The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  ‘The King remembers me. He says his cartographers will study the map if I send it and he hopes to meet me again if I happen to be in London.’ He smiled at his servants, who were gazing at him as if he were a magician. ‘I am nearly as astonished as you. But I will not trust the map to the King’s post. I will take it myself. It is the only link we have to Abel. So, let us count our money and see what we can venture with it.’

  Christopher had aged, that was undeniable, but he worked hard on his recovery. At first, it was enough simply to come downstairs every day. Then he began to walk about. Eventually he asked William to saddle Troubadour and, on a crisp winter’s day, he took a gentle ride about the village. From then on, he gained strength rapidly, going a little further each day when it did not rain. After riding gently down to Chineborough, spending an hour gazing out to sea, doing some business and returning before dark, he found William bringing some new brewed beer from the brewhouse.

  ‘I wish all my linen washed,’ he said, ‘and my bag packed. Will you walk with me next Monday, while I ride to the high road? I will take the coach to London and you can take Troubadour back home for me. On Tuesday, a man will come from Chineborough to collect the old beast. I am sorry to see him go, but in spite of our improved circumstances I may need his value in London.’

  ‘Are you sure you are well enough to go, sir?’ said Jane.

  ‘I think I am as well as I will be in this life, thanks to your good care. All I ask of you while I am away is that you watch always for Abel and send word to me should he manage to come home. I will send word of where I lie when I know it. And if something should happen to me and I do not return, then I ask that you should care for him as you always have. Apprentice him to a trade of his desire if there is enough money. If not, he may run the inn with you and care for you, his foster parents.’

  ‘Sir’ – William worked his hands in agitation – ‘I am sure we will see you shortly after you conclude your business with the map.’

  Jane glared at him. ‘Unless he chooses to stay at court.’

  Christopher laughed. It was something he had not done in a long while. ‘Don’t fret, Jane. I am not made for court life. If God spares me, I will be back soon. I pray it will be with news of where Abel has been taken and how soon we are to fetch him home.’

  15

  Christopher found the most modest and yet respectable lodging in London he could. After giving himself half a day to recover, he presented himself at Whitehall, feeling so out of place he had to steel himself to remain. His best linen was so patched he felt like a kitchen servant, and he discovered his best suit of clothes to be so out of date he knew he must strike a comical figure.

  The letter he had received didn’t give any clue as to when would be best to present himself. He hardly expected to be ushered straight away into the King’s presence, but he found his heart racing as he presented himself at the gate. It had been many years since he had last seen the King, then still uncrowned. Would he help? Would he even see him, in spite of the letter saying he would be happy to do so? Christopher wasn’t concerned about meeting his sovereign. The last time they had met they had not parted exactly as friends. But the King must have knowledgeable geographers who could identify the place on the map. That was all Christopher wanted: just someone who could tell him where he must go to look for his son.

  ‘Your letter of introduction?’ The official looked at Christopher’s threadbare clothes with an undisguised sneer. ‘Name?’

  ‘Sir Christopher Morgan. I was with the King in …’

  The official moved on to the next petitioner and a guard made it clear that he was not to pass.

  After waiting for a while, he and others were told to come back the next day. However, the following day the King was abroad, the next he was indisposed and after that he was attending to the affairs of state. Christopher paced, he sat, and he paced again. He wandered the streets and ate frugally before returning to be told the same things again.

  ‘But I know him!’ said Christopher at last, trying to keep his voice from sounding petulant or anxious, though his store of money was speedily dwindling. ‘And I have something His Majesty will want to see.’

  No one was interested. They offered to take the map to the King but, fearing to lose it, Christopher would not, could not give up this last link with his son unless he were to accompany it, wherever it went.

  The next morning, he was sitting as usual in an outer room when a dumpy little man came hurrying past with an armful of documents. As he passed by, some of the rolls of paper slid from his grasp and spilt onto the floor. Christopher went to help.

  ‘Much obliged to you,’ said the man politely.

  Christopher endeavoured to roll them back up for their owner. As he did so he could see that they were plans of a ship. Where there were plans, surely there might be knowledge of maps?

  ‘I am interested in a ship,’ said Christopher, anxious to take advantage of the situation.

  The man looked at him doubtfully. ‘To commission one? I think not … Maybe you wish to find a position on board?’

  ‘No. That is … I …’ The man was losing interest. Christopher tried again. ‘The King wrote to me, asking me to visit him. I have a map …’

  The man’s eyebrows rose. He seemed amused, and Christopher felt himself teased. ‘A man interested in a ship who has a map! Are you an adventurer, sir?’

  ‘I propose finding my only son, who was captured,’ Christopher replied, rather standing on his dignity. ‘I have a map but need help in deciphering it.’

  The man’s demeanour instantly changed. ‘My dear sir! I am so sorry. The loss of any child is a tragedy, an only son more so. And under such dreadful circumstances. Was it the Barbary pirates? We sting them when we can, I assure you, and we will do more with the help of new ships such as this one.’ He took the plan from Christopher. ‘I am sorry to say there are many good Christians in the hands of the Moors.’ He adjusted the bundle of documents and gave Christopher a nod. He took a step and then hesitated. ‘You say you have a map?’

  Christopher couldn’t imagine that Daniel would have had dealings with those terrible pirates who raided coastal villages in search of Christian slaves. They were not known for buying slaves, preferring to take by force, slaughtering any that resisted. Besides, Christopher had heard of no such raids on the south coast for some time. All the same, he withdrew the map from his coat in the hope that this man might recognise the place. ‘It was taken from his captors and put into my hand by my son,’ he said. ‘Shortly before he was recaptured.’

  The man looked intrigued. ‘May I see?’

  Christopher unfolded the map but held it fast in his own hand.

  ‘But my dear sir! The legend is Moorish, is it not?’

  Christopher shrugged. ‘But surely that is just a fancy? I thought it an embellishment. A decoration. Do you not think it a castle somewhere on our coast, or possibly as far as Wales?’ He looked at the man in some distress.

  The little man gave him a sympathetic glance. ‘You may be right, sir, but I am not convinced. I do not wish to alarm you, but I do not know why anyone would give a Welsh map a Moorish inscription. I cannot read it for you, but I am sure Sir John Narborough will know someone who can. I am meeting with him now. If you like I will take the map to show him.’

  ‘That is very kind,’ said Christopher, his hopes rising by the moment. ‘However, it is all I have to find my son. I cannot let it out of my sight.’

  ‘In that case,’ said the man after a moment’s hesitation, ‘you had better come with it.’ He made Christopher a small bow. ‘Mr Pepys at your service. I work at the admiralty, hence these plans. His Majesty is in the process of enlarging his navy.’

  ‘Sir Christopher Morgan at yours.’

  ‘Follow me, sir. Oh!’ He gasped as the roll of documents threatened to slip again. ‘Perhaps you could oblige me by taking some of these?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Christopher followed Mr P
epys into an inner room, one that had so far been denied him. They deposited the documents onto a large table and he helped the admiralty man unroll the plan.

  ‘This, you see, is to be His Majesty’s new answer to the Barbary pirates. At least, this is Sir John’s fervent hope.’

  ‘It looks a most impressive vessel.’

  ‘Indeed. And it will cost a pretty penny to equip as I, who will be responsible for that task, can tell you.’

  Christopher was just congratulating himself on what a fortunate meeting this might be when a commotion was heralded by double doors being opened at the far end of the room. A number of gentlemen entered, all talking and laughing together. For a few moments Christopher thought he knew none of them, but then he recognised the King. Christopher and Mr Pepys bowed. The King, noticing the plans on the table, stepped forward eagerly.

  ‘Mr Pepys! I see you have brought the plans. What news of our ship?’

  ‘She comes on, sire. And I heard from the foundry yesterday. The ordnance will be ready in good time.’

  ‘Excellent! Look, Sir John. I think your quarters will be splendid. And we hope that diplomacy may be one use of them.’

  Sir John voiced his appreciation. It was then that the King noticed Christopher. His clothes singled him out, even against Mr Pepys, who was soberly enough dressed.

  ‘I see you have brought an assistant with you today, Mr Pepys.’

  Mr Pepys bowed. ‘Not an assistant, sir, but one Sir Christopher Morgan, who has a map that you and Sir John might be interested in.’

  Christopher bowed, feeling the King’s sharp eyes upon him. ‘Well, maps are invariably interesting. Let’s see it.’

  Christopher ventured to look up and King Charles’s mouth widened into a large smile. ‘Sir Christopher. You appear like a ghost from the past! Gentlemen, this good man was with me in France and Holland many years ago. We had a falling-out over a girl, as I recall.’ His smile became a laugh. ‘It piqued me that she preferred this spindleshanks to me.’ The gentlemen around him laughed politely. ‘Did you marry her, as you swore you would?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And how does she, the pretty Dutch maid you stole from me?’

  ‘Dead these twelve years, sir, in giving birth to the son I now seek.’

  Instantly the King abandoned his happy expression. ‘I am so sorry. I recall now, the letter you wrote to me about your son’s trouble. I asked my secretary to let you know you would find a welcome here. Tell me. Have you heard from your son since he was taken?’

  ‘Once, when he made a brief escape from his captors. In those few moments he gave me a map, which I take to be the place where he is now.’

  ‘He sounds a resourceful boy. Do you have the map with you?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘Then give it to Sir John here and he can have it examined.’

  Christopher looked at his sovereign with a mixture of duty and determination. ‘It is all I have to help me find my Abel. I cannot allow it out of my sight, sir.’

  The King hesitated. For a moment Christopher was afraid Charles was angry, but he was not. ‘Sir John?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Have a cartographer come. Have him bring his materials and set him to copy this precious map.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So, Christopher. I think it won’t rain. While we wait for the map-maker we could walk in the privy garden and remember our youth.’

  The King led the way and Christopher followed, still clutching his map. It was a very fine day. The peace of the gardens was a welcome contrast to the noise of the court, but it was hard for Christopher to match the King’s pace, even though their legs were much of a length.

  ‘You used to keep up the best of all my retinue,’ the King complained.

  Christopher smiled ruefully. ‘I remember. But I am not so fast since I was wounded. I think I am not quite fit.’

  ‘I am so sorry! Let us sit. We will not be disturbed here, if I am not mistaken. Now, tell me of your life since I left you in Holland. It has not been kind to you, I think, and yet you did not write to me for a pension when I came into my own. God knows, parliament keeps my purse almost empty, but I would have been pleased to see you at court.’

  Christopher sighed. ‘I am sorry, sir. At first, I kept away because of Margarita. You were angry with me in Holland, with just cause.’

  ‘I was angry. Remember that last night in The Hague before I set sail for England? All the ladies were mad to dance with me, all but Margarita, and yet I insisted on leading her out three times. It was the anger of a lovesick fool and deeply discourteous of me. I remember how you stood to one side – patient, dignified, waiting for her to return to you. You were more a prince than I then.’ He paused. ‘I would not behave that way again. But afterwards … after she died … you could have written then. I would have liked to see you.’

  ‘Afterwards I was seized by a sort of madness,’ said Christopher. ‘At first, I didn’t want the boy to live, then I did. I do …’

  Charles laid his hand on Christopher’s sleeve. ‘Sometimes,’ he said sadly, ‘I think there’s no hell like loving too well.’

  There was silence between them for a few moments and then the King spoke again. ‘No matter. And now things are right between us perhaps you will let me have a glimpse of this precious map. Do you have any idea about it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Abel was most likely taken by a local rogue, who was hanged before I was able to question him. I don’t recognise the place as being on any coast I know, so I thought it is most likely to be a place on a part of the coast I don’t know. Perhaps in Wales?’

  Christopher drew it out of his coat and unfolded it as he had done for Mr Pepys. He handed it to Charles, who took it as carefully as if it had been a jewel or the egg of a fabulous bird.

  ‘I am sorry to tell you that the script is Moorish,’ he said after a moment’s study. ‘I cannot recognise the place, but doubtless there will be someone here who can and, at any rate, read the legend. I wondered at first if it were our territory of Tangier, but I am sure it is not. Did the man who shot you look like a Barbary pirate?’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘He appeared as English as me, though I had not seen him before and I did not hear him speak.’

  Charles gave the map back, rested his elbows on his knees and set his chin in his hands. ‘I will enquire, but I cannot recall hearing of any raids on my coast over the past months. My navy has been better recently at keeping the pirates away from our shores, although Ireland has suffered badly.’ He looked at Christopher. ‘I hope we can discount your son being dispatched into our navy. We can investigate that.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am most grateful.’

  For a few minutes Charles gazed, without speaking, at the small neat hedges and gravel paths of his privy garden. Christopher waited. Rather than being forced to linger while his map was copied for the King’s possible use, he wanted an answer now. He wanted to be told exactly where to go to find his son and what to do to release him, but much in life had taught him that things were seldom so easy. He schooled himself not to sigh, which might insult the King. When the King spoke again, it was briskly.

  ‘Do you remember lending me your shoes?’

  Christopher found himself surprised into a smile. ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘It was such a kindness. You had to go barefoot until my mother could get me a pair made.’

  ‘It was not for so very long. It was fortunate that our feet were the same size.’

  ‘Let me return the favour, Christopher, and find you a pair. You cannot go shod like that, in court or anywhere else.’ Christopher looked at his feet, which were, certainly, poorly shod by any standards. The leather was split, and betrayed not just an old fashion, but also overuse and lack of proper repair. Next to his feet were those of his king. They were encased in exquisite shoes, with elegant heels and profuse embroidery. They were not the shoes of a man who needed to walk outdoors. And yet he had. The flower
s and leaves stitched upon them were dusty with the gravel path. The fabric they were made of would not last long, used this way. Such shoes would be no use to Christopher, but he could not say so.

  ‘I insist,’ said Charles, misreading Christopher’s lack of reply. ‘You must not be so proud. There are men at court living on pensions given to them twenty years ago for small things done for me. You have asked for nothing, and now when you do it is only to find help in reading a map! You cannot deny me the pleasure of paying you in kind for your favour in the past.’

  Christopher did his best to look grateful. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Good. I will enjoy ordering them for you.’

  He stood up. A gentleman who had been hovering some way off started towards them. ‘If I am not mistaken, here comes word of our cartographer. Let us go in. Maybe your son is not so far away and will soon be recovered.’

  16

  If Mr Pepys was annoyed at having to wait while the King renewed his acquaintance with Christopher, he didn’t show it. He stood politely to one side while Christopher and the map-maker were settled together at a table, and while several gentlemen offered opinions on the map.

  ‘Tangier!’ said one. ‘This has been made by our enemies who seek to take our territory!’

  The King turned to Sir John. ‘What do you think?’

  The man peered thoughtfully at the map. ‘The shape of the promontory is similar,’ he said. ‘But these aren’t English fortifications, nor are these English buildings. And look at the bottom of the map. I know of no islands like these off the coast of Tangier. I am pretty sure this is the capital of the Ottomans, Constantinople, and this place here is the Sultan’s palace.’ He gave Christopher a hard look, almost as if he suspected him of some sort of subterfuge. ‘I have never seen a map with so much detail of the forbidden interior of the palace.’ He cleared his throat and addressed the King. ‘It is, in my opinion, sir, a map of the very heart of the Ottoman Empire and I think the legend will confirm it.’