet. I was thankful for the promiscuous habits of Jennet, for she was not there and Manuela was alone. I was prepared to ask her for some toothache remedy if she was not, but that was not necessary.

“Manuela,” I whispered, “Roberto is here.”

She rose from her pallet with alacrity, her face alight with joy.

“He has come back?”

“He may be in danger.”

She nodded as I explained.

“We must hide him for a while,” I said. “You must help me.”

I had no doubt she would do this.

We went back to my room and unlocked the door. Manuela gathered Roberto in her arms. She spoke to him softly, lovingly in Spanish. The gist of her words was that she would willingly die for him.

She turned to me: “There is a hut on the border of the gardens. Old gardening tools are kept there. Few people go there.”

“The gardeners might,” I said.

“Nay. They do not. They keep all they need in the garden house. The weeds grow around the hut and it is shut off by bushes. If we could lock this we could hide Roberto there … for a while.”

“We must do it until we can find a better plan,” I said. “None must know, Manuela, that Roberto is here except we two.”

She nodded fiercely and I knew that I could trust her.

“We will take covering to keep him warm, and hot food. Can you do that, Manuela?”

“You may trust me to look after Roberto,” she said.

I knew it. Not only did she love him, but like him, she was a Catholic and she wished to see the Queen deposed, and Queen Mary set up in her place.

I said suddenly: “You came on a horse. Where is it?”

“I tethered it by the mounting block.”

Manuela and I looked at each other.

“We must take it into the stables,” I said. “Let it seem as though it has strayed in.”

“Will that be believed?” I asked Roberto.

“What else can we do? We cannot leave it there. Moreover, if you needed it quickly it would be ready.”

“I will see to it,” said Manuela.

This she did and although in the stables they talked of the strange horse that had suddenly appeared they were not unduly surprised. Someone would claim it, it was said. In the meantime it would be cared for with the others.

There followed two weeks of fearful apprehension.

I could not stop myself from walking near the hut. We had an understanding that we would knock at the door in a certain way and it was not to be opened for any other. I would wake in the night sweating with fear, fancying that I heard the Queen’s men in the courtyard. I was never at peace for one moment. Even during meals I would start up at the sound of horses’ hoofs.

“What ails you, Mother?” asked Linnet. “You jump at every sound.”

I had to be thankful that Jake was not at home, for I was sure it would have been impossible to hide Roberto if he had been.

Linnet was worried about me. She thought I was ill.

I wanted to tell my daughter that we were hiding her brother, but I dared not. I trusted her, but I was determined that she should not be involved.

We kept Roberto in the hut for two weeks. How we managed I cannot understand. Manuela was a creature of stealth. She had found a key to the hut; she locked Roberto inside it. There was a window high in the wall through which he could escape into a bush of overgrown shrubs if the need arose. Manuela thought of everything. She was a wonderful planner, and she worked zealously for Roberto.

Edwina brought the news that Throckmorton had been executed at Tyburn. He had been racked three times and had confessed that he had compiled the lists of English Catholics who would support the cause of the Queen of Scots, and plans he had made of English harbors had been found.

So Throckmorton was dead; and what of those whose names had been found on the list?

Walsingham was a man who worked in the shadows. If he knew a man was involved in plots he might not immediately arrest that man; he might have him watched in the hope that he could, through him, draw more into the net.

How could we be sure whether Roberto was one of Walsingham’s wanted men?

At least we had had no inquiries for him. It was some time since he had left his post and surely if they were suspicious of him the first place they would have looked for him was at his home.

He too realized this and he knew he must pass on.

One night when the household had retired Manuela and I went down to the stables. We saddled the strawberry roan and Roberto rode away on it.

In the morning the servants would say the animal had strayed off just as it had strayed in. That, at least, was what Manuela and I hoped.

“Take care, my son,” I said.

Some months after Roberto had left I awoke one morning to see a strange ship in the bay.

There was a little crowd on the Hoe watching the ship. They had never seen the like before. She was long and had but one sail and on this were strange signs. The ship appeared to be manned by numerous galley slaves.

“She’s an Arab,” was the verdict.

But someone said: “Nay she’s a Turk.”

I invariably went down when there was an excitement on the Hoe because I always hoped that I would hear news of Jake.

I watched the boats coming ashore and suddenly the miracle happened. I saw Jake. I stood for a moment staring at him. He returned my gaze and then it was as though thousands of voices were singing a triumphant anthem.

Jake has come home.