Beauvallet (10 page)

‘Time to be done with all this ruffling on the high seas,’ my lord said.

Beauvallet shot him a quick look; there was a hidden jest in his eyes. He returned to the contemplation of his wine.

My lady rose. ‘You will have much to say to one another,’ she said. ‘Ye will find me in the gallery anon.’

Beauvallet went to hold the door for her. As she passed him she put out a hand, and smiled vaguely. ‘Indeed, I hope you will listen to my lord, Nick. We should be glad to have you at home.’

He carried her fingers to his lips, but would give her neither yea nor nay. She went out, and he closed the door behind her.

My lord pushed back his chair a little way from the table, sat more at his ease, and poured another glass of wine. ‘Sit ye down, Nick, sit ye down! Let me know your mind.’ He observed the secret jest still in his brother's face, and knew a feeling of some slight alarm. There was no knowing what folly Nick might be planning.

Sir Nicholas pulled his chair round a little, sank into it, with one leg thrown over the arm. His fingers closed round the stem of his glass, twisting it this way and that. His other hand played gently with his pomander.

My lord nodded and smiled. ‘I see you still have that trick of swinging your pomander. As I remember it never boded good. My memory serves, eh?’ He drank his wine, and set down the glass. ‘Thirty-five summers! Ay, my lady is in the right of it. Thirty-five summers and still roaming the world. Now to what purpose, Nick?’

Beauvallet shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, to bring rubies home for Kate,’ he parried.

‘It's what I don’t like. I’ll not conceal it from you. It's very well for such men as Hawkins or Drake, but I would remind
you, Nick, that you stand next to me in the succession. To make the Grand Tour is well enough – though what good ye came by from it, God knoweth!’

‘Nay, brother,’ Sir Nicholas protested. ‘I learned to foin with the point from the great Carranza himself in Toledo! Grant me that.’

My lord was roused to an expression of strenuous disapproval. ‘A pretty ambition, God wot! All this pricking and poking with a barbarous rapier is an invention of the devil himself. An honest sword-and-buckler was good enough for our fathers.’

‘But not good enough for us,’ said Beauvallet. ‘Yet I will engage to worst you in an encounter with your sword-and-buckler, Gerard. I believe I have not altogether lost the trick of it. But for delicacy, for finesse, let me have the rapier!’ He made an imaginary pass in the air. ‘What, you say I learned no good upon my travels? Did I not sit at the feet of Carranza, and after find out Marozzo himself in Venice? Ay, he was old, I grant you, but he had some tricks still to show. Alack, ye have no Italian! Ye should else read his
Opera Nova
, in the which book he carefully explains the uses of the
falso
and the
dritto filo.
No good, ye say? Produce me the man who can worst me with the rapier and the dagger!’

My lord maintained an unyielding front. ‘Do you count such foreign tricks a gain? What else have you to show for these years of junketting abroad?’

‘A rare Toledo blade, brother,’ returned Nicholas, unabashed. ‘A blade tempered in the waters of the Tagus, and inscribed with the name of Andrea Ferrara between eight crowns. Yet another such blade, from the hand of Sahagom. What, more? Why, then, a suit of Jacobi armour you yourself did not despise; an acquaintance with our cousins in France; an intimate knowledge of the French, the Spanish, and the Italian tongues – which I think ye lack –’

‘The English of my forefathers sufficeth me,’ said my lord grimly.

‘You’ve no ambition, Gerard,’ mourned Beauvallet.

‘I’ve no vagrant spirit,’ said my lord tartly. ‘Will you never be still? I pass over the Grand Tour; I may pass over even that mad emprise ye set forth on with Drake –’

‘A thousand thanks!’ Beauvallet's eyes were alight.

‘I grant you it was worth the doing,’ said my lord grudgingly. ‘Ay, a rare feat, and all honour to you for compassing it.’

‘Give honour to Drake, where it is due,’ said Beauvallet, and lifted his glass. ‘We drink his health! To Drake, the master-mariner!’

My lord drank the toast, but without enthusiasm. ‘It's very well, but why ye must needs cleave so fast to this same Sir Francis passeth my comprehension.’

‘Does it so?’ Beauvallet said. ‘But then, brother, you have not sailed the world round in his company, nor learned seacraft of him, nor faced sack, battle and wreck at his side.’

‘Ye have imbibed unfit notions from him. A voyage round the world! Very well, very well, a feat indeed, and duly we honoured it. Ye brought home a store of riches, moreover, enough for any man. Then was the time to call an end to this wandering fever. But did ye? Nay, ye built your fine ship, and must needs be off again. A madness! A most damnable folly, Nick, give me leave to say!’

Sir Nicholas bowed his raven head in mock contrition. ‘I cry your pardon, good my lord!’

‘Ay, and sit there as graceless as the day ye were first breeched,’ said my lord, a hint of humour in his deep voice. ‘Nay, Nick, I speak advisedly. Ye have laid up a goodly treasure, as I know who husband it for you. Treasure come by in a way I like not, but let it go. There is the manor of Basing waiting for any time you choose to go to it. My lady brings me no heirs, nor is not like to. I look to you. What
comes to our house if you be slain or drowned? Get a wife, and be done with this roystering!’

Sir Nicholas lifted his pomander to his nose. ‘Give me joy, brother, I am about to get me a wife.’

My lord was momentarily surprised, but he hid it quickly. ‘In good time. My lady hath her eye upon a likely maid for you. We had thought on the Lady Alison, daughter of Lord Gervais of Alfreston, but there are others beside. Ye might go into Worcestershire for a bride. My sister writes sundry names might please you.’

Beauvallet held up his hand. His eyes were fairly brimful now with that secret jest. ‘Hold, hold, Gerard! I am going to look in Spain for my bride.’

My lord set down his glass with a snap that came near to breaking it. He stared under his projecting brows. ‘What's this? What new folly?’

‘None, I swear. My choice is made. Give me joy, brother! I shall bring home a bride before a year is out.’

My lord sat back in his chair. ‘Expound me this riddle,’ he said quietly. ‘Ye jest, I think.’

‘Never less. I give you a new toast.’ He came to his feet and lifted his glass on high. ‘Dona Dominica de Rada y Sylva!’

My lord did not drink it. ‘A Spanish Papist?’ he asked. ‘Do you ask me to believe that?’

‘No Papist, but a dear heretic.’ Sir Nicholas leaned on the goffered-leather back of his chair. With a sinking heart my lord noted the scarce curbed energy of him, the exultant look in his face. He feared the worst. The worst came. ‘I took her and her father aboard the
Venture
after the sack of the
Santa Maria.
More of that anon. Since she would have it so, and since to that I pledged my word, I set them ashore on the northern coast of Spain. But I swore I would ride into Spain to seek her, and so I shall do, brother, never doubt me.’

My lord sat still in his chair, looking up at Nicholas. His face was set. ‘Nick, if this be indeed no jest –’

‘God's my pity, wherefor should I jest?’ Beauvallet cried impatiently. ‘I am in earnest, in deadly earnest!’

‘Then ye are mad indeed!’ my lord said, and struck the table with his open palm. ‘Mad, and should be clapped up! Fool, do ye think to ride scatheless into Spain in these days?’

The smile flashed out; Sir Nicholas nodded. ‘Ay, I think to come out of Spain with a whole skin.’

My lord got up out of his chair. ‘Nick, Nick, what devil rides you? We have no ambassador in Spain today. How should you fare?’

‘Alone. The stars always fight for me, Gerard. Will you take a wager that I do not come home with a bride on my arm?’

‘Nay, have done with laughing! To what a pass has this senseless love of danger led you? Lad, heed what I say! If ye go into Spain ye will never come out again. The Inquisition will have you in its damnable toils, and there is no power under the sun can save you then!’

Sir Nicholas snapped finger and thumb in the air. ‘A fig for the Inquisition! Gerard, my careful Gerard, I give you
Reck Not
!’

Seven

T
o my lady Beauvallet, discovered in the Long Gallery, Gerard exposed the folly of his brother. He sat him down heavily in a chair covered with gilded leather, and spoke bitterly and long. My lady listened in amazement and distress, but Nicholas wandered down the gallery inspecting such new pieces as my lord had lately acquired, and gave no ear to the discourse.

‘If you have more influence than I have, Kate, I pray you use it now,’ Gerard said. ‘I grant you he lives but to plague me, but I should desire him to continue to live.’

Nicholas raised his head from a close scrutiny of a piece from one of the cabinets. ‘Whence had you this Majolica ware, Gerard?’ he inquired.

‘But Nicholas cannot mean it!’ my lady said hopefully.

‘Prevail upon him to admit as much, madam, and call me your debtor. Prevail on him only to pay heed to sager counsel!’

She turned her head, and saw Nicholas at the other end of the gallery, intent upon Majolica ware. ‘Good my brother! Nicholas! Will you not tell me what you have in mind?’

Nicholas put back the piece, and came sauntering towards her. ‘Pottery, Kate, but Gerard denies me an answer. What's your will?’

‘God sain you, Nick, can you not be serious even now?’ my lord said sharply.

Nicholas stood before them, swinging gently on his toes, with his hands tucked into his belt. A smile lilted at the corners of his mouth. ‘Here's heat! I’ve said my say, Gerard, and mighty ill you liked it. What would you have now?’

‘Nick, put by this mad humour, and give me a sober answer! Tell me ye did but jest.’

‘Soberly I tell you, brother, I did not jest.’

My lord's hand clenched on the arm of his chair, and he spoke with some force. ‘It's to throw away your life for a whim. Are you tired of it? Does the thought of death please you so well? Or are ye besotted with success and now think even to succeed in this?’

Nicholas nodded.

‘Oh, but Nicholas, this is not like you!’ fluttered my lady.

‘It's very like him, madam!’ Gerard retorted. ‘Any wild scheme is meat for Nick! I might have known what would come of it! But to think to snatch a wench out of Spain, to bring her home, a foreigner and an enemy, to be my lady one day passes all bounds!’

‘Does it so indeed?’ Nicholas interposed swiftly. ‘You’re at fault, Gerard. I do but follow the example of the first baron, who also brought home a foreigner and an enemy to be his bride.’

My lord glared; my lady stirred restlessly, and hurried into speech. ‘Of what like is she, Nicholas?’

‘Tush!’ said my lord awfully.

Nicholas looked down at my lady; a gentler light was in his eyes. ‘Kate, she is a little lady all fire and spirit, with great brown eyes, and two dimples set on either side the sweetest mouth in Christendom.’

‘But a Spaniard!’ my lady protested.

‘Trust me to amend that,’ he said lightly.

She liked the savour of romance, smiled, and sighed. My lord brought her down to earth again very speedily. ‘What boots it to ask of what like she may be? Ye will never see her. Nor will ye see Nick again if he goes on this mad quest. That is certain.’

Nicholas laughed out. ‘Marry, only one thing is certain, Gerard, and that is that ye will never be rid of me. I always come back to be your bane.’

‘Lad, you know well I’ve no wish to be rid of you. Can I not prevail with you? For the sake of the house?’

Nicholas held up his hand, and showed the lady's thumb-ring upon his little finger. ‘See my lady's token. I swore on it to reach her. Are you answered?’

My lord made a gesture of despair. ‘I see there is once more to be no ho with you. When do you look to go?’

‘Some three months hence,’ Nicholas answered. ‘The
Venture
lies in dock, and will take some time refitting. I must to London within the week to pay my duty to the Queen. I have appointed young Dangerfield to meet me there. I might go thence into Worcestershire to see how Adela does. You will see me home again in a month, never doubt it.’

He left Alreston two days later upon the Barbary horse from my lord's stables, with Joshua Dimmock riding sedately behind him, and travelled cross country at his leisure until the post road was reached.

‘Never at quiet!’ Joshua remarked to the heavens. ‘Court drowning at sea, court foundering in mire upon land: it's all one.’

‘Peace, froth!’ Beauvallet said, and made his horse curvet on the green.

They came within sight of the city late one evening as the gates were closing. ‘What, the good-year!’ Joshua cried, roused to wrath. ‘Shut Beauvallet out, is it? Now see how I will use these churlish Londoners!’

‘No swashbuckling here, crackhemp; we rest at the Tabard.’

The great inn showed welcoming lights, and placed her best at Beauvallet's disposal. He stayed only one night, and was gone in the morning over London Bridge to the Devil Tavern in East Chepe, where he had reason to think he might find Sir Francis Drake.