Lion Triumphant

by Philippa Carr

  I do not know how I lived through that day. I could not think what I should do.

  Jake was grim and silent, making plans, I knew. I asked myself whether Roberto would attempt to escape. If he did he could not get far. He was exhausted. Could he manage even to climb up to the small window, break it and jump through? He was not in the same condition that he had been in when Manuela and I had sheltered him before.

  Jake was vengeful; he knew no gentle feelings. He would have killed him on the spot had I not been there. At least he had not wished to do so in my presence.

  He went away and I stayed in my room. I dared not go to the hut for fear of what I would find there.

  All day long I waited for something to happen. I kept thinking I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs—men come to take Roberto away. Five minutes was like an hour that day, one hour like twenty-four. I felt sick and ill; I could not get out of my mind the terrible picture of men’s suffering on the scaffold. This must not happen to Roberto … not to my son, the little boy of whom we had been so proud, Felipe and I.

  Jake returned home in the late afternoon. He came to our bedroom.

  “Jake,” I cried, “what are you doing?”

  “What would you expect me to do?”

  “You are giving him up?”

  “He is still in the hut. He’s trussed up so that he can’t move and I have the key.”

  “I beg of you Jake … I have never begged for anything from you yet but I do now … let him go. Please, Jake, if you will but do this…”

  “What will you do?”

  “I shall hate you forevermore if you harm my son.”

  “You have talked so much of hating me over the years.”

  “That was mock hatred. This will be real. If you harm Roberto…”

  “You are dramatic. This is a traitor. Do you understand that, Cat? Very soon we shall be fighting for our lives against men such as your bastard Roberto. The Spaniards are preparing to come here … to force their evil doctrines on us, to set up the Inquisition in this land. Do you know what that means?”

  “I do … I know that very well. I hate it. I would fight with all my strength and will against it.”

  “Then you are with us, Cat, and those who are with us cannot allow those who are against us to escape … no matter who they are.”

  “Let him go, Jake. Help him. You could. You could give him a horse. He could ride far into Cornwall. He could live there in peace.”

  “Live in peace! Would he ever do that? He’d be trying to set up idols wherever he was.”

  “Jake, Jake, I beg of you.”

  There was silence.

  He went out and left me. He went far, I knew, for when he came back his horse was exhausted.

  Night came. I did not rest. I sat silent in my chair and wept.

  Jake lay in bed, sleeping, or pretending to. He awoke and I was still sitting in the chair.

  He came to me then and lifted me up and carried me to bed.

  He held me in his arms.

  “You’ll make yourself ill,” he said tenderly.

  I did not reply. I knew words were useless now. He had made up his mind. I sensed the purpose in him.

  I slept at last, worn out by my emotions.

  It was daylight when I awoke and Jake had gone.

  I thought I would go to the hut, but Jake had warned me so firmly not to that I did not go. I must wait in any case until I knew what I could do.

  There must be something. “Please, God,” I prayed, “tell me what I can do. Help me to save my son.”

  All morning I did not see Jake.

  Jennet came. She was full of chatter.

  “Look, Mistress, the Golden Fleece be ready to sail. They say she be going on the tide.”

  I did not want to listen. I was thinking: Roberto, what can I do to save you?

  I was afraid that Jennet was going to say that someone had been to the hut, but she did not mention it. She was full of the unexpected departure of the Golden Fleece. She had known a sailor who was one of the crew.

  I sharply told her to be silent. I was in no mood to ponder on Jennet’s emotional entanglements. If she had lost her sailor on the Golden Fleece she would soon replace him.

  Jake came in in the afternoon.

  He said he wanted to speak with me and we went to our bedroom.

  “They are on their way,” he said.

  “You mean you have warned them?”

  “No. I did not warn them. They were after him. All the suspected traitors are being hunted out. Your son is one of them. He is a fool. He should never have come here. The first place in which they will look for him is his old home.”

  “Oh, God, they will find him here.”

  “They will search the place.”

  “They will go to the hut.” I covered my face with my hands. As I did so I heard the commotion in the courtyard.

  Jake had raised me to my feet; he had taken me to the window.

  “Look out,” he said. “Do you see the Golden Fleece? She has shipped her anchor. She is about to sail on the tide. There’s a fair wind. It will carry her far before nightfall.”

  I did not look.

  I shook my head wearying, seeing Roberto cowering in the hut, trussed by Jake ready for his captors.

  “I am a good patriot,” he said. “All know it. I have helped to hound the Spaniards off the sea. Everyone knows I would not harbor a traitor in my household.”

  “You will be safe,” I said fiercely.

  “And I’ll vouch for my wife,” he answered.

  “You taunt me … at such a time.”

  “Nay,” he said. “You will not look at the Fleece. Shall I tell you what cargo she carries?”

  “I am not interested in her cargo.”

  “Not when it is your son, Roberto.”

  I stared at him. “Jake! What means this? You…”

  He lifted his arm and clenched his fist. “He’s a traitor. I never thought I’d help a traitor. But when my vixen of a wife commands me.

  I lay against him.

  Then I looked up into his face. “Oh, Jake, is it true? You are not tormenting me?”

  “They’ll go to the hut. The bird has flown. Or been spirited away. I took him out to the Fleece early this morning.”

  What could I say to this man? How could I ever show him what I felt?

  I took his hand and kissed it. I think he was moved.

  Then I heard the rapping at the door.

  The Triumph of the Lions

  THE LAND WAS HEAVY with foreboding. We knew that the Spaniards were coming. We knew that they had conquered a great part of the world; we knew, too, that they came, not only with fighting men and armament, but with the rack, the thumbscrews and the more deadly instruments of torture such as we had never heard of. They came not only as conquerors of our land but as religious fanatics. If ever they conquered us as they had other peoples, this would be the end to freedom as we knew it. We should be forced to accept not only them but their faith.

  To men such as Jake, Carlos, Jacko, Penn, it was inconceivable that we should fail. Their faith was in England, the undefeatable land.

  Men might talk of the Invincible Armada but we laughed that to scorn. We were the invincible, the unconquerable.

  The memory of that Whitsunday will linger forever in the minds of those who went to church that morning. It was more than a Whitsunday service; it was a dedication; it was an exhortation; for in the Bay lay the great ships waiting. And never had the people of Plymouth seen such a glorious sight.

  We came down from Pennlyon—Jake and I with Carlos and Edwina, Jacko, Penn, Linnet and Damask. The sun was dancing in the water and in the little streets people were hurrying from their houses to come to the church to see Sir Francis. For he was there: the great sailor, the terror of the Spaniards and the hero of all the Queen’s loyal subjects.

  We knew that soon the greatest battle in our country’s history would be fought. Those of us who were sober-minded r
eminded ourselves that our future could depend on it. Already the Spaniards were preparing to sail.

  Out in the Bay lay the ships flying the flag of England—a red cross on a white background. The wind was strong and the ships seemed to be pulling at their anchors, impatient to be away. There lay Drake’s own ship, the Revenge, Howard of Effingham’s Ark, Martin Frobisher’s White Bear and Triumph. There were the Elizabeth Bonaventure and Nonpareil. A wonderful sight. Jake had given his services to Lord Howard and Sir Francis. Carlos and Jacko had done the same.

  They would never have forgiven themselves if they had not been at hand to sail out and fight the Armada when the time came.

  And as I sat in the church on that Sunday I asked myself what would the next days bring.

  The Golden Fleece had not yet returned. I wondered often whether she had been taken by the Spaniards. If so, Roberto might well have been saved. He might be living with his father’s family in Spain. Was that too much to hope for? Who could say? But it was not so very long ago since he had sailed away; perhaps the Fleece would return bringing him with her. And if he did, could he settle down to a peaceful life?

  The Queen of Scots, deeply implicated in the Babington Plot, had the previous year been beheaded in Fotheringhay Castle, and if we could beat the Armada we might be free of menace from outside England and from within. Could we hope for a few peaceful years?

  I had told Linnet of Roberto’s escape. I confided in her more and more. She was now eighteen years old—a lovely, spirited girl. She was like us both—Jake and myself. I had stressed, too, how Jake had saved Roberto by sending him off in the Golden Fleece which was a noble act on his part, for she would realize his firm convictions.

  “He did this for me,” I said. “It is something I shall never forget.”

  Linnet with the emotional impulsiveness of the young changed toward him. She began to see him in a new light. The rough and violent man whose heart was good nonetheless. She no longer scorned him; and it was another revelation to notice that Jake was almost pathetically pleased by her change toward him.

  They were wary of each other; but I think she wanted to be proud of him and he wanted her to love him.

  That was how events stood on that Whitsunday morning.

  The weeks that followed were frustrating—for the Spaniards did not come. The ships continued to lie in the harbor. There was friction between the admirals, so we heard.

  Jake hated inactivity. He was down at the Hoe each day waiting for the signal.

  News arrived that the Armada had set out from Lisbon, but the weather had so harassed the ships that it was necessary for them to shelter in Corunna for revictualing and for the repair of damage to the ships.

  In England this news was greeted with delight. It showed, was the general opinion, whose side God was on.

  The waiting continued. The tension was growing. I never saw a man so impatient as Jake.

  “What’s the matter with the Spaniard?” he growled. “Is he afraid to come out?”

  We laughed and talked of how the great Invincible Armada had been unable to withstand the weather and had been forced to retire for repairs, but I was afraid of what the inevitable battle would bring. All my life there had been this conflict over religion. All through my mother’s it had been the same. I knew this was the culmination. I feared for Jake and I knew that Edwina feared for Carlos, as Jennet did for Jacko and Romilly for Penn. Those of us who had men who would go out and do battle were naturally especially anxious. What would happen if the invader set foot on our soil we did not know. We did not reason as far as that. Deep down in our hearts we believed no invader could ever conquer our land.

  But there would be a mighty battle.

  We heard that the Army was assembled at Tilbury and that the Queen had ridden among her men.

  Jake’s eyes gleamed with pride when he spoke of her. “She sat her horse like a soldier and she carried a truncheon. Would to God I could have been there to see her.”

  “Your place is here,” I reminded him.

  “Aye,” he answered, “with Drake, Frobisher and the rest.”

  I remembered seeing her all those years ago when she came to the Tower of London and had said that she would be to God thankful and to men merciful. Now she, like myself, was no longer young; and the years would have taught her much, as they had taught me.

  She was a woman who could assume greatness when the occasion demanded it; and God knew this occasion did.

  Her speech was circulated through the land and it did much to raise our spirits. I shall remember certain parts of it all my life.

  “I come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst of the heat and battle, to live or die amongst you all, to lay down for my God and my Kingdom and for my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a King, and of a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain or any Prince of Europe should dare invade the borders of my realm…”

  These were the words which inspired us all.

  And so we waited—some in trepidation and others, like Jake, with a frustrated impatience.

  Then one day—it was July by then—and the nineteenth—the news reached Plymouth. The Armada had been sighted off the Lizard.

  People came out of their houses, crowding the narrow cobbled streets. Rumor was in the air. There was excitement everywhere.

  Sir Francis, playing bowls on the Hoe to while away an hour or so, said he would finish the game. There was time for that, and to bear the Spaniards afterward.

  With Linnet, Edwina, Romilly and Jennet, I watched the ships sail out.

  None of us spoke, but each understood the feelings of the others. Our men were going out to meet the greatest challenge of their lives. Their ships looked gallant enough with their sails billowing in the wind, but I trembled when I thought of the great galleons they must meet.

  The Spaniards were in the Channel; they came with their much vaunted Armada. Our ships were dwarfs compared with theirs.

  But as we stood watching them we believed in victory. So confident was Admiral Drake that he could beat the Spaniards that we all shared that confidence. Men such as Jake had never doubted it; and it was said that the Spaniards were aware of that strange certainty in the English ranks. They believed it was witchcraft, conjured up by the devil dragon.

  I watched Jake’s ship, the Triumphant Lion, until I could see it no more. Carlos and Jacko each commanded two of Jake’s ships.

  “Oh, God,” I prayed, “we shall beat the Spaniard, I know, but send back our men safe to us.”

  All now know the outcome of the battle—how the mighty and dignified galleons were no match for the jaunty little English ships, how one of Drake’s squadrons lay before the harbors of Newport and Dunkirk and stopped all transport of troops from Flanders.

  We know too how the English could make no impression on those mighty galleons and craftily waited until dusk when they set small ships ablaze and sent them among the galleons, so that the Spaniards finding fire on many of their ships, cut their cables and sought to get away, whereupon the English smaller and more agile craft captured some and destroyed others, although many escaped to drift along the Channel and out to sea or be washed up on the coasts where a hostile reception awaited them.

  The spirit of men such as Drake and Jake Pennlyon was undefeatable because they knew they would succeed while the Spaniard feared to fail. The Spaniards were brave men doubtless, but they were no match for the English. The English were defending their homes; the Spaniard was out for conquest. Our ships could be victualed from the shore and pinnaces were constantly making the journeys to and from them.

  Against us came the greatest fleet of ships ever, up to that time, to be put on to sea. What the Spaniards called an “Invincible Armada engaged in the Great Enterprise.” And it failed.

  Back came the ships to the harbor. Linnet
, Damask, Penn, Romilly, Jennet, Edwina, myself, we were all there waiting, our eyes strained to see the return of the ships.

  Would they all return? Could we hope that all our men could come back to us?

  I looked at Edwina, who was thinking of Carlos, and I took her hand. I understood her fears, for I shared them. And I thought back to my first meeting with Jake Pennlyon on this Hoe and how determined I was to fight him with all my might.

  Please, God, I prayed now, let him come back. Let me go on to the end of my life with Jake Pennlyon.

  What a day of rejoicing when they all came back. The Triumphant Lion was limping a little, but she was safe.

  And her Captain? I was trembling, but there he was climbing into the boat.

  The people were cheering madly. The news was all over the country. Bonfires were burning, bells were ringing. The Spanish Armada was broken and defeated. Some of those ships were drifting out into the ocean, some were being washed up on our shores. Few would return to Spain.

  It was victory; and we owed it to our English seamen.

  There was Jake. I ran to him and threw my arms about him. His eyes were shining.

  “God’s Death!” he cried. “We’ve done it, Cat! We’ve wiped them off the seas! They’re finished. This is the end of Spanish power. It’s the beginning of ours. We’re going to be masters of the sea and the new lands. This is a day to be proud of. Yes, this is the day of triumph. The day of the Lion… My family, Cat, and my ships, my Triumphant Lion, this is the greatest day they have known. And the English Lion too, Cat, master of the seas! This is the triumph of the lions.”

  I laughed at him. “You seem contented with your life this day, Jake Pennlyon.”

  “Never more in my life.”

  “If only you had a legitimate son, you’d be completely content.”

  He looked at Linnet. “God’s Death!” he said. “I reckon my girl Linnet is as good as any son.”

  She came to us then and slipped her arm through his; and the three of us walked home together.

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Daughters of England series

  Part One