An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  Rodney looked down on the crowd of faces upturned to his. They were a fine lot, he thought suddenly, English every man-Jack of them, and not one that he would not be glad to have by his side in a tight corner. He stood looking at them, waiting for that sudden pregnant silence that comes just before an orator says his first words. Then with the hot sun beating down he began to speak.

  “You know where I went last night,” he said, and every man seemed to bend forward a little so that he should not miss one word. “The Indian whom we brought aboard guided me to his village which lies about five miles to the north of us. It is built on the edge of a bay – a natural harbour, very much like the one here, only larger.

  “As he and his friends had already told me, there is a Spanish ship anchored there, put in for repairs to her steering. The ship is the Santa Perpetua – large galleon of over five hundred tons and loaded with treasure from Panama. She was on her way to Havana; and when she does not arrive, there is every chance that other ships will be sent in search of her.

  “I am telling you now so that you will realise all that we have to guard against. Our friend, whose father is Chief of the village, thinks that she has approximately two hundred men aboard, perhaps more. They are most of them experienced fighting men and well armed. They have posted sentries around the village and there is always an armed guard aboard the ship itself, although the officers, and the majority of the men too, have been making the most of their enforced holiday, and enjoying themselves ashore. The Indian girls are not unattractive; the native wine is potent.”

  Rodney paused a minute, then looking straight at his audience, he said:

  “Tonight we are going to take the Santa Perpetua.”

  A wild cheer rose to every man’s lips. It was hastily checked by Master Barlow’s “Quiet there,” repeated and re-repeated by the Petty Officers.

  “We must make no noise,” Rodney warned. “Voices carry in this atmosphere. Last night, lying above the native village, I could hear conversations being carried on, orders being given, the sick groaning with fever. We have still many hours of daylight ahead of us and we must keep quiet and still for fear of discovery.

  “You will all of you have your orders, you will all of you, I know, carry them out to the best of your ability. A mistake on the part of one may mean the death of all. There is no need for me to point out to you that we are greatly out-numbered in fighting strength. We despise the Spaniards but we should be foolish indeed if we under-estimate them. They have been well trained in the art of fighting hand to hand.

  Rodney paused and then, as the men seemed still to be waiting, as he felt the excitement radiating from them and saw by the expression on every face the elation they were feeling, he did not dismiss them as he intended, but continued “There is one other thing I would say to you. Before I left England, before I went to Plymouth to buy the Sea Hawk I stayed a few nights in Whitehall. I was not privileged to meet our Queen, but I saw Her Majesty, in fact I stood within a few feet of her.

  “I was passing through the Stone Gallery when the Queen, surrounded by her couriers and Ladies-in-Waiting, came into the Gallery from the gardens. I had not been expecting to see Her Majesty and like the other people there I stood to one side, awed and surprised at her sudden appearance.

  “It was a dull day, but it seemed to me as if the sun had suddenly come out. She is not tall, our Queen, and yet when one sees her, one feels that she is the greatest woman on whom one has ever set eyes. She has a dignity and grace which give her a beauty beyond words. I would like to describe her to you and yet it is impossible.

  “When one is away from her, one thinks of Queen Elizabeth the woman; but when she is there, you know you are in the presence of England – this country which has bred us and which we all love because it is ours.

  “I watched the Queen pass and I knew then that she was the personification of all that we struggle for, all we try to attain and all for which we will, if necessary, give our lives. She is our Queen; she is Gloriana; she is England !”

  Every man listening seethed to draw a deep breath and then, without another word, Rodney turned and walked across the deck to the after cabin. There was silence for several seconds, a tribute to an orator who had moved them, to words which were echoed by every man in his heart; and then, excitedly, the chatter broke out, uncrushed by the orders for silence being given by the officers continuously long after every man was back at his duties.

  Only Lizbeth did not move. She remained where she had stood listening to Rodney and only after a long time did she realise that her hands were clenched tightly together so that her fingers were bloodless, and her cheeks were burning with the same excitement that was making her heart beat almost painfully beneath her breast.

  It was a new Rodney she had heard speaking, a man inspired, a man whose voice had been a thrill when he spoke of what he had seen and what he had felt. It was the first time that Lizbeth had encountered the veneration and adoration that the Queen commanded amongst the men who served her and amongst all those, indeed, with whom she came in contact.

  The mere mention of her name conjured up many strange and varied memories of her past-the girl whose childhood had been so helpless, her mother humiliated and executed; the shadow of the scaffold lying dark and menacing over her own obscure yet closely watched existence. Alternately caressed and neglected, she was the heir to the Throne of England at one moment and a bastard outcast the next.

  London was crowded with gibbets, Smithfield’s pyres were burning, but Elizabeth had survived these perils by a miracle of discretion, brilliance and courage.

  Lizbeth had all her life heard talk of how those at Court were inspired by Gloriana as they had named the Queen; how Hawkins, Drake, Raleigh and a hundred others had wanted only to lay the spoils of their voyages at the feet of her whom they served. She had listened to a thousand stories of the devotion of the Queen’s statesmen; and she had known, for all England speculated on it, of the affection that existed between the Queen and the Earl of Leicester.

  There had been chatter about stately Hatton and handsome Heneage de Vere, the dashing king of the tiltyard, and young Blount who blushed when the eye of Her Majesty was fixed upon him. There was the Earl of Essex now, tall, handsome and irresponsible, to give the gossips something to whisper about.

  And yet no one, however spiteful, however malicious, could deny that Elizabeth was great. As Rodney had said, men were ready to live and, if necessary, to die for her and to count their lives either way of little consequence. And yet she was just a woman.

  Lizbeth remembered the throb in Rodney’s voice and felt a strange sensation she had never known before. Although the idea was almost laughable, it was almost a jealousy that any woman, even if she were a Queen, should draw men to her in such a way that she held not only their lives, but their hearts in her hands and took such devotion as her just due.

  And then it seemed to Lizbeth in that moment she learned an important lesson, one which should be taught to all her sex. She learnt that in a greater or lesser degree every woman should be to a man an inspiration, a spur, an ideal and last of all, a goal to which he must strive endlessly.

  For a moment Lizbeth felt frightened by the magnitude of this; and then, standing on that sun-baked deck with hands scurrying around her, the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer in her ears and the lap of the waves beneath her feet, she smiled with an inner satisfaction and a sense of power that she had never known before. She, too, was a woman, although for the moment no one was aware of it dinner at twelve was a hastily snatched meal, but at least Lizbeth had Rodney to herself for a few minutes. The neither of them took much note of what they were eating and Rodney seemed for once to have forgotten his anger and resentment at her presence, and talked away as easily and without reserve as if they had been at Camfield. He told Lizbeth further details of his investigation the night before.

  “The Indian boy went into the village to find out the latest news and then came back to where I wa
s hidden,” he said. “He learnt that the steering of the Santa Perpetua has been repaired and that the ship is to leave at dawn. But there is to be a party ashore tonight. The natives have been commanded to find half a dozen bullocks and a dozen fat pigs. They were in revolt at the idea, but I gave them money and both the bullocks and the pigs will be there and a great number of casks of native wine.”

  “What is that like?” Lizbeth asked.

  “Very fiery and very potent. It is made from the fermented sap of a palm tree which has leaves nearly twenty feet long, and big, golden flowers three feet high. The wine is called Vino de Coyol. The Spaniards got hold of some of it, but the natives have kept most of their store hidden from them. Our Indian boy brought his father, the Chief, to see me. I gave him all the money I had with me to be spent on this feast and I think the Spaniards will be surprised to see how lavish it can be.”

  “And while they feast – ?” Lizbeth queried excitedly Rodney nodded.

  “That is the point. While they are feasting we must strike!” He drummed on the table with his fingers, a habit he had when he was concentrating. “I want to avoid as much fighting as possible; I cannot afford to lose a single man, especially if we have two ships to put to sea.”

  “Do not be afraid,” Lizbeth said softly, “The galleon will be yours, I am sure of it.

  He smiled at her then.

  “You told me once before I should be successful,” he said, “and yet yesterday you taunted me with being a coward.”

  “I am ashamed of my words,” Lizbeth answered. “I did not understand. I wanted to fight the Spaniards, to fight and win.” She hesitated for a moment and then added in a low voice, “I had not seen then the wounds that guns can inflict on human flesh. The man with the shattered foot had it amputated last night. I did not know that men could suffer so much and live.”

  Impulsively Rodney put out his hand and laid it over hers.

  “I have commanded you before, leave the wounded to those who are used to such matters.”

  “And I have told you that I will not obey you in this,” Lizbeth replied. “Who else on board has any knowledge of medicine or the treatment of wounds?”

  Rodney did not answer the question and Lizbeth continued triumphantly.

  “You see, you cannot tell me, so I must do my best. Do you know that the man into whose wound I poured the aqua vitae is without fever?”

  “I see that by the end of the voyage I shall be drinking water,” Rodney said.

  But Lizbeth did not smile in response to his jest and her brows were knit as she said:

  “If only I knew more I have heard that the Indians know of plants with great medicinal properties. May I ask our Indian friend to find some for me?”

  “You shall certainly ask him later,” Rodney replied.

  Lizbeth looked at him then and the same thought was in both their minds. However confident they both might be, would there be a “later” for either of them? Rodney got to his feet quickly.

  “I must not linger here,” he said abruptly. “There is much to be done.”

  “But, please,” Lizbeth pleaded hastily, “will you not tell me exactly what your plans are?”

  “You will know in good time,” he answered.

  She had a wild impulse to put out her arms to him and beg him not to go. What did a galleon matter, or the Spaniards, or the Queen herself for that matter, if Rodney were safe? Lizbeth wanted to keep him at her side. She wanted but what did she want?

  How impossible it was to put it into words. She only knew that her whole being was beset with conflicting emotions – pride, admiration mingled with fear, and some other feeling to which she could not put a name.

  She thought of all she had endured during the night when she was afraid that he would never return, and knew that what she must suffer now would be infinitely worse. Her prayers had been answered once, but could she be sure they would be heard a second time?

  “Stay here!” If only she dared suggest such a thing – and then courage returned to her. Rodney would succeed – she was sure of it – and she must inspire him, not try to make of him a coward or a weakling.

  “He will be successful,” she said the words aloud to herself and then wiped the tears roughly from her eyes.

  It was, however, an hour before dark before Lizbeth really understood exactly what was occurring. A little before that Rodney had asked Barlow to discover who among the men could swim. Barlow had looked surprised.

  “Swim, sir?”

  The majority of seamen thought it was unlucky to learn to swim. If their ship was sunk, the sooner one went to the bottom the better. Swimming about only prolonged the agony. Rodney knew this and understood Barlow’s surprise at the question.

  “I want a boat’s crew who can swim and swim well,” he said, “and don’t pick me anyone who will flounder about and expect to be rescued – do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barlow came back with the information that there were twelve men aboard who could swim. A boat had only eight oars and he had, therefore, chosen the eight men he thought best suited to the work ahead.

  “Eight will do, Master Barlow,” Rodney said. “I shall go with the boat. You will be in charge of the Sea Hawk.

  “Can I not come with you, sir?” Barlow asked eagerly.

  Rodney shook his head.

  “No. You will be in charge here and if we fail, your orders are to proceed to sea immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fetch Master Gadstone to me.”

  Gadstone was fetched. As he came into the cabin, he was almost dancing with excitement. He had been waiting for something like this ever since he left England.

  “Now listen to me, Master Gadstone,” Rodney said. “What I am going to give you to do is an extremely difficult task because it demands waiting, patience, initiative, and being able to run away.”

  “Run away, sir?”

  “Yes, run away,” Rodney said grimly. “Now listen to me attentively.”

  He spoke sharply, and purposely with a cold authority. He wanted to calm down Gadstone’s excitement and exuberance to something more sensible. It was by no means an easy task. However, he looked calmer, Rodney thought, as he saw a little band of men set off up the cliffs – Gadstone and six others, all young and long legged and, as he said to Barlow, “capable of running like the Devil’.

  “Wait for them until the last moment, Master Barlow,” Rodney instructed, “but you are not to jeopardise the safety of this ship for them or for anyone else.”

  “Very good, sir.

  Barlow spoke in a tone of resignation. He knew Rodney’s plan was sound, even brilliant in conception, and yet he hated the part he had to play in it. He had calmly to wait aboard the Sea Hawk and perhaps put out to sea with the knowledge that both his Captain and Lieutenant were dead or taken prisoner.

  “I shall leave in five minutes,” Rodney said.

  He went into the aft cabin to make a last entry in his log-book and found Lizbeth standing by the port-hole. She turned as he entered and because he was not expecting to see her, she saw his face for a moment off guard. He was smiling excitedly as a schoolboy. He might manage to speak coldly and authoritatively to those he commanded, but just for this moment he was himself-a man in search of adventure and high adventure at that, a gambler who was staking everything on a throw of the dice.

  “If only I could come with you!” Lizbeth breathed the words rather than spoke them and yet Rodney heard.

  It was then it seemed that he remembered who she was and what would be her position if he were killed and the ship captured. Suddenly grave, he walked across the cabin to where she stood.

  “It is not my fault that you are here,” he said, “and yet I am responsible for you. If anything happens to me, Barlow is in charge of the Sea Hawk and has my instructions to take her back to England. If he should fail, then I beg of you – do not let yourself be taken prisoner by the Spaniards.”

/>   “What do you mean?” Lizbeth asked.

  “There are cleaner ways of dying than rotting in a dungeon in Seville, Rodney said, “and if they should discover you to be a woman, it – it will not help you.”

  There was no need for him to say more. They both knew the fate that would await her.

  “There are several poisons, I think, in the doctor’s cabinet,” Lizbeth said in a low voice.

  “Let us pray they will not be used,” Rodney answered.

  Lizbeth threw back her head.

  “I am not afraid to die. That is why I would like to come with you.”

  “I did not know that women had such courage,” Rodney said.

  She smiled at that.

  “I believe you know very little about women, after all.

  “Or perhaps merely very little about you,” Rodney replied.

  She looked up at him at that and for a moment their eyes held each other. Then he started as if he had forgotten the time. Instinctively she put out her hands towards him.

  “Take care of yourself, Rodney,” she pleaded.

  He hesitated for a moment as if he would say something in reply and then he put his hand on her shoulder, an easy, affectionate gesture of good fellowship that he might have made towards Francis.

  “I shall be safe enough,” he smiled.

  He was gone then. A moment later Lizbeth heard him give a series of commands. Slowly she went to the door and out on to the deck. The men were already in the boat and Rodney was going over the side to join them. They had all of them stripped their shirts from their bodies, Rodney included. Their feet were bare, each wore a sword belt and cutlass and a sharp knife which he would carry in his teeth when he swam.

  There was an hour yet before darkness and they had to get round the more dangerous part of the cost before they could lie in wait. Rodney had not anticipated that it would be as nerve-racking as it was, moving out to sea and then along beneath the cliff, keeping a look-out all the time for watchers from above or for a ship at sea.